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 ■'il 
 
 iilusinffs 
 
 ^Bachelor 
 
 TJhe J'^M.ner U^^Qt 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT A. RIDDIC 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION AND 
 
 BY MAJ. JOHN W. 
 Jkithor of History o, Nortl 
 
 m 
 
 HI 
 
 ».1i > : 5» r - > i $ ^»!^^S 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface 
 
 Introduction 
 
 Lines to Annie Rives ^7 
 
 „ . i8 
 
 Neppie - 
 
 Lines to a Miss ^^ 
 
 The Night of my Thirty-third Anniversary 20 
 
 -. , -r 22 
 
 My Life 
 
 Cora Lee ^ 
 
 'Twas Sunday ^2 
 
 Lines to Margaret ^ 
 
 The Night of my Thirty-eighth Birthday 26 
 
 The Girl for Me ^^ 
 
 i Claire " ^^ 
 
 Chilaish Recollections 3° 
 
 Lines to Claire. ^° 
 
 On a Beautiful Young Lady 4^ 
 
 Nightfall the Last of August - 43 
 
 The Bachelor "• 45 
 
 The Blacksnake and the Turtle 46 
 
 A Strange Answer - - 5° 
 
 Autumn Sunlight After Frost 55 
 
 Song of the Owl ^6 
 
 The Meeting ^' 
 
 ■ . 63 
 
 M-o-n-e-y -' 
 
 Epitaph on Mr. Blank 5 
 
 Epitaph on Mrs. Blank, 
 
 The Robin's Song ^^ 
 
 The Ghost of The Roadside. 67 
 
 How They Killed Him 7i 
 
 To-day I'm Forty -One 72 
 
 The Chick and the Toad 74 
 
 She Don't Love Me 79 
 
 As When he Cannot Pay ^° 
 
 Is he the Same ? --ir 
 
 Virlme ji' " ^ 
 
 Bertha Mae 7 9 
 
 The Fishing-Party 92 
 
 Advice to Girls 9 
 
 B. G. W --'--"- ^°^ 
 
 A Farmer's Reverie ^°3 
 
 The First Fly of the Season ^°9 
 
 The Water-Oak ' -^^^ 
 
ERRATA, 
 
 In preface, read acknowledgments for acknowledgements. 
 On page 9, read Briton for Brition. 
 On page 13, read statesmen for statesman. 
 On page 26, read exquisitely for exquisitly, and, in same 
 piece, read zvky for who, and snch for such such. 
 
 On page 27 
 On page 28 
 Oi page 29 
 On page 30 
 On page 38 
 war.L 
 
 On page 43 
 < ^n page 44 
 On page 47 
 On page 48 
 On page 49 
 On page 53 
 On page 6r 
 On page 62 
 On page 65 
 On page 74 
 On page 76 
 On page 77 
 On page 83 
 On page 94 
 
 ist line, read yon for you. 
 
 read manner for manners. 
 
 read acrostic for acroxcic. 
 
 read sprites for spirits. 
 
 read "'twas the end of the war for 'twas the 
 
 first line, read The-ior She. 
 
 read' save for saves and snakes for snake. 
 
 read glossy for flossy, 
 
 read judgment for judgement. 
 
 read crazvPd iox craw'd. 
 
 read fallen for fallen. 
 
 read villain for villian. 
 
 read judgment for judgement. 
 
 read grandeur for granduer. 
 
 read confahulate for fabulate. 
 
 read hjtt trash for trash. 
 
 read nonehtities for nonenties. 
 
 read did affirm for did not afhrm. 
 
 read fish for first. 
 
 On page 102, read name foi names. 
 
ROBERT A. RIDDICK. 
 
MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FARMER POET, 
 
 ROBERT A. RIDDICK. 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION AND THREE POEMS 
 
 BY MAJ. JOHN W. MOORE, 
 Author of History of North Carolina.. 
 
 RALEIGH : 
 
 RALEIGH CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE PRINT. 
 
 1899. 
 
 y 
 
1^: 
 
 i I 
 
 <■ TO 
 
 MRS. N. H. COX, 
 
 THIS LITTLE BOOK IS TENDERLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY HER SON, THE AUTHOR. 
 
 in Exch.ange 
 
 U»iv. of North Carolina 
 
 
 
 o 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 " 'Tis pleasant sure to see one's name in print, 
 A book's a book although there's nothing in't." 
 
 In putting this little book before the public, I wish to 
 say that it has been written, with the exception of a few 
 pieces, during the leisure intervals of my five years stay as 
 bachelor on the, farm. And, moreover, let me say that its 
 pages will not be found to be filled either with the sayings 
 of a wise man, .or with the beauties of a real poet; but, on 
 the contrary, with those crudities which usually emanate 
 from the brain of one of the plainest of all men — the 
 farmer. 
 
 If, however, my rude attempts but afford pleasure and 
 entertainment to the child, or serve sometimes to give an 
 hour's rest to the. tired mind of the scholar, then my hum- 
 ble efforts will not have b.Qen entirely in vain. 
 
 In my allusion, in one or two instances, to the depravity 
 of man, I did not mean to embrace all — for there are thou- 
 sands who are kind and humane — bnt simply had reference 
 to the vicious and the mean. 
 
 With the foregoing acknowledgements, I leave the book, 
 let in the hands of its readers, begging that they be char- 
 itable in their criticisms, and that they withhold any pun- 
 ishment which, however much it may be deserved, I should 
 hate to endure. 
 
 The Introduction and Poems by Maj. John W. Moore 
 need no encomium at my hands. They will speak for 
 
 Jo 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 themselves. Our people are too well acquainted with the 
 masterly manner in which he treats a subject for me to 
 attempt even to eulogize what he has written for this little 
 work. He is as a speaker, "if not first, in the very first 
 line ; " and, as a writer phenomenally gifted. " He touches 
 nothing which he does not adorn." 
 
 In the hope that my plain avowal may screen me from 
 cruel judgment, I remain, with sincere good wishes, 
 
 R. A. RIDDICK. 
 
 Ahoskie^ April^ i8pg. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 "Heig-ho! what will happen next?" I hear some critic 
 say as he first beholds this work. What can a North Caro- 
 lina farmer have to say in the way of poetry? It was from 
 just such wiseacres that similar remarks issued when young 
 John Keats began his short and glorious career as a poet. 
 Gifford, with his merciless strictures, could wound the sen- 
 sitive young man to death, but could not change the world's 
 verdict that another heavenly singer had arisen. The 
 Scotch Reviewers had only sneers for Lord Byron until he 
 pilloried them in immortal verse. Such men, too, essayed 
 to patronize and depreciate Burns, until between their ill-na- 
 tured patronage and that of the government, they broke his 
 brave spirit. Just as 
 
 " Wealth and fame from no condition rise, 
 Act well thy part, there all the honor lies," 
 
 so, too, the gift of poesy belongs to no class, region, or 
 era of time. It is as wide as the world and enduring as 
 eternity. It stirred in the heart of Adam when his eyes 
 first looked out on Paradise, and it will sweeten and exalt 
 humanity through those vast aeons of our lives beyond the 
 grave. As well may we wonder that the birds pour out 
 their souls in song, as that the human heart should go 
 silent through life with sentiments of love and gratitude 
 out-welling to God for the mercies and blessings so abund- 
 antly bestowed upon the least fortunate of the human 
 species. 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The divine, historian, jurist, and philosopher have no 
 higher sanction for their work. Indeed, it is generally con- 
 ceded by cultivated people that among mere human employ- 
 ments the very highest and rarest is this divine gift of song. 
 The wise old Roman sang in the dead past, " Orator Jit ^ 
 poeta nascitur^]^ which, being intepreted, reads, "The ora- 
 tor is made, the poet, born." It was then Horace's belief 
 that the great declaimers are the handiwork of teachers ; 
 but on the other hand the poet's inspiration must be the gift 
 of God. The school, together with diligent application, 
 can take the boy of good mental grasp and make almost 
 anything of him it may be desired, except in this enchanted 
 land of fantasy. It is locked fast against the approach of 
 all intruders who lack nature's original beaut3^ Then, too, 
 this gift is like angel visits. Very few men and women in 
 the world's history have had their lips touched by live coals 
 from the altar of Parnassus. If this be true, then what 
 right has a man who feels the throes of soul which prompt 
 him to their expression in verse to refuse compliance? 
 What if he fail to "awake to ecstasy the living lyre?" He can 
 yet, if he loves truth and beauty, lift a voice in their com- 
 mendation that may prove of lasting benefit. Who can 
 estimate the joy and profit of the myriads who have min- 
 gled their smiles and tears as they have read and sung the 
 simple and deathless hymns of Dr. Isaac Watts ? 
 
