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B 
 
 uckeye 
 a 1 lads 
 
 By 
 
 BEECHER W. WALTERMIRE. 
 
 'I 
 
 Copyright 
 
 1906 
 
 By the Author. 
 
UfiRARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two CoDies Received 
 
 MAY 21 1908 
 
 J\ . CopyneM Entry 
 CLASS QJ VkL NO, 
 
 
Whence come these little songs I sing? 
 Whence come the Autumn and the Spring; 
 From out the air, the sky, the sea. 
 These songs come trooping forth to me; 
 In fragrant flower, in sighing breeze, 
 In rippling brook, in leafy trees; 
 Like shadows gliding through the air. 
 They come to me from everywhere. 
 
 At early morn, at noon, at night. 
 
 When skies are dark, when skies are bright; 
 
 When busy with the cares of life, 
 
 When battling in the bitter strife; 
 
 When idle, lounging lazily. 
 
 They steal like phantoms over me — 
 
 In country lane, in crowded town — 
 
 I've but to note and write them down. 
 
 I know not whence, or how, or why. 
 They come to me — pass others by — 
 But since they steal in my dull brain, 
 I cannot thrust them forth again; 
 I give them space within my breast, 
 And bid each welcome as a guest; 
 However crude, or weak they be, 
 I note them as they come to me. 
 
Contents 
 
 Since We struck He 1 
 
 How Uncle Rastus Broke the Winter 6 
 
 Unrest 9 
 
 Forever Just the Same 12 
 
 I Wonder 15 
 
 I'd Rather 17 
 
 Jes' Loafin' 'Round an' Lecturin' 19 
 
 The Night When Santa Died 22 
 
 Serving the Writ 25 
 
 Thy Klondike 27 
 
 Jamie 29 
 
 Eyes of Blue 34 
 
 Me and Jim 35 
 
 Don't Cry 40 
 
 The Social Whirl 42 
 
 Sitting in the Shadders 47 
 
 The Talisman • 50 
 
 The Sons of Cain 54 
 
 The Veteran's Adieu 57 
 
 The Siren's Song 61 
 
 Aaron's Calf 63 
 
 The Hidden Thorn 66 
 
 The Sachem's Secret 67 
 
 A Lily for the Living 69 
 
 Hide and Seek 71 
 
 The Harp of Life 73 
 
 What My Pa Knows 75 
 
 Pelee's Revenge 78 
 
We were livin' in the country 
 
 On a hundred acre farm, t 
 
 Me and Linda and the children, 
 
 And our life was full of charm. 
 Jes^ plain, common country people, 
 
 Neither rich nor very poor; 
 Livin' out upon the hillside 
 
 Where the air was fresh and pure. 
 
 Where the lark soared high in heaven, 
 
 And the bees buzzed round the flowers, 
 And the lowin' of the cattle 
 
 Sounded far at twilight hours. 
 AH the neighbors seemed to love us, 
 
 And we loved them back again. 
 And the milk of human kindness 
 
 Seemed to pour down like the rain. 
 
 Oh! the joy there was in livin'. 
 
 When I used to till the sile, 
 Little dreamin' that below me 
 
 Was a mighty lake of ile; 
 But one day they came and leased it. 
 
 And they fetched a string of tools; 
 And they found it in the caverns. 
 
 And they found it in the pools. 
 1 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Everywhere the drill descended 
 
 There the ile gushed forth in rills; 
 And they found it in the valleys, 
 
 And they found it on the hills. 
 Night and day they kept on drillin/ 
 
 And the ile came fast and faster, 
 Till they made that hundred acres 
 
 Look like one big porous plaster. 
 
 Then Malinda and the children 
 
 Clamored for to come to town 
 And to live like other people 
 
 Who had riches, or renown. 
 I'd misgivin's, but I yielded, 
 
 And our only daughter, Alice, 
 And Malinda set about it 
 
 Fer to plan the biggest palace — 
 
 Fluted columns, stately gables. 
 
 Marble steps and windin' stairs; 
 Turkish rugs and velvet carpets, 
 
 Beveled mirrors, cushioned chairs. 
 E'er the thing was half completed, 
 
 With its arches, domes and style, 
 More'n a thousand times I wished't 
 
 We had never struck the ile. 
 
 'Tis a purty thing to look at 
 
 If a feller's built that way; 
 But I'd rather have a cottage 
 
 Out where I could smell the hay. 
 Then Malinda said 'at we must 
 
 Get into sas-si-ety; 
 And to make the folks respect us, 
 
 We must have a family tree. 
 2 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Way back some'r's in the ages 
 
 'Twas recorded, so she said, 
 That our distant kith and kinsmen 
 
 On some battlefield had bled. 
 Alice helped to write the letters, 
 
 And to search the cemitree, 
 Till betwixt them they invented 
 
 Something of a pedigree. 
 
 Then we got an automobile, 
 
 And put on a heap o' style. 
 Till the upper ten took notice — 
 
 Of our turnout, and our ile. 
 They began to call upon us; 
 
 But it don't appear to me 
 That they paid so much attention 
 
 To that new-made pedigree. 
 
 Alice changed the way of spellin' 
 
 Of her name to "1-y-s," 
 And Malinda gives a different 
 
 Accent to our own, I guess. 
 Says it makes it sound romantic. 
 
 Changin' it from Louck to Luke; 
 They will sail for France next summer, 
 
 Where they mean to buy a duke. 
 
 Both the boys are off to college, 
 
 Wearin' glasses, carryin' canes, 
 Bettin' on the games and races 
 
 Like they hadn't any brains. 
 Lord knows how they'd make a livin' 
 
 If I'd chance to lose my pile. 
 And the wells out on the homestead 
 
 Would a quit a squirtin' ile. 
 3 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Here at home we're givin' dinners- 
 Dinners used to come at noon; 
 
 Now they come along 'bout sunset, 
 In the balmy days of June, 
 
 And they last until the cock crows 
 Fer the country folks to rise; 
 
 And I get so tarnal sleepy 
 
 That I yawn, and rub my eyes. 
 
 Folks that wouldn't even see us 
 
 When we lived out on the hill. 
 Come a rustlin' silks and satins, 
 
 And set down and eat their fill. 
 And they seem so glad to know us, 
 
 Praise our grub, and praise our palace; 
 And a lot of dudes come amblin' 
 
 And a courtin' of our "A'lys." 
 
 You would think to see Malinda 
 
 x\nd the way she dresses now. 
 That she never churned the butter. 
 
 And she never milked a cow. 
 She can mix up with these people, 
 
 And she seems to like the show; 
 But I can't get close up to them 
 
 Like the folks I used to know. 
 
 I get lonesome, and so hungry, 
 
 Fer a good old-fashioned stroll 
 With some neighbor who jes' opens 
 
 Up the winders of his soul; 
 While he tells me all his trials 
 
 And his hopes for comin' years. 
 Till my bosom beats responsive 
 
 And my eyes grow moist with tears. 
 4 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Ah, I long- for that communion 
 
 And companionship divine. 
 That I used to feel when minglin' 
 
 With those old-time friends of mine 
 But I never feel the heart throbs 
 
 Of the folks I meet in town : 
 Fer they keep the winder curtains 
 
 Of their souls shut tightly down. 
 
 I have logged, and 'tended raisin's. 
 
 Lifted tin I seen the stars ; 
 I have grubbed among the briars 
 
 Till my hands were full of scars. 
 I have done all kinds of farm work — 
 
 Hoein' taters, corn and sich ; 
 But it isn't half so tirin' 
 
 As a jes' a bein' rich. 
 
 We've no time to read the Bible, 
 
 We've no time for family prayers ; 
 Only go to church on Sundays 
 
 'Cause we want to put on airs. 
 God knows I'd give every dollar, 
 
 And I've got a quite a pile, 
 Jes' to be back on the homestead, 
 
 Like 'twas 'fore we struck the ile. 
 

 One cold, dreary, winter evening, 
 
 The wooley-headed sons of Ham 
 Gathered round old Uncle Remus, 
 
 As he sat serene and calm, 
 Smoking; and they begged a story. 
 
 Then he lit his pipe anew, 
 And the story Remus told them, 
 
 1 will tell it now to you — 
 
 *'In a hut libbed Uncle Rastus. 
 
 An' he libbed dar all alone; 
 When de wintry blasts war blowin', 
 
 Rastus listened to der moan. 
 Sometimes he would sigh and shiver, 
 
 For de winds war berry cold. 
 An' de cabin, like its mastah, 
 
 War decrepit like and old. 
 
 "He war longin' for de springtime 
 
 When de snows would melt away; 
 An' he knew dat on de morrow 
 
 War de fateful groun' hog day, 
 When de question'd be decided 
 
 What de wedder's gwine to be — 
 Whedder more of blasts an' winter 
 
 Or of sunshine, bright an' free. 
 6 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "Now old Rastus fell to thinkin', 
 
 For he knew de groun' hog's hole, 
 An' he tiptoed from de cabin, 
 
 Through de woods he gently stole, 
 Wid a monstrous club ; and hided 
 
 'Side de log whar groun' hog dwelt; 
 On his knees, down in de cold snow, 
 
 'Side dat hole old Rastus knelt. 
 
 "An' he waited for de daybreak, 
 
 An' de risin' ob de sun ; ; 
 
 An' de comin' ob de groun' hog, 
 
 For to make his trial run. 
 By-'m-by ole Sol came shinin'. 
 
 Not a cloud war in de sky, 
 By-'m-by ole groun' hog peeped out, 
 
 An' he snifYed and blinked his eye. 
 
 "Poked his head out little furder, 
 
 Wonderin' if de coas' war clear; 
 'Mus'n't let him see his shadder,' 
 
 Thought ole Rastus, kneeling near; 
 And he gripped his club de harder. 
 
 As he watched de hole an' hog; 
 But de critter couldn't see him 
 
 For a limb upon de log. 
 
 "Den ole groun' hog blinked his eyes shut, 
 
 Gave a leap from out de hole; 
 At dat instant, like de lightnin', 
 
 Down came Rastus' deadly pole. 
 An' he struck him. fair as noonday, 
 
 Struck him squarely on de head, 
 Struck him 'fore he seed his shadder ; 
 
 Struck him down an' killed him dead. 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "An he tote him to his cabin, 
 
 Feasted on him all dat day, 
 An' de sun it kep' a shinin' 
 
 Till de snows war gone away. 
 An' de people still are wonderin' 
 
 Why de winter went away 
 When de sun kep' castin' shadders 
 
 All dat livelong groun' hog day.' 
 
What is this vague, resistless power 
 
 Which goads me on — I know not where — 
 And leaves me not one single hour 
 
 Of calm repose from anxious care? 
 What is this longing in my breast 
 
 For something I cannot attain? 
 It is the Demon of Unrest 
 
 Which casts its shadow o'er my brain. 
 