 As poetry comes next to music as the exposition of the 
 soul, so, too, it combines an utterance of such thought as 
 cannot be well voiced in mere prose. When King David 
 gave vent to his overflowing gratitude to God in the 23d 
 Psalm, how else could he have given appropriate expres- 
 sion to his thought and emotion but in the glowing imagery 
 
INTRODUCTION. J 
 
 of his verse, wedded to suitable music of his harp? There 
 are a few souls so contracted and deformed that in their 
 want of development they can feel no love for nor interest 
 in the very noblest of all poems. They would have turned 
 in disgust from Homer when, in his blindness, he wandered 
 from city to city, reciting the lines of his immortal Iliad. 
 They see no more beauty in the splendors of our glorious 
 sunsets than if God had given neither tint nor outline to the 
 cloudlands. Deaf to the grandest harmonies of the great 
 musical composers, they turn with disgust from all paint- 
 ings and sculptures. A big barn is their beau-ideal in 
 architecture, and they go through life deaf and blind to the 
 myriad beauties in sights and sounds which God intended 
 for human instruction and delight. 
 
 Such reflections have induced the author of this volume 
 to publish the little poems contained in this book. They 
 have occupied and amused his leisure' hours, and, I trust, 
 will serve a similar office to any kindly reader in whose 
 hands they may fall. Making no pretension to any beauty 
 or excellence in the little book, he gives it to the public, 
 hoping it will serve his readers as the book has served him 
 in its composition, and thus help them to pass some odd hour 
 not given to more important uses. 
 
 Our people are not abreast with the civilized world in 
 their love for books. North Carolina has given poor 
 encouragement to literary work in her borders. When 
 Walter Page went to Raleigh and established a paper that 
 reflected honor upon the whole commonwealth, they had so 
 little appreciation of the man and the opportunity that, 
 after a brief struggle, he abandoned his native State and 
 took his shining talents off to a more congenial latitude. 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 New York and Boston have delighted in doing him honor, 
 and now, after editing the New York World c^vl^ other great 
 journals, he is in conduct of the Atlantic Monthly^ the 
 leading literary periodical of the Western Continent. Our 
 people seem to take little interest in matters literary, and 
 alas! that it should be confessed, we contain the next great- 
 est percentage of ignorance of any State in the Union. 
 One alone surpasses us in this "bad eminence," as Milton 
 would call it. No people exist who are more just, peaceful, 
 and patriotic than ours ; but their ingrained conservatism 
 binds them to old habits and ideas, and only by slow 
 degrees and multiplied demonstrations of better things can 
 they be induced to forego creeds outworn, and practices 
 abandoned everywhere else by civilized men. There are 
 whole sections of our State where the insane opposition to 
 all railways can yet be found as firmly rooted as when the 
 old Raleigh and Gaston and Wilmington and Weldon rail- 
 roads were the only routes built in the State, and they well 
 nigh on the point of ruin for want of support among our 
 people. An Eastern man was requested to pledge himself 
 as hostile to all railroads before he could hope as a candi- 
 date to receive the votes of our people and thus represent 
 them in the Legislature at Raleigh. These same railroads 
 have created here in America the greatest nation in all the 
 world, and, but for them, the empire which we possess 
 beyond the Mississippi would still be peopled only by a few 
 straggling bands of Indians. 
 
 If education is the chief defense of nations, it becomes 
 the duty of every one to contribute whatever is possible to 
 this end. Both as Christians and patriots, it behooves us all 
 to do our part in discharging a debt we owe unto God and 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 our neighbor. It was quaint Sir Thomas Brown who 
 declared, "I cannot condemn a man for ignorance, but 
 behold him with as much pity as I do Lazarus. It is no 
 greater charity to clothe his body than to apparel the nak- 
 edness of his soul." The author of any book, however 
 small, which contains matter that is true and wholesome, 
 assuredly does something toward this end. He is a school- 
 master in a small way, and his readers become his pupils 
 and beneficiaries just so far as he conforms to the true, the 
 good, and the beautiful. Where else, except in our Saviour's 
 discourses, were the duties we owe to God and man so 
 beautifully set forth as in the poetry of David? In what 
 degree did Milton or Wordsworth, and in our day Alfred 
 Tennyson, fall behind the greatest preachers in the purity 
 and truth of their teaching? 
 
 It was the dictum of a very great and wise man that 'the 
 ballads and folk-lore of any people do more to color their 
 times and history than all the statutes enacted by the 
 statesman. It is impossible to realize in our day and gen- 
 eration how the old ballad of Chevy Chase prolonged and 
 embittered the hatred which through centuries of unavail- 
 ing warfare kept England and Scotland separate nation- 
 alities, and kept alive the senseless hatred long after 
 both countries had been ruled by the same king. It was in 
 the same spirit that a sturdy old Brition of the last century 
 thanked God that he had no prejudices, but added that he 
 was free to confess that from the bottom of his heart he 
 despised the sight of a Frenchman. The man with purity 
 in his soul rises far above the horizon of such wicked 
 
lO INTRODUCTION. 
 
 puerility, and it is a part of his mission in this world to 
 sing and recommend a day of better things. 
 
 " The steamship and the railway and the thoiights that shake mankind " 
 
 have of late largely triumphed over such wicked and child- 
 ish perversions of that charity that should be found domi- 
 nating the lives of every Christian people. The man who, 
 in those far off ancient days, went down from Jerusalem to 
 Jericho, and on the way fell among thieves, was even then 
 fortunate enough to find succor at the hands of a stranger 
 too wise and just to follow such ignoble promptings! As 
 God has made of one blood all the nations of the world, 
 even so are those of every race and region to be counted 
 our neighbors. ' 
 
 With such a polity among the nations, how Arcadian 
 would human life become ! How infinitely better than 
 our present habit of wasting hundreds of millions every year 
 on armies and armaments for one Christian people to pro- 
 tect itself against another! 
 
 As poetry in its highest office becomes prophetic, no man 
 of common endowments should fail to see and acknowledge 
 its importance in the world. In fact, with all the beauty 
 and perfection of our Lord's teachings. Christians have 
 remained largely blind to the blessings of those who can 
 appreciate the overflowing beauty of God in the way He 
 has decorated the visible works of His creation. How dare 
 we to be blind to the glories of the lilies? "Behold they 
 toil not, neither do they spin, yet I say unto you that Solo- 
 mon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." 
 Does the dull utilitarian know what was meant by our 
 Saviour when he asked, " Is not the life more than meat and 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 1 
 
 the body more than raiment?" Shall we strip existence of 
 all its significance and delights and bow down to the false 
 gods carved out by greed and selfishness? The spirit that 
 is attuned to the highest harmonies walks on like the lady 
 in Comus. Amid scenes of fearful danger, she was yet 
 secure, telling the Prince of revelers that God 
 
 ' ' Would send a glistening guardian if need were 
 To keep her life and honor unassailed." 
 