 In buoyant youth it came to me 
 
 And settled darkly on my soul, 
 To haunt me, and with ghoulish glee. 
 
 To urge me toward some unknown goal. 
 I strove to drive it from its throne. 
 
 And often bade the spectre leave ; 
 It answered with a mocking tone; 
 
 "I go not until you achieve." 
 
 With passing years it grew more bold, 
 
 And flapped its dark wings 'round my head, 
 Until it made my blood run cold 
 
 And filled me with a nameless dread. 
 Thus brooding there, this spectre gaunt 
 
 Continued still my soul to grieve. 
 Until I cried. "Thou wretch, avaunt!" 
 
 It answered, ghoulishly, "Achieve!" 
 9 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 I mingled freely with the throng 
 
 Where joy and pleasure banish care: 
 But e'en amidst the dance and song 
 
 This ghostly spirit glided there: 
 Invisible, and yet so near 
 
 That nothing could my soul relieve 
 From that same sound within my ear, 
 
 Which cried incessantly, "Achieve!" 
 
 I traveled far in distant lands, 
 
 And hoarded gold with patient care, 
 Till millions were at my command, 
 
 And precious stones, and jewels rare. 
 I thought this specter to beguile 
 
 With gold, my weary brain to leave. 
 It viewed my treasures with a smile ; 
 
 And answered scornfully, "Achieve!" 
 
 In sheer despair, I took my wealth 
 
 And scattered it from door to door. 
 Restoring many sick to health. 
 
 And bringing joy to many poor; 
 Yet did this Demon of Unrest 
 
 Still cling to me, and would not leave. 
 Its answer to my stern request 
 
 Was ever, as before, "Achieve!" 
 
 I climbed far up Fame's giddy steep, 
 
 And left the madding crowd below. 
 
 "Ah now," I said, "it sure will sleep, 
 
 This vague unrest which haunts me so." 
 An instant, only, did it seem 
 
 To be appeased ; and then it cried. 
 As if awakened from a dream — 
 "Achieve! I am not satisfied!'' 
 10 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 No more I bid this specter flee. 
 
 This hovering Demon of Unrest, 
 And it shall e'er abide with me, 
 
 And brood, until the hour of death. 
 Perhaps it may not follow there 
 
 To vex me, and my spirit grieve; 
 Perhaps, at last, in that somewhere, 
 
 'Twill cease to cry to me, "Achieve." 
 
 11 
 
Been a-trtidgin' down life's pathway 
 
 Nigh to three score years and ten, 
 And I've witnessed many changes 
 
 Which have come about since then. 
 Seen the taller-dip and candle 
 
 Shoved aside for 'lectric lights, 
 Most destroyin' of the darkness. 
 
 Makin' daytime out o' nights. 
 
 I have seen the scythe and sickle 
 
 Hanged as archives on the wall : 
 In this age of great inventions 
 
 We've no use for them at all. 
 Seen the ox-cart relegated 
 
 To the rear, 'long side the flail ; 
 In these days of rapid transit. 
 
 Everything must go by rail. 
 
 Seen the good old-fashioned fireplace 
 
 Where the families gathered 'round, 
 Superceded by the furnace, 
 
 Sendin' heat up from the ground; 
 And the ways of doin' business, 
 
 No more like they used to be 
 Than the ripple of the brooklet's 
 
 Like the billows of the sea ; 
 12 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Giant industries combinin' 
 
 For to gobble up the trade, 
 Formin' trusts and combinations 
 
 Out of everything that's made; 
 Nations viein' with each other 
 
 For the commerce of the world — 
 Scrappin' over barren islands 
 
 Where their banners are unfurled; 
 
 Tunnelin' beneath the mountains 
 
 For to let the steamboats through ; 
 Runnin' railroads under rivers — 
 
 Lord knows what they'll try to do ; 
 Sendin' messages by wire 
 
 Right beneath the ocean waves — 
 Wonder that old Morse and Franklin 
 
 Don't turn over in their graves. 
 
 This old world is speendin' onward 
 
 At a mighty rapid pace. 
 And a feller's got to hustle 
 
 If he keeps up in the race. 
 But there's different ways of hustlin' ; 
 
 'Tisn't all in outward show ; 
 Some folks git along the fastest 
 
 WHien they go a little slow. 
 
 You young fellers just a-startin' 
 
 On the road, take my advice ; 
 'Fore you plunge into the whirlpool, 
 
 Think it over once or twice. 
 Take an invoice of your talents ; 
 
 See what niche was made for you ; 
 Then prepare yourselves to fill it, 
 
 Just as people used to do. 
 13 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Though this world seems riishin' forward 
 
 Like a mighty football game, 
 Underneath the swirl and bustle 
 
 Human natur's just the same. 
 Got to learn to buck and tackle; 
 
 Got to learn the same old rules 
 That your fathers learned before you. 
 
 Or you'll be a race of fools. 
 
 AH these changes on the surface 
 
 Are but froth along the shore : 
 Down below, the calm, old ocean's 
 
 Just the same forevermore. 
 Don't imagine you can win out 
 
 In this rough and tumble game 
 By a lucky grab or grapple ; 
 
 Human natur's just the same. 
 
 I've been trudgin' down the highway 
 
 Nigh to three score years and ten, 
 Takin' note of things about me. 
 
 Takin' note of ways of men, 
 And I've come to this conclusion : 
 
 That the road to wealth or fame 
 Has no automobile side-tracks — 
 
 It's forever just the same. 
 
 14 
 
ai Wmher 
 
 My mamma said if I was good 
 
 And didn't suck my thumb, 
 An didn't tease the 'baby so, 
 
 That Santa Claus would come 
 And bring a cradle and a doll, 
 
 With rosy cheeks and curls, 
 Beside a lot of other things 
 
 He keeps for littl^ girls. 
 
 I try to do the best I can, 
 
 But sometimes I forget 
 And stick my thumb into my mouth 
 
 Or tease the little pet. 
 I wonder what for kind of chap 
 
 Old Santa Claus must be, 
 That he has nothing else to do 
 
 But just keep watching me. 
 
 A little girl can't always think 
 
 And be as good as pie — 
 I wouldn't want to be too good. 
 
 For them kind always die; 
 Leastwise it says so in the books 
 
 We get at Sunday school — 
 I wonder why they teach such things. 
 
 Long side the Golden Rule. 
 15 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 I wonder if old Santa Claus 
 
 Would blame me if I'd try 
 To be just good enough to live. 
 
 Not good enough to die ; 
 Just good enough to get them things 
 
 He keeps for little girls — 
 Just good enough to get that doll 
 
 With rosy cheeks and curls. 
 
 16 
 
Wh Slatijfr 
 
 I'd rather sing- one deathless song, 
 
 Strike one immortal note, 
 Which would reverberate and charm 
 
 When I lie 'neath the moat — 
 One song to cheer a weary world 
 
 Bowed down 'neath weight of care 
 Than win the richest diadem 
 
 Which mighty monarchs wear, 
 
 I'd rather pen one single line. 
 
 With an immortal truth, 
 Which would appeal to hoary age. 
 
 And restless, buoyant youth — 
 One line to give the multitude 
 
 A grander view of life. 
 Than lead the mightiest army 
 
 In fierce and bloody strife. 
 
 I'd rather speak one cheering phrase 
 
 Which, passed from sires to sons, 
 Would live, and lift, and stimulate 
 
 While Time his cycles runs — 
 One phrase so set with jeweled thought 
 
 As to inspire the throng. 
 Than sleep beneath a pyramid 
 
 While the ages roll along. 
 17 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 I'd rather drop one single word 
 
 So full of tenderness 
 That it would live when I am gone, 
 
 Despairing souls to bless — 
 One word so fraught with healing balm 
 
 'Twould bind a bruised heart, 
 Than stand, a prince, among the men 
 
 Upon the busy mart. 
 
 Not that the song would bring me fame, 
 
 Or rare distinction give. 
 Not that the line, the word, the phrase, 
 
 Would cause my name to live — 
 Contented to remain obscure. 
 
 Were it vouchsafed to me 
 To leave behind, to this old world, 
 
 So rich a legacy. 
 
 18 
 
There was Ned and Mike and Bill and Rox 
 Sitting on a big pine box, 
 
 "A whittlin." 
 They loved to whittle, rest and chew, 
 Debating questions old and new. 
 Of one thing they were all agreed ; — 
 Unless impelled by direst need, 
 
 Work is a sin. 
 
 The little town of Pemberville 
 Had but twelve houses and a mill — 
 
 And Bascom's store. 
 And in this store, upon that box. 
 This Ned and Mike and Bill and Rox 
 Had sat and mingled groans and tears. 
 And chewed and whittled many years — 
 
 At least a score. 
 
 They didn't pay a cent of tax. 
 Save revenue on the "Battle-ax."' 
 
 They chewed ; 
 But the gravest questions they discussed, 
 Of bonds and stocks and wicked trusts. 
 Combines of every form and kind 
 Were unmixed evils in their mind, 
 
 To be eschewed. 
 19 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 They often wondered why the gods 
 Had placed some men at such great odds. 
 
 It was a shame. 
 "I'll tell you what, its in the start 
 Some fellows get. They ain't so smart 
 If I'd a little start," says Ned. 
 "I've brains enough to push ahead 
 
 And make a name." 
 
 "If I'd a started right," says Bill, 
 "A doctorin', 'stead er in the mill — 
 
 Or even clerkin', 
 I'd make a pile er stuff ere this, 
 Why there's old Doctor Adam Bliss, 
 See what he's got — a house and lot, 
 And farms and things. Tell you what, 
 
 "T beats workin'." 
 
 Then Roxy mused a bit and said ; — 
 "I know that I'd a got ahead 
 
 Newspaperin.' 
 'Taint much to do. Jes' lounge aroun' 
 To hear what's goin' on in town. 
 And see what fellers come and go ; 
 And then you write it up, you know, 
 
 And give it in." 
 
 "If Oi was young agin," said Mike, 
 "Oi know the business oi 'ud sthrike; — 
 
 That's Lecthurin.' 
 Why, its jest the asiest thing, you know. 
 To Stan' up 'fore a crowd and blow. 
 And tell a lot of funny jokes 
 You've read in Almanacs and books. 
 
 That's lecthurin'. 
 20 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "If Oi'd my life to start again, 
 Oi'Il tell you that's what Oi'd a been; 
 
 As sure as sin. 
 Oi'd write my name upon the sthars, 
 An' git to ride upon the cars. 
 'Twould be the asiest thing Oi know 
 To travel 'round the earth and blow. 
 
 Jest loafin' round an' lecthurin'.' 
 
 21 
 
®I}f Nigljt Wifm i-anta iteii 
 
 'Twas Christmas eve, and I had longed 
 
 For that fond day to come, 
 And bring me toys and nuts and games — 
 
 A sled, a book, a drum; 
 For I had written Santa Claus 
 
 A letter full of love. 
 And poured out every secret thought, 
 
 As sfuileless as a dove. 
 
 He never yet had failed to grant 
 
 The slightest wish expressed; 
 And oh, how I had cherished him 
 
 Within my little breast. 
 I knew that he would come that night. 
 
 As he had come before. 
 And bring me everything I asked. 
 
 And doubtless many more. 
 
 No sooner was the supper done. 
 
 Than I crept up to bed, 
 And nestled closely by the side 
 
 Of my big brother, Ned : 
 And listened for the hoof beats 
 
 As the reindeers hastened by. 
 And for the jingling of the bells 
 
 As Santa Claus drew nigh. 
 22 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 I was six, and Ned was ten, 
 
 But he had wiser grown; 
 For long ago, from out his brain, 
 
 That phantasy had flown. 
 He could not leave to me the myth 
 
 That made my life so briglit, 
 With boyish glee, he broke the spell. 
 
 On that December night. 
 
 "There ain't no Santa Claus," said Ned, 
 
 "You foolish little dunce; 
 There ain't no reindeers and such things ; 
 
 I used to think so once. 
 It's only pa and ma who buy 
 
 Those toys for you and me. 
 They wait until we go to bed, 
 
 And hang them on the tree." 
 
 Then springing up. he grasped my arm 
 
 And dragged me to the stair 
 Where we could see the room below 
 
 And all that happened there. 
 "Don't make a noise," he whispered low, 
 
 "And by and by you'll see 
 Who brings the toys and hangs them up, 
 
 And makes the Christmas tree." 
 
 Then long we sat and watched the feet 
 
 That hurried to and fro; 
 But what I saw I need not tell. 
 
 You older folks all know; 
 And for the world I would not teach 
 
 These precious girls and boys 
 The bitter lesson that I learned 
 
 About those Christmas toys. 
 23 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 I tasted the forbidden fruit, 
 
 Learned thing's no child should know, 
 About that dear old Santa Claus 
 
 Which I had cherished so. 
 The fondest fancy of my youth, 
 
 Took wing and swifty fled ; 
 The idol of my heart was gone — 
 
 Dear Santa Claus w^as dead. 
 
 An awful lump came in my throat 
 
 And I began to cry ; 
 It was a dreadful thought to me 
 
 That Santa Claus must die. 
 With quivering lip and broken heart, 
 
 I crept back to my bed, 
 And cried and sobbed the whole night throug'h 
 
 'Cause Santa Claus was dead. 
 
 It mattered not that I did love 
 
 My parents very dear ; 
 They could not take old Santa's place 
 
 Within that sacred sphere 
 Where he had reigned in my fond heart 
 
 O'er a kingdom all his own ; 
 They had their kingdom, he had his ; 
 
 And each a separate throne. 
 
 Next day the sun rose clear and bright. 
 
 And all the world seemed glad; 
 But though I had full many toys. 
 
 My heart was very sad ; 
 And as the years have come and gone, 
 
 At every Christmas tide, 
 My eyes grow moist as I recall 
 
 That night when Santa died. 
 24 
 
^^rfatug tl|^ Writ 
 
 She was a widow, graceful, young. 
 
 And oh, so very neat, 
 With swan-like neck and rosy lips. 
 
 And dainty little feet. 
 An attachment issued from the court — 
 
 She'd failed to pay her rent — 
 And to her lodgings, with the writ, 
 
 The constable was sent. 
 
 The constable — ^like all his ilk — 
 
 Was a man of tender heart ; 
 Who strove as gently as he could 
 
 His business to impart. 
 He bowed and stammered: "Madam, dear, 
 
 An attachment I've for you; 
 It grieves me sore to tell you so, • 
 
 But ne'er the less 'tis true." 
 
 "Pray do not grieve." the widow cried, 
 
 " 'Tis very fortunate; 
 For this same passion you avow 
 
 I do reciprocate!" 
 "But, madam, dear," he stammered forth, 
 
 "You do not understand ; 
 You must proceed to court forthwith. 
 
 For such is the command." 
 25 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "But. my dear sir, I much prefer 
 
 That you would take the lead, 
 For women are so very shy, 
 
 Oh, yes, they are, indeed. 
 I will be frank; I'll not refuse 
 
 If you the courting do, 
 But, pray, do not exact from me 
 
 The part which falls to you." 
 
 Amazement sat upon his brow, 
 
 He gasped to catch his breath; 
 And never will he paler grow, 
 
 E'en in the hour of death. 
 "Dear madam, you mistake my words, 
 
 This paper will explain. 
 You must, forthwith, accompany me 
 
 To Squire David Blaine." 
 
 She threw her arms about his neck, 
 
 And seemed almost to faint, 
 And on the collar of his coat 
 
 Left copious streaks of paint ; 
 And clinging there, like ivy vine 
 
 About the sturdy oak, 
 'Twas full a moment ere again 
 
 Her voice the silence broke. 
 
 "How could you be so very bold 
 
 As to engage the Squire, 
 And even get the license, too, 
 
 Without knowing my desire?" 
 With giant strength, he tore away 
 
 And ran like a gazelle, 
 And swore he'd never serve that writ, 
 
 No matter what befell. 
 26 
 
Slja IClnniiik^ 
 
 The Klondike is a far-famed land, 
 With viens of gold on every hand 
 For him who hath the billows crossed 
 And braved the blasts and biting frosts, 
 And climbed the mountains, bleak and cold, 
 .To dig and delve for shining gold, 
 That's hid beneath eternal snow. 
 Where howlinsr winds forever blow. 
 
 't) 
 
 But only they who stem the tide, 
 And scale the rugged mountain side. 
 And thread the treacherous Chilkoot pass- 
 And scores have perished there, alas — 
 Or shoot the rapids, swift and steep, 
 And toil through gorges, wild and deep. 
 May hope the glittering dust to hoard. 
 And win. at last, the rich reward. 
 
 So all the treasures of this life 
 Are won by toil, and pain, and strife. 
 Each glittering goal which mortals prize. 
 Beyond some rugged mountain lies. 
 Who will not climb with patient care, 
 The victor's wreath can never wear. 
 This side the mount of bitter strife 
 There are no trophies in this life. 
 27 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 There is no road to true success 
 But hath its gorge and Chilkoot pass. 
 If fame or fortune thou wouldst gain, 
 Apply thy heart, and hand, and brain ; 
 If, haply, wisdom be thy goal. 
 Then thou must sweat in mind and soul. 
 Trust not to chance; she hath no prize 
 That's worthy of the great and wise. 
 
 He who didst shape this goodly sphere 
 And place poor, struggling mortals here, 
 Hid choicest gems in deepest sea. 
 Veiled wisdom's pearls in mystery; 
 Hid veins of gold in barren lands, 
 And diamonds rare 'neath burning sands. 
 That they who would these treasures hoard 
 Must toil and sweat for their reward. 
 
 Thy Klondike may lie near at hand, 
 Close by thy side, in thine own land ; 
 Yet must thou delve with patient care. 
 If thou the jeweled crown wouldst wear. 
 Think not to pluck life's choicest rose 
 And shun the thorn which round it grows. 
 To him success must be denied, 
 Who will not scale the mountain side. 
 
 28 
 
JamU 
 
 Once, at twilight hour. I rambled 
 
 Far beyond the city gates, 
 In the rural haunts and byways, 
 
 Where the doves coo to their mates ; 
 And I spied an old man sitting 
 
 'Neath a weeping willow tree. 
 With a marble slab beside it 
 
 Bearing one brief word — "Jamie." 
 
 Much I marveled at the white hairs 
 
 Hid in this sequestered place, 
 And I saw deep lines of sorrow 
 
 Written in the aged face. 
 I would not disturb his musings, 
 
 So I turned to walk away; 
 But the old man, glancing upward. 
 
 Kindly beckoned me to stay. 
 
 "You will not disturb the sleeper," 
 
 Said the old man. with a sigh, 
 " 'Tis my boy who lies here slumbering 
 
 Underneath the clear blue sky." 
 Then I took a seat beside him, 
 
 While he told the tale to me 
 Of his Jamie who lies sleeping 
 
 'Neath the weeping willow tree. 
 29 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "Jamie was uncommon cur'ous 
 
 Alius wantin' to be rich, 
 Alius talkin' 'bout fine houses 
 
 He was goin' to own, and sich. 
 When he was the merest youngster, 
 
 Scarcely more than five year old, 
 He went a chasin' after rainbows 
 
 Huntin' for the pot of gold. 
 
 "Never seemed to like the country. 
 
 Strangest one of all the boys, 
 Alius pinin' for the city 
 
 With its bustle and its noise. 
 Never seemed to hear the song birds, 
 
 Never cared for running brooks. 
 Never loved the smell of clover; 
 
 But was rather fond of books. 
 
 "Alius pourin' over figgers 
 
 Like he owned a bank or two, 
 And there warn't no kind of problem 
 
 That our Jamie couldn't do, 
 Said he'd need to know bookkeepin' 
 
 When he got up into town, 
 So that when he'd made a mi'dion 
 
 He'd know how to set it down. 
 
 "Well, he went, we couldn't keep him, 
 
 Went and left his ma and me; 
 Went away into the city — 
 
 A sin-cursed city by the sea. 
 Went and joined the teemin' thousands, 
 
 Crowdin', jostlin', young and old, 
 Went to chase the gilded rainbow 
 
 Huntin' for the pot of gold, 
 30 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "Long we waited for a letter 
 
 Or a line from Jamie dear, 
 But there came no word or token 
 
 Our drooping, aching hearts to cheer; 
 For he was uncommon haughty, 
 
 With a spirit proud and cold, 
 Which prevented him from writin' 
 
 Till he'd find the pot of gold. 
 
 "But one day there came a message 
 
 From a stranger, brief and sad, 
 Telling that our boy was dvin' 
 
 And it well nigh drove me mad. 
 Then I hastened to the city, 
 
 Climbed a staircase, old and steep; 
 But our Jamie had departed, 
 
 He was sleepin' death's long sleep. 
 
 "Stranger hands had closed his eyelids, 
 
 Stranger lips the story told. 
 How he strove with restless longin' 
 
 Mid summer's heat and winter's co'd, 
 Ever seekin', but ne'er findin' 
 
 That elusive pot of gold. 
 Spending all his manly vigor 
 
 Searchin' for the pot of gold. 
 
 "But at last, his proud heart broken. 
 