 -It has been long the habit of Europeans to sneer at 
 Americans, and charge them with possessing no higher ideals 
 than the mere accumulation of money. It is a sad thing to 
 confess that a large proportion of our people are amenable 
 to such criticism. It is true that now and then we find 
 noble exceptions to this humiliating rule, and they, we are 
 proud to say, are mostly found in our own Southland. Be- 
 yond the Potomac, the fashion loving classes are most 
 wholly found among the wealthy parvenues who take great 
 pains to erect barriers against the intrusion of any person 
 who may not carry as long a purse and spend money with 
 the same ostentation as practiced among themselves. They 
 have come to regard Newport as so exclusively their prop- 
 erty that they regard the presence of visitors outside of 
 their own set as that of some presumptuous and blundering 
 idiot in thus daring to violate the haunt sacred to the elite. 
 Such people are buying up and appropriating to similar 
 uses some of the most lovely and charming retreats to be 
 found in the Republic. Men like President McKinley and 
 Mr. Speaker Reed can, on proper invitation and with con- 
 sent given by proper authority in^ the club owning Jekyl 
 Island, visit that once popular resort and be treated like 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Christian people are in the habit of extending to even the 
 wayfaring stranger who asks shelter for the night. But 
 now, instead of gay multitudes seeking health and happiness 
 as of old, these rich exclusives have the beach patrolled, and 
 the unwelcome millions are told that their presence is in no 
 way desired. This unamiable and unchristian spirit of the 
 American Nabobs was lately exemplified very conspicuously 
 by Mr. William Waldorf Astor. He has lately come in pos- 
 session of a noble country seat in the vicinity of London. 
 It had been, before he assumed control, a great show place, 
 and was visited by delighted thousands, who loved to wan- 
 der through its noble park and gardens. Even its art treas- 
 ures had been in conformity with the habit of the English 
 nobility, open at times to the inspection of decent strangers 
 of every nationality ; but Mr, Astor, like his republican 
 friends at home, soon built lofty fences around his grounds, 
 and shutting his doors against all the world outside the 
 charmed circle, he thinks worthy of seeing the beauty of 
 his park and drive-ways. 
 
 These wealthy people who have become so rich and pow- 
 erful that they can thus seem to despise public opinion and 
 to feel no need of the kindly feeling and friendly offices of 
 the community at large are carrying themselves into ways 
 that are full of evil portents for the future. Not content 
 with so many exhibitions of their disregard for the masses, 
 they have found means to control Congress, Legislatures, 
 and the Courts, and to put the great bulk of the enormous 
 public expenses upon the poor people, and to exempt them- 
 selves from a large share of taxes levied. The government 
 had taxed incomes for many years with the full assent of 
 our Federal Supreme Court until, reversing the decisions of 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 3 
 
 a century, these rich people hired lawyers who could per- 
 suade the Court to go back on all its precedents, and one of 
 them not three months old, and thus deliver thousands of 
 millions of wealth from all participation in support of the 
 government. Do such men forget that this very govern- 
 ment was not only the means of their accumulation and 
 the only hope of its security? Will they extort and oppress 
 and corrupt until public patience has perished and the peo_ 
 pie rise in their might to secure justice? No king has yet 
 \wed who dared to oppress too far men of Anglo-Saxon 
 blood. They hate revolution, and reverence the decrees of 
 their courts until they lose hope of truth and justice in 
 their decisions. With so fell a consummation the day of 
 reckoning as surely comes as night doth follow day. It 
 may be that entrenched wealth may trust in the big armies 
 that are being enrolled as bridles to restrain the people's ire, 
 but such hope is vain. Either our statesman will pause 
 and retrace their mistaken paths, or there must be a halt in 
 these outrages upon the masses. Red-handed anarchy and 
 bloodshed will be the sequel otherwise. 
 
 "Heigho! Give us a. rest!" I hear you say again, Mr. 
 Critic. What do you say about the connection between 
 poetry and statecraft, and their relations to the people? 
 Surely the poet owes the , same obligation of patriotism as 
 do other men, and have you never read Plato's discourse 
 on immortality, where he related what Socrates said to his 
 friends as they surrounded his beloved form and heard the 
 last utterances of that wonderful man who was, by general 
 consent, the wisest and best of those immortal heroes that 
 made Greece so famous? He told them the first obligation 
 every man owes, to his son is to teach him music. The 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 paragon of patriots maintained that a man's love of his na- 
 tive land is thereby created and confirmed. In those an- 
 cient days, too, before the coming of our Lord, the heathen 
 philosopher made patriotism and obedience to his govern- 
 ment the beginning and largely the substance of true re- 
 ligion. To him, too, music and poetry were synonymous 
 terms. The poets, following the example of blind old 
 Homer, went from town to town reciting or singing their 
 compositions. These, like the Iliad and Odyssey, were 
 stories in verse, which told of the deeds and sayings of he- 
 roes and kings. The genius of man has yet failed to create 
 any epic to surpass the Iliad. Its sustained greatness in 
 depicting incidents and character, its wonderful grouping 
 and arrangement,^ and the steady evolution of the fatal quarrel 
 amid the Greek chiefs, are told in a way as delightful 
 to men of our day as they were three thousand years ago. 
 
 Thus one may, in all reason, claim that the poet's mis- 
 sion, far from being like that of some butterfly of summer, 
 is full of the highest significance and benefit to the world 
 at large. It transcends mere material and remunerative 
 callings, just in the same ratio that all things spiritual and 
 intellectual transcend the clods of the valley. It is very true 
 that our bodies are the temples of the soul and should be kept 
 fit for the indwelling of the Holy Ghost, and the soul is 
 like some lighted lamp that sends radiance to its opaque 
 enclosure. How all important that the light which thus 
 we afford should be bright and of sweet odor! 
 
 In this world our lives are largely colored by our own 
 individual purposes and ideals. It is true that none of us 
 is strong enough or wise enough to deliver our soul from 
 all the effects of circumstance aiid environment. God has 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 5 
 
 SO made us that we are largely each other's keepers. Then, 
 too, we are told by the greatest of the poets that a wise 
 man 
 
 "Finds tongues in trees, books, and running brooks, 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
 
 Then let us beware how we are to be influenced ourselves, 
 and yet again be still more alert as to what other people 
 may suffer by reason of mistakes and faults incurred by in- 
 fluences for which we can be held liable. Human life at 
 b^t is so short that, for good or evil, it can mainly affect 
 the world but for a brief season; but some little books are 
 as undying as the human race, and their influence for good 
 or evil survives through all generations. The Book of Job 
 is said to be the oldest of all the writings which have come 
 down to us from the era wherein the patriarchs lived upon 
 the earth. Yet how pregnant it still remains for the good of 
 mankind! It is thus that the highest and purest motive 
 arises for a country farmer, or any one else who may prove 
 capable to undertake, even in a small and humble way, to 
 leave as a legacy to this and succeeding generations his 
 best thoughts and aspirations. Who shall say how many 
 may be cheered and elevated by his words? No man who 
 loves truth and purity, and impregnates his written works 
 with loving advocacy for their claims upon us, can go 
 without proper reward. His reward may be like bread 
 cast on the water, and be slow in its full fruition, but 'God 
 is just and the justifier of all such as thus put their trust 
 in Him.' J. W. M. 
 
MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR, 
 
 THE FARMER POET. 
 
 LINES TO ANNIE RIVES. 
 
 (A ycung lady visitor now at school.) 
 