 He faltered, staggered in the race, 
 His spirits drooped his strong limbs trembled 
 
 He gave o'er the hopeless chase. 
 With brain o'erwrought and nerves all 
 tinglin' 
 
 With hair turned prematurely gray, 
 Like warrior on the field of battle, 
 
 O'ercome, he perished in the fray. 
 31 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "In his last half-conscious moments 
 
 His mind seemed wanderin' as in dreams; 
 He smelled once more the scent of clover, 
 
 Caught the music of the streams, 
 He heard the warble of the songbirds 
 
 As they built their nests in May, 
 Roamed once more the rollin' meadows, 
 
 Perfumed by the new-mown hay. 
 
 "And he longed for the old homestead, 
 
 Whence his errin' feet had strayed, 
 Pined for haunts and rustic bowers 
 
 Where in childhood he had played, 
 Chasin' butterfly and linnet, 
 
 Gatherin' wreaths of pretty flowers, 
 Knowin' not a care or sorrow, 
 
 Spending only happy hours. 
 
 "And he bade the nurse come near him, 
 
 And with falterin' accents said : 
 'When my father comes to find me, 
 
 ril be numbered with the dead ; 
 Tell him my last thought in dyin' 
 
 Was of home and loved ones there, 
 Where I spent youth's golden hours. 
 
 When my life was free from care. 
 
 "Tell him that my last request is 
 
 That my weary bones may rest 
 'Neath the willow, on the hillside, 
 
 Where my youthful feet have pressed 
 Every blade of grass that struggles 
 
 Up toward the morning light ; 
 There, alone, let me be buried, 
 
 When this spirit takes its flight." 
 32 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 ^'And he rests here on this hillside, 
 
 'Neath the weepin' willow's shade, 
 In the spot he loved in childhood, 
 
 Where his youthful feet have played ; 
 And I often come at nig'htfall 
 
 When the grass is wet with dew, 
 And I fancy Jamie's spirit 
 
 Sometimes comes and lingers, too." 
 
 Then I saw the tears that glistened 
 
 Dimly in the father's eye, 
 And I thanked him for the story. 
 
 And I left him with a sigh; 
 But when I had reached the summit 
 
 Of the hill, one glance I gave. 
 And I saw his white hair bending 
 
 Tenderly o'er Jamie's grave. 
 
 33 
 
I'm blest with health and sweet content, 
 And gold enough to pay my rent 
 
 And other bills as they fall due ; 
 But the choicest blessing lately sent 
 To fill my life with sweet content, 
 
 Is a little midge with eyes of blue. 
 
 I love the sunshine and the showers. 
 I love to sit 'neath shady bowers, 
 
 I love the sparkling mountain dew ; 
 I love sweet birdlings in their nest ; 
 But more than these, I love the best 
 
 My litt'e girl with eyes of blue. 
 
 Full oft' her prattle and her smiles 
 From cark and care my heart beguiles ; 
 
 So innocent, so pure and true; 
 Whate'er the ills of life may be. 
 She is a constant joy to me, 
 
 This little elf with eyes of blue. 
 
 But had she orbs of other hue. 
 E'en though her heart were just as true. 
 She had not been one-half so dear. 
 She had not seemed one-half so near; 
 For — a secret I'll confide to you — 
 Her mamma, too, hath eyes of blue. 
 34 
 
Mt nnh Sim 
 
 Me and Jim were boys together, 
 
 Grew to manhood' side by side; 
 Alius liked him like a brother — 
 
 Great big-hearted Jim McBride. 
 In the little, old red school house — 
 
 Seats wxre wide enough for two — 
 Me and Jim would sit together 
 
 And do the sums we had to do. 
 
 We were ever boon companions, 
 
 Reg'lar cronies, as they say; 
 Findin' one was findin' 'tother 
 
 Almost any time of day. 
 'Tended spellin' schools together, 
 
 Huskin' bees, and like o' that, 
 Till the folks know'd one was comin' 
 
 When they'd see the other's hat. 
 
 I was alius rash, impulsive, 
 
 Jim was rather sort o' slow ; 
 But he got thar' sure and sartin 
 
 When he once resolved to go. 
 'Twixt us grew a bond of friendship 
 
 Like that mystic thread of gold 
 Which bound Jonathan to David 
 
 In the story sweet and old. 
 35 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 When we budded into manhood 
 
 Many wild tales filed our breast 
 Of the golden El Doradoes 
 
 In the mountains of the west. 
 And we came to seek our fortunes. 
 
 Knowin' well that many score 
 Perished in the wild endeavor 
 
 E'er they found the precious ore. 
 
 Long we digged and planned together, 
 
 Smiled at hardships, toil and pain ; 
 But one day we struck it lucky. 
 
 For we found a payin' vein. 
 And the gold poured in our coffers 
 
 (Till my cup of joy o'erflowed; 
 But I noticed Jim grew silent 
 
 Like he bore a heavy load. 
 
 Round the mining camp, at nightfall, 
 
 As we took our evenin' smoke, 
 Jim sat grave and melancholy. 
 
 Seldom smiled and seldom spoke. 
 I was pained, and often wondered 
 
 Why this sudden change in him, 
 For when we were poor and strugglin' 
 
 He was quite another Jim. 
 
 Way back thar' where we had come from 
 
 Was a gal I used to know ; 
 And I courted her a little — 
 
 Jim had sometimes been her beau — 
 Just a gal with big red roses 
 
 Stickin' out upon her cheek. 
 And a pair of lips like rubies 
 
 When she parted them to speak, 
 36 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 I had never tried to win her; 
 
 For a bird without a nest 
 Must grow weary when the glamor 
 
 Of the sun sinks in the west. 
 But since I had made a million 
 
 And could buy a gilded cage. 
 I was minded for to write her 
 
 If I might her hand engage. 
 
 So, one night, when we were sittin', 
 
 Me and Jim, around the fire, 
 Thinkin' it might rouse his spirits 
 
 If he knew my heart's desire, 
 I resolved to tell the story 
 
 Of my secret love for Kate, 
 And to ask for his opinion 
 
 E'er I wrote to learn my fate. 
 
 So I gently broke the story, 
 
 Told him how, long years ago, 
 It had made my pulses quicken 
 
 Just to see her cheeks^ red glow. 
 God forgive the wound I gave him, 
 
 For I pierced his bleeding heart ; 
 Struck him. as it were, from ambush 
 
 With a deadly, poisoned dart. 
 
 How should I have known he loved her- 
 
 Open-hearted, honest Jim; 
 He had kept his secret from me 
 
 Just as I kept mine from him. 
 But one glance revealed his anguish. 
 
 And one smothered, stifled groan 
 Told me that Jim's love for Katie 
 
 Was a thousand times my own. 
 37 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "Come old pard,'' I cried, "forgive me ; 
 
 I relinquish every claim ! 
 Write at once, or go and tell her" — 
 
 But a quiver of his frame 
 Spoke of something- mute, mysterious, 
 
 Hidden deeply in his soul 
 Like the ghost of hopes departed ; 
 
 Dark despair beyond control. 
 
 When he spoke, his voice was husky, 
 
 Beads of sweat stood, on his brow 
 As he told me how he'd loved her 
 
 Prom his youth ; but dare not vow 
 Till the day we struck the pay dirt. 
 
 When he laid his bosom bare 
 Telling of his love and fortune. 
 
 Begging- her his lot to share. 
 
 Then he handed me a letter, 
 
 Just received the day before ; 
 It was written by Kate's mother, 
 
 And a message sad it bore, 
 Kate was dead ; had died in autumn. 
 
 Drooped and died, she knew not why ; 
 But Jim's name was often uttered 
 
 In her last days with a sigh. 
 
 Not a word my tongue could falter ; 
 
 I seized his hand and held it tight, 
 Till with face all horror-haunted. 
 
 He turned and went out in the night ; 
 Struck the trail that zigzagged upward 
 
 To the very mountain crest 
 Where the feet of none but daring 
 
 Ever climbed or ever pressed. 
 38 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Long I watched him in the moonlight 
 
 Toilin' up the rugged steep, 
 On the verge of crags and pitfalls 
 
 And abysses, yawning deep. 
 Till he reached the very summit, 
 
 'Towerin' up against the sky, 
 Where the spirit of his loved one, 
 
 Bending low, might catch his sigh. 
 
 There, beneath the stars of heaven. 
 
 He wrestled with his grief alone; 
 Where the stillness was unbroken 
 
 Save by plaintive night wind's moan, 
 But we found him on the morrow 
 
 Half way down the mountain side 
 Where one fatal misstep hurled him — 
 
 He had crossed the Great Divide. 
 
 And we laid him in the valley 
 
 Where the flowers bloom in spring, 
 And the brook winds toward the river. 
 
 And the summer songbirds sing. 
 Only one request I proffer — 
 
 Lay me down beside of him, 
 So that when the trumpet's sounded, 
 
 Findin' me will be findin' Jim. 
 
 39 
 
i0U*t Qlrg IGittb log 
 
 Don't cry, little boy, 'cause you can't get your 
 "sum," 
 
 But dig and dig and try. 
 The problems of life will presently come. 
 
 And you'll be too big to cry. 
 I know your lessons are very hard, 
 
 For I have been over the road ; 
 And man}^ a time, when I got my card. 
 
 My heart was a heavy load. 
 
 I know what a bore these dull books are 
 
 When you want to run and play ; 
 But come, don't cry, it is better far 
 
 To wipe those tears away. 
 They will only make your eyeballs smart 
 
 And your brain grow duller still ; 
 Now smil'C, my lad. and again take heart, 
 
 And get to work with a will. 
 
 If you say: "I can't,'' and give it up. 
 
 And blind your eyes with tears. 
 You will only add to the bitter cup 
 
 To be drunk in after years; 
 For the habits which you are forming now 
 
 Will cause you to win or fail. 
 When you stand at last in the storm of life 
 
 And strive to stem the gale. 
 40 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 There! — that's a man — now I see the smile 
 
 Which makes your face so bright. 
 I knew it would come in a little while 
 
 And help you to win the fight. 
 Be careful now — go a little slow, 
 
 And you'll succeed at last. 
 It isn't so much that you don't know 
 
 As because you go too fast. 
 
 There! — add that sum — and carry one — 
 
 And don't forget the rule. 
 First thing you know you will have it done — 
 
 The happiest boy in school. 
 That's right — subtract. Yes ; now divide. 
 
 See — you are almost through. 
 How long do you think you would have cried 
 
 Before it would have come to you ? 
 
 Now run and play and dry your tears ; 
 
 That broad smile pulled you through. 
 And remember this in coming years, 
 
 When you have a "sum to do ;" 
 Whatever the ills and trials of life. 
 
 It's better to laugh than to cry, 
 If you would win in the bitter strife, 
 
 Then smile and dig and try. 
 
 41 
 
(HIjp Mortal Mljirl 
 
 Dan O'Rorick was a "driller," 
 
 Knew just how to guide the rope; 
 Young and handsome, always happy, 
 
 Full of life and full of hope. 
 He had drilled in Pennsylvania, 
 
 In Ohio, Kansas too, 
 Studied every rock formation 
 
 Where the oil comes seeping through. 
 