 And here am I whose thoughts delight to be 
 
 On her whose form I once was wont to see ; 
 
 That form withdrawn, endearing thought still cleaves 
 
 In vigor to the mem'ry of Annie Rives. 
 
 Oh, blest the hour in which the meeting come, 
 Or where she now resides or at her home! 
 That shall my eyes in pleasant feasting dwell 
 On her with that sense the tongue can never tell. 
 
 Blest be the time, though distant far away. 
 That lend to me the soul-bestirring ray; 
 That ray which glows more softly one believes. 
 From no other eye as that of Annie Rives. 
 
 Pandora, with gifts bountifully given 
 By gods and goddesses of th' realms of heaven, 
 Could not have won with all her beauty rare 
 As lovely a name as thou art doom'd to share. 
 
MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 Can time avenge all sacred pleasures lost, 
 Efface the scathing thought and painful cost 
 Of days misspent, of chances unimproved, 
 And all th' embittered years of a life unloved? 
 
 Then unto me such blessings now restore. 
 And pain my life with sorrows never more ; 
 Give unto me I ask what ne'er deceives — 
 That glorious gift — the gift of Annie Rives. 
 
 March, 1885. 
 
 NEPPIE. 
 
 (An Acrostic Written for an Album.) 
 
 No life on earth, howe'er it may be spent, 
 
 Evinces all the joy of full content. 
 
 Proud monarchs, tho' o'er earth their sceptres sway, 
 
 Philosophers explain, poets portray. 
 
 In all the varied callings these beside 
 
 E'en in them all there's no one satisfied. 
 
 But yet, e'en so, there's still a rich bequest — 
 A dear companion in whom you feel blest ; 
 Redundant wealth, or richest work of art 
 Could ne'er such pleasure to the soul impart. 
 Life's fullest happiness is best obtain'd 
 In getting that most rarely to be gain'd ; 
 Fair Fortune, then, a kindness will bestow 
 To give her whose name these initials show. 
 
 July 4, 1887. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 1 9 
 
 LINES TO A MISS. 
 
 Like bright and lovely flowers 
 That deck the smiling land, 
 Or soft and genial showers 
 On some lone blighted strand ; 
 Like warm and gentle sunbeams 
 That kiss the sparkling dew, 
 My life thus always seems 
 When lit and led by you. 
 
 Enraptured by thy presence 
 All places would prove sweet ; 
 For by fond love's puissance 
 No power could entreat 
 Me words uncouth to use. 
 Or acts unkind to do, 
 For thus I would abuse 
 Thy tender heart and true. 
 
 The beauty of thy face 
 The limner's art defies, 
 No sorrow can erase 
 The lustre of thine eyes ; 
 The radiance of thy smile, 
 How beautiful ! It seems 
 A spirit to beguile 
 My soul to softest dreams. 
 
20 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 Amidst life's fairer bowers 
 May e'er thy lot be cast, 
 Unshackled by the powers 
 That strive our hopes to blast ; 
 May God in love look down, 
 And all thy ways defend, 
 Send not one angry frown 
 Thy happiness to end. 
 
 Ahoskie, N. C. 
 
 THE NIGHT OF MY THIRTY-THIRD ANNI- 
 VERSARY. 
 
 The sweet thoughts of that night I shall never forget. 
 
 With the fondest delight I remember them yet. 
 
 And when age will have furrow'd deep lines on my brow 
 
 They will still seem as vividly present as now. 
 
 As I quietly sat and enjoy'd the hours through. 
 
 There was much that was pleasing and charming to view. 
 
 Oh, how peacefully calm, how transcendently bright, 
 
 Were the things that I saw in the moon's tender light ! 
 
 The whole earth was suffused: there cannot be a scene 
 
 In which there was more lovely, more beautiful sheen. 
 
 There sweet perfume of flowers arose to my sense, 
 
 Ev'ry bud, ev'ry bloom did an odor dispense ; 
 
 There the tall tow'ring pines that were standing close by 
 
 Seem'd to lift with much grandeur their heads to the sky ; 
 
 The tall spire of the church, the green leaves of the trees, 
 
 The grass-covered lawn, the exhil'rating breeze — 
 
 These were some of the charms of that night I recall. 
 
 But there's one yet unmention'd, the sweetest of all. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 21 
 
 Now the last, now the last — oh, how shall I confer 
 
 The encomium that should be given to her? 
 
 Unrenowned in song or in rhythmical fame, 
 
 I possess not the words to add praise to her name ; 
 
 The light spirit of Erato I would invite 
 
 To preside o'er my mind while I thus try to write. 
 
 Unadorned with gold, she in simple attire. 
 
 Was the loveliest object I saw to admire ; 
 
 The soft, ambient light which so lustrously shone 
 
 From the far-distant face of that summer night's moon. 
 
 Was not lovelier, brighter, more beautiful, true, 
 
 Than that which did illume the sweet face of Miss Sue. 
 
 Though this date shall repeat in the cycle of years. 
 Just as surely and truly as sunlight appears, 
 Yet to me 't will not seem as it did on that night 
 When all things were enwrapt in such beautiful light: 
 Not, perhaps, if I'm suffer'd to add on life's page 
 All the days and the years that make up an old age. 
 Upon her whose pure life has evoked what I've said 
 May the sweet dews of heaven be lovingly shed ; 
 Her pure fountain of joy never know any dearth 
 Till her spirit shall waft 'bove the cares of this earth. 
 
 July 30, 1889. 
 
22 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 MY UFE. 
 
 My life is like the wounded dove 
 That falls in solitude to die, 
 Alone, forgot, bereft of love. 
 The object of no anxious eye ; 
 Yet on the bird's forlorn estate 
 Some human care perchance may wait, 
 Some eye her body bend to see. 
 But none, alas ! will care for me. 
 
 My life is like the vernal dawn 
 That^s usher'd in with cloudless light. 
 But ere the hours of day are gone 
 Is seen the trace of stormy night ; 
 Yet when the raging storm is o'er, 
 And howling winds are heard no more, 
 A deeper calm there seems to be. 
 But there's no calm, alas ! for me. 
 
 My life is like the crescent moon 
 That shines afar with palest ray ; 
 Her light is sinking and how soon 
 She'll leave the earth and pass away ! 
 But when she's sunk in vaulted tomb. 
 All nature seems to wear a gloom. 
 As if it mourn'd her leave to see. 
 But none, alas ! will mourn for me. 
 
 November i88q. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 23 
 
 CORA LEH. 
 
 (Air, "Those Evening Bells.") 
 
 When saddest moments o'er me brood, 
 And thought is lost in sombre mood, 
 'Tis then I ask one smile to see 
 Of that sweet girl, fair Cora Lee. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Sweet Cora Lee, sweet Cora Lee, 
 With joyous heart I sing of thee, 
 And ask some guardian angel near 
 To light thy face from ev'ry tear. 
 
 When time, or soon or late, shall take 
 Away thy presence, then will wake 
 The pleasing thought that memory 
 Shall e'er retain a place for thee. 
 
 And may earth's sorrows never cloy 
 Thy present bliss, thy future joy ; 
 But bursts of rapture ever gleam 
 Upon thy life with brightest beam. 
 
 November, 1890. 
 
24 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 'TWAS SUNDAY. 
 
 The day was second of October, 
 The breeze was neither warm nor cold, 
 But gently play'd with fading verdure 
 As down the track we onward stroll'd ; 
 While streams of light from autumn's sun 
 Pour'd o'er the scene enjoy'd in fun. 
 
 It was a day such as the mind, 
 
 In looking back o'er days gone by. 
 
 Is wont t'recall with an emotion 
 
 As softly sweet as echoes die ; 
 
 For not e'en hearts of pangs or tears 
 
 Forget the joys of tend'rer years. 
 