 All the boys were fond of Danny, 
 
 For his heart was on his sleeve, 
 And his hand was ever open. 
 
 Always ready to relieve. 
 Not a "driller" nor a "dresser," 
 
 Nor a "roustabout" but knew 
 Dan O'Rorick. "Happy Danny," 
 
 As they sometimes called him, too. 
 
 Now O'Rorick loved a maiden. 
 
 Very sweet and very fair. 
 Only daughter of a banker — 
 
 Only child and only heir. 
 How to win her was the problem 
 
 Which he pondered night and day. 
 Ever mindful of the maxim : 
 
 "Where one wills there is a way." 
 42 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 He was conscious that between them 
 
 Yawned a gulf that must be spanned- 
 That wide gulf of "social standing" — 
 
 If he hoped to win her hand. 
 And he knew the only standard 
 
 By which social worth is tried 
 Is the standard of the dollar, 
 
 Which outweighs all else beside. 
 
 For the difference 'twixt the driller, 
 
 Or the man of humblest toil, 
 And the magnate with his millions 
 
 Or his pools of putrid oil, 
 Is the difference in the column 
 
 On the ledger at the bank. 
 Where the one has many figures, 
 
 And the other has a blank. 
 
 Danny's love was pure and fervent, 
 
 As he worshipped her afar. 
 For she seemed as distant from him 
 
 As the fartherest twinkling star; 
 But his mind kept ever scheming 
 
 As he watched the drill descend, 
 And he had a faith abiding 
 
 That he'd win her in the end. 
 
 How or why he could not answer, 
 
 But some secret voice within 
 Seemed to tell 'him to be patient 
 
 And that, by and by, he'd win. 
 It was at the twilight hour 
 
 Of a balmy day in June. 
 Danny came to take his "tower" 
 
 Whistling snatches of a tune. 
 43 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Straight across his path, a rabbit 
 
 Boiinded like a streak of light 
 "A good omen" whispered Danny, 
 
 "Luck will come to me tonight." 
 They were drilling on a "wildcat" 
 
 And were deep down in the "sand." 
 And the restless operator 
 
 Had come out to lend a hand. 
 
 "What's the prospect?" shouted Danny 
 
 With his usual cheery tone; 
 "There's no prospect" came the answer 
 
 "She's as dry as any bone. 
 We will rig her up tomorrow 
 
 And we'll pull the casing out ; 
 I have dropped two thousand dollars 
 
 In her now. or thereabout." 
 
 Danny's keen eye scanned the "drillings 
 
 And the nature of the "sand ;" 
 And he quickly squeezed a portion 
 
 'Twixt the fingers of his hand. 
 Now O'Rorick knew the "pay dirt" 
 
 As a mother knows her child. 
 And the boys who stood about him 
 
 Noted well how Danny smiled. 
 
 "What will buy this hole?" he cjueried. 
 
 And he laughed as if in jest; 
 But the wily operator 
 
 More than half 'his meaning guessed. 
 "If you'll make a well, O'Rorick, 
 
 Out of this old powder-flask, 
 I will give you half the profits 
 
 For the doing of the task. 
 44 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "For I've got a thousand acres 
 
 Which are hanging in the scales 
 And depending for their value 
 
 On whether this one wins or fails; 
 All the leases will expire 
 
 In a week unless I pay 
 A big bonus to extend them^ — 
 
 Which I would not do today." 
 
 "Send the drill down to the bottom," 
 
 Cried O'Rorick. "spud away, 
 And you'll see the fluid flowing 
 
 E'er the dawning of the day. 
 All you boys will please remember, 
 
 You have heard the bargain fair," 
 "And I'll keep it," said the other. 
 
 "I do business on the square." 
 
 Long before the midnight hour 
 
 Oil was boiling from below 
 vSpurting out above the derrick, 
 
 In a mighty spiral flow ; 
 Day by day it kept on flowing. 
 
 Till the ledger at the bank 
 Showed that Damiy was entitled 
 
 To the foremost social rank. 
 
 Tlius he bridged the yawning chasm 
 
 Won the lovely maiden's hand ; 
 And they live among the bon ton 
 
 In a stately palace grand. 
 He's the lion of the hour 
 
 And he leads the social whirl ; 
 For it's "money makes the mare go." 
 
 And it's money gets the girl. 
 45 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 MORAL 
 
 But my ta'e is not yet finished, 
 
 There's a moral at the end ; 
 If you heed it, it may sometime 
 
 Be of use to you, my friend — 
 Learn your business so completely 
 
 That one glance will e'er suffice 
 To reveal to you the "pay dirt." 
 
 For you'll seldom strike it twice; 
 And unless you strike it sometime, 
 
 You'll ne'er lead the social whirl ; 
 For it's "money makes the mare go," 
 
 And it's money gets the girl. 
 
 46 
 
I've been sitting in the shadclers 
 
 Thinkin' ot the days gone by ; 
 Thinkin' things that make me happy, 
 
 Thinkin' things that make me sigh ; 
 For it's been a windin' pathway, 
 
 Sometimes thorns and sometimes flowers; 
 Stretchin' now across the desert, 
 
 Then again 'neath shady bowers. 
 
 Since the journey's well nigh ended, 
 
 'Tis a pleasure now and then 
 Just to sit down in the shadders 
 
 And retrace my steps again. 
 Here I find a ramblin' by-path 
 
 Where I wandered from the way; 
 There I find a thorny thicket 
 
 Where I let my footsteps stray. 
 
 For I've been an errin' mortal 
 
 With the frailties of the race ; 
 Sometimes stumblin', sometimes stayin' 
 
 And in need of savin' grace ; 
 Only one redeemin' virtue — 
 
 When I've lost the beaten track, 
 'Stead er driftin' farther from it, 
 
 I have alius wandered back. 
 47 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 But tonight I'm thinkin' mostly 
 
 Of the one who walked beside. 
 And with counsel sweet and gentle 
 
 Cheered me when my soul was tried. 
 When the way grew dark and dreary, 
 
 Stretchin' outward into night, 
 She so hopeful and so trustful, 
 
 Alius first to see the light. 
 
 When she was a blue-eyed maiden, 
 
 Guileless as a cooin' dove. 
 First I met her and I wooed her, 
 
 Arid I won her heart of love. 
 Two score years we trudged together 
 
 Mid the sunshine and the shower ; 
 And the web of gold that bound us 
 
 Strengthened with each passing hour. 
 
 Gathered round yon blazin' hearthstone 
 
 Day by day our children grew 
 Till, like birdlings from the home nest, 
 
 All our fledgelings outward flew. 
 
 Of this life and stole away. 
 And she's waitin' at the portals. 
 
 There to welcome me some day. 
 One sweet cherub slipped the leashes 
 
 'Twas the last by heaven sent us, 
 
 With her mother's golden hair; 
 When we laid her 'neath the cypress 
 
 The mother heart was buried there. 
 Then she quickly drooped and faded 
 
 And the angels called her home ; 
 She. too, sleeps beneath the cypress 
 
 Where the night-winds kiss her tomb. 
 48 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Often when the shades are fallin' 
 
 As the sunbeams fade away, 
 I can feel her saintly presence 
 
 At the closin' of the day. 
 Angel wings oft bear her spirit 
 
 From that dim and distant shore, 
 And it keeps its silent vigils 
 
 As it did in days of yore. 
 
 I am waitin' for the summons 
 
 To lie down to peaceful rest, 
 'Neath the branches of the cypress. 
 
 On the green earth's mother breast. 
 I've been sittin' in the shadders, 
 
 And I love the darksome gloom ; 
 For it speaks of her who's sleepin' 
 
 Yonder in the silent tomb. 
 
 49 
 
Daniel Hard was on the jury, 
 
 Called in as a talisman 
 Just to try one single lawsuit — 
 
 Morrison against LeVan. 
 He had made excuses many. 
 
 For 'twas but two days, 'twas said, 
 By the idle tongue of gossip. 
 
 When young Daniel would be wed. 
 
 And the bride lived at the distance 
 
 Of a hundred miles or more 
 Which the groom would have to travel 
 
 On the afternoon before. 
 This one reason of all others 
 
 Daniel did not deign to tell ; 
 But the court and trial lawyers. 
 
 Through Dame Rumor, knew it well. 
 
 " 'Tis a short case," said His Honor, 
 
 "We can finish it today," 
 Adding, as his grey eyes twinkled. 
 
 "You'll have time to get away.'' 
 Then a ripple of amusement 
 
 Ran around within the rail. 
 E'en the goddess with the bandage 
 
 Seemed to smile and tilt the scale. 
 50 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 For of all the arrows wafted, 
 
 Those bright-tipped with human love 
 Are most witching and bewitching, 
 
 Gliding like the white-winged dove. 
 Not a court so grave and sombre, 
 
 Not a festive throng, I trow, 
 But will pause for one brief moment 
 
 While Cupid draws his silver bow. 
 
 Now it is a fact notorious 
 
 That no human tongue can tell 
 Where a jury case will drift to — 
 
 Lick the stars, or down to — well, 
 This one took a sudden aspect. 
 
 So that when the sun was set, 
 Witnesses were testifying 
 
 On behalf of plaintiff yet. 
 
 Up and down the spinal column. 
 
 Of poor Daniel, nervous chills 
 Chased each other like the waters 
 
 Of the rippling mountain rills, 
 As the shades of darkness gathered, 
 
 And the hours slipped away, 
 Promising that this "brief trial" 
 
 Would consume another day. 
 
 But the milk of human kindness 
 
 Flowed within the judge's breast. 
 And to help despairing Daniel 
 
 He resolved to do his best. 
 "We will recess for one hour 
 
 And come back again tonight. 
 And we'll finish up this trial 
 
 If it takes till morning light." 
 51 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Then a thrill of joy struck Daniel; 
 
 But the lawyers stood amazed 
 At an order so unheard of ; 
 
 For an instant they were dazed. 
 All night long, like some huge monster. 
 
 Did that jury trial creep 
 With the court and bailiff nodding, 
 
 And the jury half asleep. 
 
 When the morning light was breaking 
 
 And the birds sang in the trees. 
 The attorney for the plaintiff 
 
 Asked the bailiff if he'd please 
 Rouse the court and wake the jury; 
 
 For the evidence was in, 
 And the argument of counsel 
 
 Was now ready to begin. 
 
 But the clock up in the steeple 
 
 Struck the hour of 2 p. m. 
 E'er the judge informed the jury 
 
 That the case was up to them. 
 Hard was in a raging fever. 
 
 Burning up from top to toe, 
 For 'twas only sixty minutes 
 
 Till his train was due to go. 
 
 In his mind he saw the gathering 
 
 Of the guests, in gay attire^ 
 And the look of blank amazement 
 
 When the message came by wire 
 That he'd missed the train ; and wondered 
 
 If his bride would set him down 
 As a scoundrel, or a villain. 
 
 Or a sort of circus clown. 
 52 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 He had but one sing-le hope left ; — 
 
 That the jury would agree; 
 But that hope was quickly banished, 
 
 For the vote stood nine to three. 
 "Say, confound it, give it to him," 
 
 Daniel cried, in wild despair, 
 "Give the plaintiff every dollar, 
 
 "If you want to, I don't care. 
 
 "You three mullet heads were sleeping 
 
 Or you'd know as well as we 
 That he shouldn't have a dollar ; 
 
 But be quick, let's all agree. 
 And I'll draw my check and pay it; 
 
 Foreman, sign it up. I say, 
 Call the bailiff in this minute, 
 
 For I've got to get azvay!" 
 
 But the three, who knew the secret, 
 
 And had voted thus in sport. 
 Laughed outright and changed their ballots 
 
 And the jury made report. 
 Daniel, waiting not to hear it, 
 
 Dashed out. reckless of contempt ; 
 And the judge declared that, henceforth. 
 
 Bridegrooms should be held exempt. 
 
 53 
 
There's a mighty sight of difference 
 
 In the kind of folks you meet, 
 For some are just Hke sauerkraut. 
 
 And some are always sweet. 
 Some push ahead and blaze away 
 
 And leave the beaten track, 
 While others just sit round and growl 
 
 And try to pu!l them back. 
 They never move a wheel themselves 
 
 And if they had their way 
 They'd push the whole race in the ditch. 
 
 And turn it back to clay. 
 
 Some-picket-headed fellow with 
 
 A thimbleful of brains, 
 Who scarcely has the common sense 
 
 To come in when it rains. 
 Or. maybe, some great chunk of fat. 
 
 With a neck a yard across, 
 Who isn't fit to feed to whales 
 
 Or make a section boss. 
 Will sit around and grumble, and 
 
 Complain of those who c'imb. 
 And his little weazened soul just throbs 
 
 With envy all the time. 
 54 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 The chap who hasn't brains enough 
 
 To run a peanut stand 
 And keep it out of bankruptcy, 
 
 Or from the sheriff's hand, 
 Will growl about the merchant who 
 
 Does business 'cross the way, 
 And sells more goods in one short hour 
 
 Than he'd sell all the day. 
 He knows he's on the very brink 
 
 Of ruin — "got it straight — 
 And if you don't believe it, why. 
 
 Just watch a while, and wait." 
 
 The mossback with a garden spot 
 
 That's all grown up to weeds, 
 Whose farm looks like a wilderness 
 
 Sown down to thistle seeds, 
 VVill sit around the kitchen stove 
 
 In the balmy days of spring. 
 And stretch out underneath the shade 
 
 When the summer song birds sing. 
 And gaze with green-eyed envy at 
 
 His neighbor's waving corn, 
 And growl about the unlucky star 
 
 Which ruled when he was born. 
 
 Old Cain, the first born son of man, 
 
 Was the father of the race 
 Of grumblers and of growlers, and 
 
 He set a rapid pace. 
 While Abel gathered in his flock? 
 
 And herded them with toil. 
 Old Cain just stood around and growler! 
 
 And let his crops all spoil. 
 Then brought some small potatoes, full 
 
 Of streaks and sprouted eyes, 
 And killed his brother Abel, 'cause 
 
 He failed to draw the prize. 
 
 55 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 That's been six thousand years or more ; 
 
 But you can always tell 
 Which side a man descended from 
 
 If you hear him talk a spell. 
 If you are climbing up the steep 
 
 Which leads to wealth or fame, 
 Be sure these busy little chaps 
 
 , Are toying with your name, 
 And shooting poisoned arrows from 
 
 The quiver of their souls, 
 And trying hard to bring you down 
 
 Or punch you full of holes. 
 
 To them this world is all a hoax ; 
 
 They seldom laugh or smile; 
 They feed alone on other's faults, 
 
 And their stomach's full of bile. 
 There's not a thing the Lord has made 
 
 Which they can't criticise; 
 There's too much twinkle in the stars, 
 
 And pale blue in the skies. 
 The rainbow tints are far too bright 
 
 For such a mournful clime. 
 And the music of the heavenly spheres 
 
 Is second-rate ragtime. 
 
 There are kickers in the business world 
 
 And kickers in the church ; 
 And every craft which steers their way 
 
 Is sure to get a lurch. 
 There are knockers in society. 
 
 And knockers in the ring; 
 There are grumblers in the caucus, and 
 
 They growl at everything. 
 But don't let them disturb your plans ; 
 
 Just pass them gently by ; 
 These sons of Cain are made that way — 
 
 They've got to kick or die ! 
 
 56 
 
Once an old and crippled veteran 
 
 Lay upon his dying bed — 
 Grim old warrior who on many a 
 
 Bloody battlefield had bled. 
 He had done his duty nobly 
 
 And was not afraid to die ; 
 He was conscious that his spirit 
 
 Would be wafted to the sky. 
 
 Weeping- friends were gathered round him, 
 
 For they knew the end was near ; 
 But with one heroic effort 
 
 And a voice still strong and clear, 
 He raised himself from off his pillow, 
 
 Called his son, a stalwart youth, 
 Fit descendant of a father 
 
 Who had battled for the truth. 
 
 "Come, my boy. and sit beside me. 
 
 Let no tear bedim your eye. 
 I have heard the trumpet sounding. 
 
 And my hour has come to die. 
 I have never failed to answer 
 
 When the bugle blast was blown. 
 And I'll calmly meet Death's Reaper, 
 
 Who has come to claim His own. 
 57 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "I have ever tried to teach you 
 
 How to live — nay, do not cry — 
 For the time has come to show you 
 
 How a veteran can die. 
 I have seen them fall by thousands, 
 
 Pouring- forth their blood like rain, 
 Going back to God who gave them, 
 
 From the hillside and the plain. 
 
 "I have seen death boldly stalking 
 
 In the thickest of the fray. 
 Hovering round me as if doubting 
 
 Whether he should strike or nay ; 
 Midst the shriek of shells I've often 
 
 Felt his damp breath on my brow 
 And I'd be an arrant coward 
 
 If I feared to face him now. 
 
 "I will be tonight with Lincoln, 
 
 And with Grant and Sherman, too; 
 Hancock, Sheridan and Logan, 
 
 Meade and Thomas, tried and true ; 
 And the gallant boys that answered 
 
 To the sound of fife and drum — 
 They are waiting over yonder, 
 
 And they beckon me to come. 
 
 "Weep not when you bear this body 
 
 To its final resting place — 
 I'll be yonder with my comrades 
 
 And I'll meet them face to face. 
 'Twill be grand to greet the thousands 
 
 Who went up from Shiloh's plain ; 
 From Cold Harbor, Chickamauga, 
 
 And to clasp their hands again. 
 58 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "And the boys from Lookout mountain, 
 
 Mission Ridge, and Kenesaw ; 
 Vicksburg. Gettysburg, Antietam, 
 
 Where the battle was a draw. 
 Those who marched with "Old Tecumseh'' 
 
 From A,tlanta to the sea. 
 Those who broke the charge of Pickett — 
 
 Ah, a gallant foe was he. 
 
 " 'Twill be grand to greet the sailors 
 
 Who went down beneath the wave 
 As they fought like very demons 
 
 Their dismembered land to save. 
 It will be one endless campfire, 
 
 Where my comrades all will tell 
 How they struggled in the conflict; 
 
 How they fought and how they fell. 
 
 " 'Ti:s not much of gold I leave you ; 
 
 For, while others hoarded gain, 
 We were standing picket duty 
 
 In the darkness and the rain ; 
 Or were facing loud-mouthed cannon. 
 
 Pouring forth their shot and shell ; 
 Giving all our manly vigor 
 
 To the cause we loved so well. 
 
 "When that bloody war was over 
 
 'Twas not much this shattered frame 
 Could accumulate in riches, 
 
 But I leave an honored name. 
 And I charge you to remember 
 
 Till your race of life is run, 
 Tb.at it is no empty honor 
 
 To be called a veteran's son. 
 59 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "Every drop of blood that courses 
 
 Through your veins will quicker flow 
 When you see "Old Glory" waving, 
 
 Or you hear the trumpet blow. 
 Let no deed of yours dishonor 
 
 This fair land I fought to save; 
 But remember that your sire 
 
 Sleeps within a patriot's grave. 
 
 "It may not be yours to follow 
 
 Fife and drum in bitter strife; 
 But you'll find some foes to conquer 
 
 As you tread the path of life; 
 And you'll hear the bugle sounding 
 
 Where some duty waits for you — 
 Falter not when duty calls you; 
 
 And, my boy, be true, be true." 
 
 Then the veteran's voice grew fainter 
 
 As he gasped with dying breath, 
 Faint, and feeble, and sepulchral. 
 
 Like an echo after death ; 
 "I bequeath these weapons to you; 
 
 Take my sword, and take my gun ; 
 Keep them; guard them; they are emblems 
 
 That you are a veteran's son." 
 
 And a halo shone around him 
 
 And his pallid face did glow 
 With a light almost celestial — 
 
 Like the heavens bended low — 
 As he pointed to the weapons 
 
 Hanging just above his head ; 
 Then he sank down on his pillow 
 
 And they whispered : "He is dead." 
 60 
 
When he was but a barefoot boy, 
 
 Content to roam o'er dale and hill, 
 Ambition came and sought him out 
 
 And made his pulses leap and thrill. 
 She whispered softly in his ear; 
 
 "Mount upward as on eagle's wings, 
 Leave vulgar, common things below. 
 
 Win fame — isit thou beside earth's kings." 
 
 She lingered long with witching words 
 
 His youthful bosom to inspire. 
 Until his burning thirst for fame 
 
 Became as fierce, consuming fire, 
 He nightly watched the tv/inkling stars. 
 
 Far up in heaven's imperial blue, 
 A.mbition whispering the while ; 
 
 "Mount tliou. my lad, and shine there too." 
 
 In dreamis he climbed Parnassus' height 
 
 And listened to the muses sing; 
 Or thrummed Apollo's golden harp 
 
 Beside the cool Castalian spring. 
 His face was ever toward the clouds, 
 
 He scorned the common things of earth; 
 His bosom heaved with great desires 
 
 To which ambition's voice gave birth. 
 61 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Whene'er he watched the eagle soar, 
 
 O'er mountain peak, with pinions spread, 
 He envied it, that he. unwinged, 
 
 The lowly paths of earth must tread. 
 As years went by, he sought in vain 
 
 Some avenue through which to leap 
 Above the heads of those who climb 
 
 By slow degrees, the rugged steep. 
 