 The scene as I have said was joyful, 
 Nor cloud nor speck in heaven's serene 
 Was visible. The great and broad 
 Expanse of sky was clear and clean ; 
 And in this universe of worlds 
 The fairest sight was lovely girls. 
 
 And they were two : lola Lee 
 And Mamie. On and on we went 
 Till by and by we reach'd the trees; 
 'Mong them the winds and waters lent 
 Such soothing tones in length and breve 
 That I was loath indeed to leave. 
 
 We held converse with one another 
 In words of pleasantry as friends 
 Are wont to do. And these are times 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 25 
 
 In which the soul with nature blends, 
 Dispelling from our minds the care 
 Which nature never deigns to share. 
 
 Said Miss lola : "Isn't it pretty 
 
 In there." And with a gentle move 
 
 Her hand directed to the copse 
 
 And verdant reeds. Said she : "I love 
 
 Not man the less but nature more;" 
 
 A sentiment oft heard before. 
 
 The words which Mamie spoke were few. 
 The beautiful and lovely page 
 Open'd before her seem'd t' absorb 
 Her livelier self, and to engage 
 That fervid study which controls 
 The mind and heart of tranquil souls. 
 
 At length we stood upon a bridge 
 Where flows beneath a gentle stream, 
 Whose purling music was as sweet 
 As what we feel in love's first dream ; 
 And on its waves we'd pebbles throw 
 To watch the circlets come and go. 
 
 The brighter rays, now blent into 
 That glowing red which marks the near 
 Approach of night, warn'd us we must 
 Return. With merriment and cheer 
 We left the bridge, and walk'd us back 
 O'er our same way upon the track. 
 
 October iS, 1S92. 
 
26 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 LINES TO MARGARET. 
 
 (An Acrostic. ) 
 
 Majestic sweetness, nature's loveliest trace, 
 
 Adorns the beauty of thy virgin face ; 
 
 Retiring- and refined it fills with ease 
 
 Grim man whose care forbids aught else to please. 
 
 A thousand praises exquisitly wrought, 
 
 Replete with all with which our words are fraught ; 
 
 E'en these but poor and idle things would be 
 
 To give the praise I'd gladly give to thee. 
 
 Hail ! happy one, I worship at thy shrine. 
 
 And ask the boon Minerva wouldn't resign ; 
 
 Resolved she was "The Blue-eyed Maid" to live, 
 
 Great guardian care was all she sought to give ; 
 
 Remem 'bring thus her tutelary care, 
 
 One lover's heart 'twas not her wish to share ; 
 
 Vain goddess ! oh who did she thus decide ! 
 
 Essay not thou such such course — but be my bride. 
 
 April 3, 1S93. 
 
 THE NIGHT OF MY THIRTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 The da}' dreams of my years are past. 
 Night's visions hover thick and dark ; 
 The stream of life I'm sailing fast 
 Death's sea t' embark. 
 
 These woods, this field, I used to roam, 
 With playmates who are gone forever, 
 Will never seem such sacred home 
 Again, no-never. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 27 
 
 And while you moon with softest lieht 
 Shines down upon the same old scene, 
 There's many a thought recurs to-night 
 Of what has been. 
 
 The many mounds 'mong yonder pines 
 Remind me of mv kindred o-one ; 
 I sit and think if Fate desis^ns 
 I live alone. 
 
 In life's great book whose lids I ope 
 To trace if there my doom is gi /en, 
 I find it not, but there's this hope — 
 The hope of heaven. 
 
 Oh ! why should I like others crave 
 T' extend this feeble span of years, 
 When there ma}- be within the grave 
 An end of fears ? 
 
 The dire conflict will soon be over. 
 And then earth's scenes no more I'll share ; 
 In the inane I may discover 
 Why I am here. 
 
 " 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, 
 Since others it hath ceased to move ; 
 Yet though I cannot be beloved. 
 Still let me love." 
 
 Old Home, July 4, 1S94. 
 
28 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 THE GIRL FOR ME. 
 
 If she were sweet and very neat, 
 
 A paragon, a charm. 
 Without deceit, with shapely feet, 
 
 And pretty rounded arm ; 
 And if her voice were simply choice. 
 
 Her manners always free. 
 Not with the boys, but to rejoice. 
 
 She'd be the girl for me. 
 
 And if her hair were dark or fair 
 
 That would but little matter, 
 Just so her air were sweetly rare 
 
 I'd dearly love to chat her. 
 Her symmetry, her mouth, her eye, 
 
 If these should perfect be. 
 Then surely I would breathe this sigh- 
 
 You are the eirl for me. 
 
 If in her face I could but trace 
 
 Love's presence and duration. 
 Nothing should brace me 'gainst the race 
 
 Of my love's consummation ; 
 For I would dare her life to share 
 
 If she would but agree ; 
 Then I could swear, with love and care, 
 
 I'd won the girl for me, 
 
 July 22d, 1894. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 29 
 
 CLAIRE. 
 
 (All Acroxcic in which there is a mistake in the name — the real name being Claire 
 Renshawe Newsome. ) 
 
 Could grace and beauty in a word be told, 
 
 Long had such word — if with me to prepare — 
 
 Arisen to my thoughts. I'll not withhold 
 
 It, for just trace this line and know 'twere Claire. 
 
 Rich and in great exuberance her hair 
 
 Encircles gorgeously a noble brow ; 
 
 1^0 feature harsh to mar her face so fair 
 
 She looks a type of loveliness ; and now 
 
 Her beans would pay a word of homage for her vow. 
 
 And to extol her virtues were a task 
 
 Which genius rare alone might undertake. 
 
 No countenance like hers could ever mask 
 
 Envenom'd breath, or hate such as would make 
 
 Within the heart a feeling to forsake. 
 
 She seems a favorite, and with a smile 
 
 On all her spell of joy will hardly break. 
 
 May she live on and no one e'er revile. 
 
 E'en jealousy itself should not her name defile. 
 
 September 20, 1894. 
 
30 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 
 
 CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 'Tis with gladsome delight I revert to the scenes 
 (Even though a great number of years interv^enes) 
 Of my childhood and youth, so replete with the best 
 And the dearest fond mem'ries with which life is blest. 
 Happy years ! although gone never more to be mine, 
 Yet my heart your bright picture will ever enshrine. 
 How I think of the group by the fireside at night. 
 Seated round in a row by the bright burning light, 
 Which shone up from the hearth iii the face of us all. 
 Flared over the room and gflisten'd on the wall. 
 
 With what pleasure the moments our talking beguiled, 
 When, to mark the strange zest in the mind of a child 
 Of mysterious things, the old heads would commence 
 'Bout the things in old houses, and dark forests dense. 
 Such as goblins, and ghosts, and the great and grim spirits. 
 And a number of other things children call "frights," 
 Lentil I was uneasy and 'fraid, for, forsooth. 
 Though a story to them yet I fear'd 'twas the triith. 
 
 Thus with fearful forebodings I went to my bed 
 After my little prayer, "Now I lay me," was said. 
 And there thro' a window I'd watch the bright eyes 
 Of the far-away stars as they shone in the skies; 
 Or in turning my head tow'rd the light of the fire 
 All the shadows around seemed woefully dire. 
 Until Morpheus, bless him ! would over me peep, 
 Wave gently his poppies and soothe me to sleep. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 3I 
 
 But the somnific pow'r of this god of repose 
 
 Could not hold in subjection the host of dread foes 
 
 That would come in my dreams these sweet hours to molest, 
 
 Fill my heart with dismay and disquiet my rest ; 
 
 For how oft did I call to my mother when she 
 
 Would say there was nothing at all after me, 
 
 And to quiet my fears from this spell of deep gloom, 
 
 Would at once light a lamp and examine the room. 
 
 Ah! full well I remember when but a small boy 
 How I strove with hard licks a cat's life to destroy, 
 x^nd was told at the time by a servant that he 
 (The old cat) would come after me sure as could be. 
 As the criminal's guilt is more sensibly felt 
 When the law unto him condemnation has dealt. 
 So this mischief at first but a pastime in fun 
 Boded evil indeed when I'd found what I'd done. 
 
 Not one moment of peace from that hour could I find, 
 
 For the thought of the "haunt" was disturbing my mind ; 
 
 And at last when at night to my bed I must go, 
 
 I lay down with a dread as of meeting a foe. 
 
 In the slumbers of midnight — that hour still and lone — 
 
 I awoke, and could hear a deep, ominous groan ; 
 
 I looked up at the window, and through it there flew 
 
 A great long snaky ghost striped with red and with blue. 
 
 "Lordy mercy! Oh Lordy!" I scream'd and I cried, 
 
 And if pa had not come to be sure I had died. 
 
32 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 There was much to encounter of troubles and fears 
 All along through the course of my puerile }'ears ; 
 But nothing beside within all the whole course 
 Scared me in this way save a skeleton horse ; 
 Which appear'd at my bed a long time after that, 
 And convulsed me with fright as I'd been by the cat. 
 
 From the tale of these ghosts, my great dread when a boy, 
 
 I shall turn to a theme which affords me more joy; 
 
 To a theme which though seen through the mist of long 
 
 years. 
 Becomes bright as the mkt from the mind disappears ; 
 For the mem'ry^at work brings back much we have done, 
 Whether childish displeasure or sweet childish fun. 
 With no brother alive, and no white associate. 
 O'er the fields, down the lanes, with a negro boy mate, 
 I would go every day in a regular race 
 To engage in the sport of a grasshopper chase. 
 When these insects were caught we would thrust them alive 
 In a hole in the earth with the hope they would thrive ; 
 We'd feed them as we would a fat pig in the sty. 
 But our feeding was useless — the "pigs" would all die. 
 What there was in this pastime attracted me so 
 It would seem very hard for another to know ; 
 But to me 'twas delightful, and e'en now I feel 
 A remembrance of joy I can never reveal. 
 
 But the gay verdant fields which are charmingly grown 
 O'er with grass, and with plants, and with flowers full blown. 
 Are at last by cold winter made drear}' and bare. 
 And m}- pleasure, if any, must come from elsewhere. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 33 
 
 Though the rich summer season is past and gone, yet 
 Its departure occasions but little regret ; 
 For the pleasure I saw during summer's bright heat 
 Is succeeded by that seen 'mid snows and the sleet. 
 
 Seated now by the fire — quite a small, anxious chap — 
 I am watching some one as he makes me a trap ; 
 When 'tis linish'd I take it, and quickly I go 
 It tctoset in a place where I kick off the snow. 
 Very glad thus to see where a spot of earth's shown, 
 Many sparrows and snowbirds soon hither have flown. 
 And when lured by the bait they're so anxious to eat 
 One is presently captured, and oh what a treat ! 
 Now this wee little bird, whom to catch I have toil'd, 
 Being carefully drest on the coals he is broil'd, 
 And so dainty the taste, so savory and sweet, 
 Mv conviction still is he's the sweetest of meat. 
 
 Of the rabbits, also, I must something relate. 
 They contributed much to my fun at this date. 
 Not exactly, howe'er, at this date, be it known. 
 For with these I began when a boy larger grown. 
 Now to capture the rabbits I had a round gum 
 With a door at one end into which they could come; 
 And the gum being set at a muse in the fence, 
 Mister Bun comes along and the turnip-top scents. 
 His olfactory sense being much gratified. 
 To investigate further he saunters inside ; 
 Going now to the end for the dainty repast 
 
34 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 He trips the door-prop, the door falls and he's fast. 
 Bright and early next morn to the gum I repair, 
 Looking in at the door I observ^e the old hare ; 
 And am glad, very glad at the game I have caught. 
 Yet though surely my rabbit is scarce worth a groat. 
 
 During warm sunny days, oh, how oft I have been 
 With my father to angle for perch and red-fin, 
 And beneath the cool shade overhanging the run 
 We have stood and enjoyed this fishery fun. 
 Greatly pleased I was too when my father would take 
 Up his gun for a hunt, and for company's sake 
 Let me follow. The pleasure was great when his aim 
 Satisfied my fond wish by his killing the game. 
 Thiis by going with him, and with others also, 
 Many a spot was endear'd, whither thoughts daily go; 
 And those places e'en now, if by chance them I see. 
 Are reminders at once of how thinsfs used to be. 
 
 O how oft does fond mem'ry those child-walks review, 
 
 "x'lnd every loved spot which my infancy knew;" 
 
 How oft do I think of those woody alcoves 
 
 Where honeysuckles grew 'mid the deep tangled groves, 
 
 Through whose shade I have roved with the plantation boys 
 
 To gather this fruit which the farm-child enjoys. 
 
 And how pleasant always was the sweet music made 
 
 By the clear trilling notes of the birds in the shade, 
 
 And how pleasantly sad and how very acute 
 
 Is the thought of the sound of the old sourwood flute. 
 
 Which some boy with a "barlow" was certain to make. 
 
 And to blend with the bird-songfs its resonant shake. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. ' 35 
 
 Now before I complete this dull section of rhyme 
 
 Just a word let me add on the joyous old time 
 
 When we bo^'s roam'd the fields, about twenty abreast, 
 
 To find in the broom-straw a partridge's nest. 
 
 Memor}^ ! thou art wonderful ! strange ! from thy train 
 
 Of things past thou dost give either pleasure or pain ! 
 
 When beclouded with care, and there's nothing to charm. 
 
 It is pleasant to think of the scenes on the farm : 
 
 The plentiful harvest of ripe, yellow corn 
 
 Whic;Ji was annually gather'd to fill the large barn ; 
 
 The full houses of fodder packed up in thick walls 
 
 For the mules and the horses that ate in the stalls ; 
 
 The large crop of potatoes, the cotton-fields white, 
 
 And the pickers who'd bring up full baskets at night ; 
 
 And the fat heavy hogs, with a snore and a grunt, 
 
 In their laziness lay, as is always their wont. 
 
 On the pen I would sit, and look in at this sight, 
 
 Which afforded me daily a share of delight ; 
 
 And the day of their butch'ry I hail'd with much joy, 
 
 For to me 'twas enjoyment unmix'd with alloy. 
 
 To the calves in the lawn, to the cows at the gate. 
 
 To the oxen who tugg'd under loads of great weio-ht, 
 
 To the rest of the herd, or in field or in wood, 
 
 To them all fancy flies in the happiest mood. 
 
 And the sheep, with their nude, slender legs, I see now 
 
 Just as though it had been but a few days ago ; 
 
 Their bright eyes, crooked horns, and their long shaggy 
 
 fleece, 
 Impress'd me with some thoughts time will never efface ; 
 There was something 'bout them which I very much fear'd. 
 For I thought they seem'd ghostly, unnat'ral, and weird ; 
 
2,6 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 And 'twas often the case when I lay fast asleep 
 
 I would think in my dreams of the ugly old sheep. 
 
 There were chickens and turkeys and guineas and geese, 
 
 Puddle-ducks and muscovies all over the place ; 
 
 And the pigeons would coo in their holes in the shed, 
 
 On the houses they'd strut, or fly pioudly o'er head. 
 
 As my thoughts wander back they unfailingly stop 
 
 At the large stately oak overspreading the shop, 
 
 Neath whose roof the blacksmith with his coals all aglow, 
 
 Plied his skill on such tools as the wedge and grubhoe. 
 