 His energies were all consumed 
 
 In chasing that false phantom — fame. 
 He bartered honor, virtue, truth ; 
 
 But failed to win a brilliant name. 
 With broken heart he sank to rest 
 
 Beneath the sod which he had scorned. 
 Unwept, unhonored, and unknown. 
 
 His humble tombstone unadorned. 
 
 He learned, too late, that those who scorn 
 
 To tread the rugged paths of life 
 Au'l mingle with the common clay. 
 
 Enduring hardships in the strife, 
 Can never win the world's applause, 
 
 Can never carve an honored name; 
 In spurning these he thrust aside 
 
 The only avenue to fame. 
 
 Though some by chance, at one fell stroke. 
 
 May lift themselves above the tbrong. 
 Fame of such fragile fabric wrought 
 
 Is far too frail to linger long. 
 Enduring fame will never come 
 
 To him who seeks it as a prize; 
 But unto him who, seeking not. 
 
 By noble deeds is forced to rise. 
 62 
 
Aarnn QIalf 
 
 Tom Tomkins was a barrister 
 In a quiet country town ; 
 Though Httle learned in legal lore, 
 He had a great renown 
 For bluff and bluster ; and a voice 
 Deep-toned and full of fire — 
 A terror to all litigants 
 Before the village squire. 
 
 Jake Jimison, the village wag, 
 Scarce blest with common sense. 
 Was called to testify one day. 
 On behalf of the defense. 
 His evidence was strong and clear, 
 Against Tom Tomkins' side, 
 And made a breach within their wall, 
 Deep-cut an.j gaping wide. 
 
 No sooner was his story done, 
 Than Tomkins set about 
 To cross-examine Jimison 
 And turn him inside out. 
 'Twas current that poor Jimison 
 Scarce knew his father's name. 
 And Tomkins reveled in the thought 
 Of putting him to shame. 
 63 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "Now sir," quoth he, "you know so much. 
 
 Pray tell when you were born?" 
 
 And in his voice was irony, 
 
 Sharp-tinged with bitter scorn. 
 
 "Why, sir. they say," the answer came, 
 
 "'Twas thirty year ago; 
 
 I was too young- to recollect; 
 
 But I .suppose it's so." 
 
 "Oh, you 'suppose;' I thought as much; 
 
 And all you've said today, 
 
 lis just what you 'suppose' is true, 
 
 And other people say." 
 
 Then glancing 'round to meet the gaze 
 
 Of those who stood about, 
 
 He thought he'd scored a telling point 
 
 And put poor Jake to rout. 
 
 "Now, sir," cried Tomkins. fierce and loud, 
 
 "Just tell your father's name." 
 
 And shook his forefinger so hard 
 
 It shook his very frame. 
 
 "My father's name?" said simple Jake, 
 
 With a dull and stupid stare, 
 
 And with a hesitating drawl. 
 
 Exclaimed: "Well, I declare!" 
 
 "Out with it," cried the barrister. 
 With victory in his tone, 
 "You ought to know your father's name, 
 As well as you know your own. 
 The court knows his, and I know mine, 
 And you know yours, no doubt" — 
 "Who was your father, then?" asked Jake, 
 And drawled the question out; 
 64 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Then Tomkins' breast grew big with pride, 
 
 Glad that the stupid dunce 
 
 Had asked him such a question, and 
 
 He answered it at once; 
 
 "My father's name was Aaron, sir. 
 
 A, good old-fashioned name 
 
 Which never caused a child of his 
 
 To hang his head in shame." 
 
 Now Jake, though stupid and unlearned. 
 
 Had been to Sunday school 
 
 And heard the Bible stories oft 
 
 And learned the golden rule ; 
 
 Of Moses in the wilderness, 
 
 Of Aaron and his rod, 
 
 Who, with the golden image, had 
 
 Provoked the wrath of God. 
 
 "So Aaron was your father, eh ? 
 I'll swan, that's mighty queer; 
 I've often heard of Aaron's calf. 
 But never dreamed 'twas here." 
 Then roars of laughter rent tlie air. 
 And Aaron's bellowing calf 
 Just sat and glared with silent rage. 
 And let the people laugh. 
 
 65 
 
There is many a thorn that is hid secure 
 'Neath the folds of a lovely rose; 
 
 There is many a joy that nestles close 
 To the pangs of bitter woes. 
 
 There is many a stumbling istone that lies 
 
 Along the flowery path, 
 And often the veil is of gossamer 
 
 Which hangs between bliss and wrath. 
 
 The joys and. the sorrows of this old world 
 
 Lie so closely side by side 
 That only the deft and the vigilant 
 
 Can detect where they divide. 
 
 There's a dangerous path which lies so near 
 
 To the path of true success 
 That you scarce can tell where it breaks away 
 
 And leads to the wilderness. 
 
 Take heed when the note of warning sounds 
 
 Within your throbbing breast ; 
 It's muffled tones are the signal bells 
 
 That the danger line is pressed. 
 
 Beware of the pleasures which border close 
 
 Along the line of shame; 
 They will lead, at last, to deep remorse. 
 
 And bring you a tarnished name. 
 
 66 
 
Nokomo was a sachem bold, 
 
 Revered by all his race; 
 For none could draw so sure a bow, 
 
 None lead him in the chase. 
 His wigwam ever was supplied 
 
 With choicest furs and game; 
 No winged bird or agile beast 
 
 Could e're elude his aim. 
 
 One morn he went deep in the wood 
 
 With young Nomokochu 
 To teach him how to kill the game, 
 
 And be a huntsman too. 
 Whene'er the youth would draw the bow, 
 
 Nokomo standing by. 
 Would mutter in an undertone. 
 
 "Aim high, my lad, aim high.'' 
 
 The youth looked up in great surprise 
 
 And asked the reason why 
 He should not point straight at the mark 
 
 Instead of aiming high. 
 The sachem gave a guttural "ugh !" 
 
 And let an arrow fly 
 Which pierced the center of the mark ; 
 
 Then made this sage reply : 
 67 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "There's something in this under world 
 
 Which drags the arrow down, 
 And thiis is known in every tribe 
 
 By chieftains of renown. 
 The unskilled marksman knows it not, 
 
 And oft his bow is blamed 
 Because the arrow falls below 
 
 The point at which 'tis aimed. 
 
 "But I would have you skilled, my lad, 
 
 That you may take my place. 
 And be revered as I have been 
 
 By all our royal race. 
 This secret treasure in your heart; 
 
 Whene'er the game you spy, 
 Aim not directly at the mark, 
 
 But aim a little high. 
 
 "There's something in this nether worll, 
 
 I know not how or why. 
 That tugs at every single shaft 
 
 Which upward tries to fly. 
 Remember this when I am gone. — 
 
 When'er your skill you try, 
 O'ercome this tugging, downward pull 
 
 By aiming pretty high." 
 
 68 
 
A ICtlg for tlj^ ICtfatng 
 
 Yonder in a house of mourning 
 
 Lies a loved one cold in death. 
 Buried in a bed of roses 
 
 Almost stifling to the breath ; 
 Yonder in a cottage sitting 
 
 Lone and sad, with aching brow, 
 Is a life which would be lengthened 
 
 If one rose were given now. 
 
 Just across the way another 
 
 Whose oppressive, weary load 
 Would be lifted by a lily 
 
 If in love it were bestowed. 
 Over there a heart is breaking 
 
 Through neglect of those, to-day, 
 Who will smother it with roses 
 
 When this life has ebbed away. 
 
 All about us souls are fainting. 
 Sinking down in dark despair. 
 
 One lone wreath would lend them courage- 
 Just to show them that we care. 
 
 Half the flowers that are fading 
 On yon overloaded bier. 
 
 Scattered 'mongst the wan and wasting, 
 Would allay full many a tear. 
 69 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Not a petal for the living 
 
 While they struggle through the gloom; 
 All our garlands are in waiting. 
 
 Just to lay upon their tomb; 
 Tender words we might be speaking 
 
 While they draw this fleeting breath, 
 We are keeping them to whisper 
 
 In the dull, cold ear of death. 
 
 Lay your lilies on the coffin 
 
 E'er it sinks beneath the sod; 
 Though the clay is cold and pulseless 
 
 And its spirit with its God; 
 But reserve some velvet petals. 
 
 And some words of love and cheer. 
 For the living and the lonely. 
 
 While they toil and struggle here. 
 
 70 
 
I often play at hide and seek, 
 
 With baby Lou, now aged three. 
 
 Behind the doors and down the halls 
 I hunt for her — she hunts for me. 
 
 And through the house and round the chairs, 
 She leaps and laughs and bounds with glee, 
 
 And bric-a-brac just stands in awe 
 As I seek her, and she seeks me. 
 
 And when it comes my turn to hide, 
 I always stand where she can see ; 
 
 And straightway to the goal she runs 
 And pats it : "One — two — free for me." 
 
 But when it comes her turn to hide, 
 She climbs way up the winding stair. 
 
 And mamma helps to tuck her in — 
 She thinks I'll never find her there, 
 
 I listen. And I know just where 
 
 To find the roguish little tot ; 
 But round and round the house I go 
 
 And hunt in every nook and spot. 
 71 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 And all the while I talk aloud, 
 
 And wonder if some naughty bear 
 
 Has come and stolen her away, 
 Or lion dragged her to his lair. 
 
 I hear her titter; for she can't 
 
 Suppress the joy within her breast; 
 
 But I seek on as if the place 
 Where she is hid, I never guessed. 
 
 At length I sigh and ask mamma 
 If she is sure no ragged tramp 
 
 Or gypsy woman slipped inside 
 And stole away the little scamp. 
 
 And then she almost bursts with glee 
 To think how she is fooling me. 
 
 And every ripple from her throat 
 Strikes on my heart a golden note. 
 
 And when, at last, I find the elf, 
 
 With smiling face and laughing eyes. 
 
 She bounds, and beats me to the goal — 
 While I just stand in mute surprise. 
 
 She never seems to weary grow, 
 
 For though I hunt her ten times ten, 
 
 She always proffers this request: 
 ''Now, papa, won't 'oo play a-den?" 
 
 Ah, what a dreary world were this 
 
 Were there no childhood's merry laugh. 
 
 To wean us from the cares of life 
 And lighten every load by half. 
 72 
 
Life's a harp with strings unnumbered, 
 
 And each note of joy and woe 
 Is concealed within its fibers, 
 
 Waiting for the touch or blow. 
 Deftly stroked it throbs with music. 
 
 Rudely smote it wails with pain ; 
 'Tis the hand, and not the harpstrings, 
 
 Which gives color to the strain. 
 
 Life to some is dismal failure. 
 
 An aimless groping through the gloom 
 Which enshrouds a dreary pathway 
 
 Leading downward to the tomb. 
 Not at note of joy or gladness, 
 
 Every tone is tinged wdth woe; 
 Untuned strings sound funeral dirges. 
 
 Melancholy, solemn, slow. 
 
 Others touch the wires gently. 
 
 Kindling strains of heavenly cheer ; 
 Not a single note of discord 
 
 Strikes upon the listening ear. 
 E'en though clouds of darkness gather. 
 
 Hiding harpist from the view. 
 From amidst the gloomy shadows 
 
 Melody comes, pure and true. 
 73 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 Yours the hand, and yours the harpstrings, 
 
 Smite them rudely if you will ; 
 Let them be unused and silent, 
 
 Voiceless, motionless and still ; 
 Or with fingers deftly touch them, 
 
 Bringing forth a rapturous strain, 
 Life to each is what he makes it 
 
 To some sublime; to others vain. 
 
 74 
 
Ijat itg Pa iJ^xwhtB 
 
 I jest wish you could hear my pa 
 
 As he .sets round and blows 
 On Sundays and on rainy days, 
 
 And tells folks what he knows. 
 There aint a thing beneath the stars 
 
 My pa don't know about. 
 And if there is. I'd like to see 
 
 Some feller pint it out. 
 
 Old Socrates that used to stand 
 
 On the corners of the street 
 And fire questions right and left 
 
 At every one he'd meet, 
 Was something of a feller in 
 
 His day, I guess, but pshaw, 
 'Twould do me good to see old Soc 
 
 Run up agin my pa. 
 
 He never sent us boys to school 
 
 More'n jest to learn to read ; 
 He lowed if we had brains enough. 
 
 That's all we'd ever need ; 
 And if we didn't have no brains, 
 
 No use to go at all ; 
 He never went but jest one term. 
 
 Betwixt the spring and fall. 
 75 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 But you would think, to hear him talk. 
 
 That in his head — kerplunk! 
 The wisdom of the world had dropped, 
 
 In one big. solid chunk. 
 When any feller tackles him, 
 
 I have to set and smile; 
 For pretty soon, I know 'at pa 
 
 Will have him skinned a mile. 
 
 One day a candidate dropped in, 
 
 A chap what makes the laws; 
 Pa took his first-term record up 
 
 And pinted out the flaws, 
 In this here act and that 'are act, 
 
 And told him how 't should be, 
 And the way he done that feller up, 
 
 It was a sight to see. 
 
 The candidate jest winced and winced, 
 
 And got red 'hind the ears, 
 And said he'd heerd more common sense 
 
 Than he had heerd for years. 
 And 'fore he went away from pa, 
 
 I heerd him tell him twice. 
 He'd never vote for laws agin 
 
 'Thout askin' his advice. 
 
 Why, pa he knows jest how to run 
 
 This great big government ; 
 An' 'pon my word. I don't see why 
 
 The stupid president 
 Don't send and git him for a while 
 
 To come to Washington, 
 And show them chaps what run the thing 
 
 Jest how it should be done. 
 76 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 I've heerd him talk 'bout the mistakes 
 
 In tariff and in trade, 
 And pint the awful blunders out 
 
 The Supreme Court has made ; 
 And 'specially tell how 'f he was there, 
 
 He'd show 'em how to bust. 
 And not leave grease-spot, hide er hair 
 
 Of any pesky trust. 
 
 But when it comes to bloody war, 
 
 On land or on the sea, 
 It's there 'at pa is most at home. 
 
 As it appears to me. 
 My! what a soldier he'd a made, 
 
 Er captain of a ship ; 
 He'd rammed his guns right 'ginst the fort. 
 
 And then he'd let 'em rip ! 
 
 He knows all 'bout the Bible and 
 
 The blunders that it makes — 
 Sometimes he borrys one awhile, 
 
 And pints out the mistakes. 
 I'll tell you, on these rainy days, 
 
 Hit'is jest a treat to sit. 
 An' listen to my pa. an' watch 
 
 Him smoke, and chew, and — Spit. 
 LOfa 
 
 77 
 
The tourist must go far to seek 
 A fairer spot than Martinique 
 E'er Pelee wrought his vengeance there 
 And poured his wrath on St. Pierre. 
 With waving palms, and creeping vines. 
 And palcid lakes,, and stately pines; 
 With tropic fruits, and rippling brooks, 
 And verdant fields and cozy nooks ; 
 With mountain gorges, glens and dales, 
 Describing which the language fails. 
 Ambrosial flowers of every hue 
 Were nightly bathed in mountain dew. 
 A paradise, so witching fair 
 That every charm seemed clustered there. 
 No fairer spot need mortals seek 
 Than this weird island — Martinique. 
 
 Life seemed one constant summer day 
 To those who dreamed its hours away. 
 Midst perfumed flowers of richest hue, 
 Beneath those skies of deepest blue. 
 Upon this island, rising high 
 As if to touch the very sky. 
 A mountain towers above the bay — 
 A treacherous mountain — Old Pelee. 
 78 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 'Tvvas deemed the natives' patron saint ; 
 
 For in their legends, old and quaint. 
 
 They handed down from sire to son 
 
 Strange things which this old mount had done. 
 
 In ages gone, it breathed forth fire, 
 
 Consuming in its vengeance dire 
 
 All noxious vapors from the air, 
 
 And every ill which gathered there ; 
 
 Hence forth no evil could infest 
 
 The land its sacred flames had blest. 
 
 But it had sworn in days gone by. 
 
 Like Him whose bow sits in the sky. 
 
 That it would ne'er again consume 
 
 And turn its footstool to a tomb. 
 
 To make its oath thus doubly sure. 
 
 A shimmering lake, with waters pure, 
 
 Within its crater it had set. 
 
 To quench its flames should it forget. 
 
 But, ah, a saint in outward part 
 
 Is sometimes treacherous at the heart. 
 
 A dreamy city nestled there 
 Beneath those skies so blue and fair. 
 It downward faced toward the bay, 
 And upward looked toward old Pelee. 
 It seemed a lovely place to dwell — 
 It proved the very mouth of Hell — 
 For oft we waken from a dream 
 To learn things are not what they seem. 
 One morn a rumbling sound was heard 
 It shook the palms, hushed song of bird, 
 And then grew louder than before 
 And swelled into a mighty roar. 
 Old Pelee seemed to throb and shake; 
 The very island seemed to quake, 
 79 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 And clouds of smoke rose toward the sky, 
 And tongues of fire leaped wild and high. 
 
 The timid started at the sound 
 
 Which rolled o'erhead and 'neath the ground. 
 
 With cheeks all pale, and quivering lips, 
 
 They watched the smoke the sun eclipse. 
 
 Awestruck, they stood with quaking hearts 
 
 And watched the zig-zag lightning's darts 
 
 Which played within that womb of night. 
 
 And added terror to the sight. , 
 
 But some, more bold, spoke words of cheer. 
 
 And strove to calm the people's fear. 
 
 They called to mind the oath he swore 
 
 That he would never, never more 
 
 Descend again to vex the race 
 
 Which dwelt about the mountain's base. 
 
 And others told a legend, old, 
 How once a mighty giant, bold, 
 Roamed o'er the island like a god 
 And ruled it with an iron rod. 
 How St. Pelee within his base" 
 Had chained this arch foe of the race — 
 The Giant Havoc — ^which till then 
 Had hovered over glade and glen. 
 Long was the contest, fierce and dire, 
 Till Pelee. coming forth with fire, 
 Drove his arch foe within his lair, 
 And sealed it up chained him there. 
 
 Unbounded was the monster's rage 
 To be thus housed in such a cage. 
 He swore with imprecations dire 
 He'd be revenged on saint and fire. 
 80 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 "These mutterings are the giant's moans, 
 These grumbhngs, but the giant's groans. 
 Once in an age he doth awake 
 From his long sleep, and rise and shake 
 f lis clanking chains, and writhe in pain ; 
 Then lay him down to sleep again." 
 "But," said the timid, "what if he 
 In his blind wrath and agony 
 Should dig his way unto the sea. 
 Then downward in his fury turn 
 Where smouldering fires forever burn. 
 And let the ocean's waters flow 
 Upon these smouldering fires below, 
 Till pent-up steam in that abyss. 
 Where fire and waters seethe and hiss 
 Should wrench the island from its base 
 And hurl it upward into space!" 
 Then e'en the stoutest held his breath 
 At thought of instantaneous death 
 Which must o'ertake them, one and all. 
 Should such calamity befall. 
 
 Three dreary days the rumbling sound 
 Continued still to shake the ground. 
 Three dismal nights the tongues of fire 
 Kept ever leaping, higher, higher ; 
 And denser grew the clouds of smoke. 
 And paler grew the lips that spoke; 
 For even those who strove to cheer 
 Stood timorous 'twixt hope and fear. 
 Then dawned the fatal eighth of May, 
 It was a sacred holiday. 
 The day on which the Savior rose 
 And conquered death and all His foes. 
 The natives were in best attire — 
 Old Pelee still belched wreaths of fire 
 81 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 And roared and rumbled at his base 
 
 As if he would devour the race. 
 
 The city's throng pressed toward the shrine 
 
 To seek the aid of Him, divine, 
 
 Whose voice had, 'foretime, calmed the sea 
 
 And stilled the waves of Galilee. 
 
 Old Pelee's wrath was kindled then, 
 As up they came from glade and glen, 
 To see his votaries turn away 
 To kneel at other shrines that day. 
 With anger at the throng below. 
 He seemed to growl, and gloat, and glow. 
 Like some great monster, stung with pain. 
 He writhed and quaked, and groaned again. 
 He shot his flames up toward the sun — 
 A thousand thunders rolled in one 
 Could not surpass the awful roar, 
 Ten times more dreadful than before. 
 Down on their knees the throng were driven 
 And lifted pleading hands toward heaven. 
 Old Pelee seemed to gloat the more 
 At his great vengeance held in store. 
 Then upward from his molten throat. 
 While he did writhe and groan and gloat, 
 He shot a flame that licked the stars, 
 Red-handed as the war-god. Mars; 
 And seething floods, and vapors dire. 
 More deadly than the wreaths of fire; 
 He hurled one thunderbolt afar 
 Which rent the infernal gates ajar; 
 Then with one desperate, mighty swell. 
 He lifted up the fires of Hell 
 And hurled them on the throng below, " 
 Consuming all within their glow. 
 82 
 
BUCKEYE BALLADS 
 
 No' living thing escaped his wrath ; 
 For in the seething, hissing path 
 The lava plowed unto the sea, 
 All was consumed — and instantly. 
 Then darkness fell on Martinique; 
 And they will seek in vain who seek 
 For other cause why St. Pierre 
 Now lies a mass of ruins there. 
 
 83 
 
W 19 
 
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