 ^Twas a pleasant retreat during winter's bleak days 
 
 To stand on the forge and enjoy the warm blaze ; 
 
 See the smith with his tongs clasp the white-heated ore, 
 
 And with vigorous strokes make the shop ring and roar. 
 
 See the sparkles fly off — broken scales of the crust — 
 
 Like diminutive meteors through the thick dust; 
 
 How they shot all around through each crevice and chink. 
 
 Exciting much mirth as some urchin would shrink. 
 
 The hoarse-breathing bellows with round iron flue, 
 
 Making hotter the flame with each breath that it blew ; 
 
 The ring of the anvil as hammers would fall, 
 
 The vise and the " trav'ler," the old vat and all ; 
 
 These often return, let me go where I will — 
 
 Welcome spectres of yore, they revisit me still. 
 
 Off in front of the shop, on a parallel line, 
 
 Stood the ginhouse — a quaint, anti-bellum design, 
 
 And here operated the horses and men, 
 
 For no modern machinery was utilized then ; 
 
 No piston and boiler, no furnace and steam. 
 
 But plain wooden cogwheels drawn round by the team. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 37 
 
 The convivial season of Christmas of old 
 Is a thing which my fancy delights to behold ; 
 Every needful requirement the mind could suggest 
 Was fulfilled that that time should give pleasure and rest : 
 There was wood for the fires — an exhaustless supply, 
 And the fagots of lightwood fill'd boxes near by; 
 Every part of the yard must be carefully swept, 
 And the spacious old dwelling more orderly kept ; 
 Thus things moved along till at length Christmas Eve 
 ' Bade-«bhe menials quit work till the holidays leave. 
 Christmas Eve ! Oh, what mem'ries well up thro' that tide^ 
 When my sisters and I (one of whom has since died ! ) 
 Busied round with our chatter, with never a pause, 
 'Bout the "goodies" expected from old Santa Claus. 
 And when through the hours of that still, deathlike lull 
 We awoke, and realized that our stockings were full. 
 No one could describe th' inexpressible joy 
 Of two glad little girls and a grlad little bov. 
 
 How distinctlv remembrance, that lisfhtninsf of mind. 
 
 Takes me back to the room where on Christmas we dined ; 
 
 The mahogany table with viand and dish 
 
 Supplied every craving the palate could wish ; 
 
 Every guest that was present would praise the rich feast, 
 
 Or show his approval by eating at least ; 
 
 And when from this room in the parlor we went 
 
 ]\Ierry laughter and talk were enjoy'd to content ; 
 
 But tiring on this, just for innocent fun, 
 
 A table was placed and a game was begun ; 
 
 They'd give and they'd beg, they would cut and they'd deal,, 
 
38 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 Interspersing at times laughter's jolly, loud peal, 
 
 Until some of the players would gladly exclaim 
 
 That they played that time high, low, jack and the game. 
 
 As time's ceaseless roll other days brought around 
 
 New diversions and sports were successively found. 
 
 And no day of the season was dull to me then, 
 
 But those days are now gone, the}' can ne'er come again. 
 
 Though a very poor tribute I know I shall pay. 
 
 Yet I'll close not these lines without something to say 
 
 'Bout the faithful negroes in their cabins close by 
 
 All of whom I see now in my memory's eye. 
 
 Many a night when the weather was balmy like Ma}^ 
 
 I was oft engaged with negro-children at pla}^ ; 
 
 In the plays "hide the whip," "John Bailey," and "denbase" 
 
 We would run one another in liveliest chase; 
 
 And to see the dim figures glide round thus at night 
 
 Was the ne plus ultra of my boyish delight. 
 
 And on Sunday also, at some choice rendezvous 
 
 The young negroes at home, those from neigh'bring farms 
 
 too. 
 Would be busy at play — all the men and the boys — 
 Making merry the scene with their running and'noise. 
 
 In these cursory thoughts I have meant to define 
 
 Little things which occurred before I was nine ; 
 
 Near which age of my life I was able to draw 
 
 A new sketch of the times — 'twas the war. 
 
 All the negroes were freed, and the most of them gone 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 39 
 
 To begin life anew in the era jnst born. 
 
 To a day-school also 'bont this time I was sent, 
 
 And I'll never forget what I then underwent ; 
 
 To be thus torn away from the things I enjoy'd 
 
 Was a terror — a torment which greatly anno}-'d. 
 
 To be pent in a house with my book or my slate, 
 
 And deprived at my home of my negro-boy mate ; 
 
 To recite and recite, and still lessons to get 
 
 Was the hardest experience I had seen yet. 
 
 'Tw^ a task so severe that my prejudice ran 
 
 Against it from that time iintil I was a man. 
 
 But these wandering thoughts I'll no further extend, 
 
 Verv few more the lines and I'll be at the end. 
 
 Mark the change, if yoii please, between now and the past ! 
 And, perhaps, there's no one who feels more the contrast 
 Than myself, when I think of my living alone 
 At the very same place where I've seen and have known 
 All the incidents that I have tried to relate ; 
 They occur to my mind, in my heart the}'^ create 
 Melancholy and grief — a sad waste and a void — 
 Caused by cruel Time who has wrought and destro}'d ! 
 Happy years that are gone, upon you I do dwell ! 
 Dearest scenes of my life, let me bid you farewell ! 
 
 October 6, 1894. 
 
40 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 UNES TO CLAIRE. 
 
 (An Acrostic.) 
 
 Come gentle Muse, thy presence lend, 
 Let purest words my tho ights attend, 
 Attune my lyre to music sweet, 
 Infuse thy spirit true, discreet ; 
 Remove whate'er is insincere, 
 Evince thyself my patron here. 
 
 Renshawe, how beautiful thy name ! 
 Esteem and praise thou too dost claim. 
 Nature hath done for thee her part — 
 Stamp'd beauty without gloss of art ; 
 How well her force of art to try 
 Attests itself in thy soft eye, 
 Whose pleasing depth and tender light 
 E'er seen becomes a part of sight. 
 
 Now on thy worth— thy moral dues — 
 Efficient words I cannot use; 
 With gen'rous attributes of mind. 
 So purely sweet and sweetly kind. 
 On these 'twere best some other hand 
 Meet praise bestow. I never can 
 Evoke applause for gifts so grand. 
 
 November 16, 1S94. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 41 
 
 ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY. 
 
 There's an image I know ever round me, 
 'Tis the image of her I most love, 
 And its essence so subtle has bound me 
 x\s if by some force from above ; 
 Should I go to earth's parts the remotest, 
 Or sail over old ocean's deep blue, 
 I am sure the first thing to be noticed 
 Would be the fair image there too. 
 
 All the spouting and sparkling of fountains, 
 
 All the soft-gurgling music of rills, 
 
 The sublime and the grand of the mountains 
 
 In whose presence the soul of man thrills ; 
 
 The sweet notes of the birds gayly singing, 
 
 Tangled forests of vine and of tree. 
 
 All the grass and the flowerets springing, 
 
 Are not fair as this imaee to me. 
 
 And such beauty thus seen by reflection 
 In the dim, murky mirror of mind. 
 Cannot possibly reach that perfection 
 Which in her own self I could find ; 
 To indulge such a picture ideal 
 Is a pleasure I'd hate to forego, 
 But to be with and look at the real 
 Is the rarest of blessings below. 
 
42 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 That my love for this one is sincerer 
 Than mere meaningless words can convey, 
 That my heart feels a zeal which is dearer 
 Is too trnly defined to gainsay ; 
 For last night while slumbering and sleeping 
 I dreamed some one said she must die ; 
 And when I awoke I was weeping, 
 And my heart it did heave with a sigh. 
 
 But the glory which follow'd this vision, 
 When my sense back again was restored, 
 Was a foretaste of regions elysian 
 Where sorrow no more is deplored ; 
 'Twas a feeling of grand satisfaction 
 Which no pow'r of description can tell. 
 And the words which soothed my distraction 
 Were : 'twas only a dream — she is well. 
 
 Although burden'd with care and with sorrow, 
 I'm not yet in the dust of despair ; 
 To-days hope buoys me up for the morrow. 
 And encouragingly says forbear. 
 "There is many a pang to pursue me: 
 They may crush, but they shall not contemn — 
 They may torture, but shall not subdue me — 
 'T is of HER that I think — not of them." 
 
 Jnly i8 1895. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 43 
 
 NIGHTFALL THE LAST OF AUGUST. 
 
 She sun goes down behind the hills, he slowly steals away, 
 
 And twinkling stars now blooming out announce the part- 
 ing day ; 
 
 Soon night her vail o'er earth will spread, her vail of sable 
 hue — 
 
 Already leaves and flowers bend beneath the falling dew. 
 
 The warbling tenants of the day, in tree or hedge or bush. 
 Are resting now from all their sports — the shadows bid 
 
 them hush; 
 But high upon some lonely perch, 'midst foliage thick and 
 
 wild. 
 The owlet sings her dismal song which scares the timid 
 
 child. 
 
 The piping bullbat rising high, the plaintive whippoorwill 
 Are singing now in other climes — their voice with us is still ; 
 The swallow dares prolong her stay, and now at evening's 
 
 close, 
 Without a twitter on she speeds — with whistling wing she 
 
 goes. 
 
 The drowsy bat all day ensconced in his small, lonely lair 
 Now spreads his leathern wings full length and darkly 
 
 cleaves the air, 
 With noiseless flap he skims along beating his silent round — 
 See ! look what circles he describes ! look there ! he tips the 
 
 p-round. 
 
44 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 "The beetle wheels its droning flight," the katydid in 
 trees 
 
 Articulates its "katydid" upon the summer breeze; 
 
 The rev'ling cricket chirps its song from hearth and under- 
 ground, 
 
 And many a pang or pleasure gone returns with ev'ry sound. 
 
 The ugly toad from sleep aroused now winks, and hopping 
 
 out 
 From under houses, boards, and clods, begins his nightly 
 
 bout; 
 His ugliness we all admit, yet no one e'er destroys 
 The life of this poor harmless thing, saves snake and cruel 
 
 boys. 
 
 The salient hare with cautious bound and ever list'ning ear 
 From covert steals so warily his looks suggest his fear; 
 Full well his instinct teaches him a fact we all should 
 
 know — 
 That whatsoe'er's without defense is sought by ev'ry foe. 
 Now come the sounds, from pastures green and from the 
 
 dark, cool dells, 
 Of lowing herds, of bleating sheep, and drowsy-tinkling 
 
 bells ; 
 And ever and anon is heard the voice of human song, 
 Or loud halloo, or noisy whoop, echoing far along. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 45 
 
 Upon the ear, through stilly air, from many a neighb'ring 
 
 yard. 
 The faithful watch-dog's larum sounds his master's home to 
 
 guard ; 
 And oft an interrupting noise against the stillness swells 
 Where straining close behind the hare the fox-hound loudly 
 
 yells. 
 
 'Tis at this season of the year — the greater hardships o'er — 
 
 The Fural occupant enjoys himself as not before ; 
 
 Nor bloomy spring, nor mellow fall, delightful tho' their 
 
 charm, 
 Has ever giv'n such privilege to him who works the farm. 
 
 August 29, 1895. 
 
 THE BACHELOR. 
 
 The bachelor ! the bachelor ! 
 And what, I pray, is he good for? 
 Nobody on this round earth knows, 
 But should I an opinion give 
 Why God lets such a creature live 
 I'd say : he rounds the sum of woes. 
 
 Each phase of life helps form life's chain. 
 And ev'ry link must bear its strain, 
 The bachelor is like the swivel ; 
 For round him all earth's evils turn. 
 And for him there's so much concern 
 He thinks : well, I do catch the d — 1 ! 
 
 August 30, 1895. 
 
46 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 THE BLACK-SNAKE AND THE TURTLE. 
 
 "Yes I'll go," said the snake, 
 
 "Through the fen or the brake — 
 
 Anywhere just to leave this location ; 
 
 It is now my desire 
 
 From this place to retire 
 
 In order that I eet recreation. 
 
 • ' There's no pleasure at home ! 
 
 I care not what may come 
 
 I am busy with this and the other ; 
 
 I can find mot a day 
 
 To devote to my play. 
 
 It is nothing but trouble and bother!" 
 
 This soliloquy said 
 
 The young snake raised his head, 
 
 And sped on thro' sunshine and thro' shadow, 
 
 Till at length he thought best 
 
 That he take a short rest 
 
 'Midst the cool springing grass of the meadow. 
 
 And while here he began 
 
 All his prospects to scan — 
 
 Many colors of life were presented ; 
 
 And to tell it in brief 
 
 Nothing gave more relief 
 
 Than to think his old home was absented. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 47 
 
 "I am thankful today 
 
 I'm away ! I'm away ! 
 
 I've no wish or desire of returning — 
 
 Of the strain and the whirl 
 
 Of this busy, wide world 
 
 I regret to have been less discerning." 
 
 This he said all alone, 
 
 And had doubtless gone on 
 
 Had he not interrupted a turtle 
 
 Who had come from his store, 
 
 Which he kept on the shore, 
 
 To his berth iinder grass and wild-myrtle. 
 
 Said the turtle to him : 
 
 " Why, my friend, you look trim 
 
 In that fine flossy suit of prunello ; 
 
 Notwithstanding I see 
 
 Folks of ev'ry degree 
 
 I confess I have seen no such fellow." 
 
 Complimented this way 
 
 There was little delay 
 
 In producing in him a conviction 
 
 That he'd won a kind friend 
 
 Who'd prove kind to the end, 
 
 And said so without any restriction. 
 
48 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 Now the turtle well knew 
 
 The best thing he could do, 
 
 After hearing this speech so confiding, 
 
 Was to flatter and coax 
 
 And employ funny jokes. 
 
 Though his real intent he was hiding. 
 
 He convinced the young snake 
 
 There was much he could make — 
 
 That great good in this world did betide him, 
 
 And said he: "would you win 
 
 You have but to begin," 
 
 And proffer'd his own judgement to guide him. 
 
 "The good looks you possess 
 
 Accord well with your dress, 
 
 And your eye is of pure diamond brightness ; 
 
 You've a pretty, fine head, 
 
 And the first word you said 
 
 Convinced me you excel in politeness. 
 
 " But look here ! I didn't know 
 
 Time was running out so — 
 
 Ivittle more and the sun will be setting ; 
 
 Hours and days are so fleet 
 
 When our pleasures are sweet — 
 
 I hadn't noticed how late it was getting. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 49 
 
 " Since 'tis late come with me 
 
 Let's repair to yon tree, 
 
 I keep there my storehouse of provision , 
 
 And whatever you think 
 
 Of to eat or to drink 
 
 Shall he had," and he spoke with precision. 
 
 'Tisn't worth while to allude 
 
 To what further ensued, 
 
 Save to say there was fondness between them ; 
 
 With much intimacy 
 
 They went off in great glee, 
 
 It were funny indeed to have seen them. 
 
 Now at last they have come 
 
 To the turtle's fine home, 
 
 Except that they must cross some deep water ; 
 
 The snake said: I can't swim." 
 
 Said the turtle to him : 
 
 "Mount my back I'll transport you in order." 
 
 The snake craw'd on the shell 
 
 Which but meant a farewell 
 
 To himself and his heirs now, forever ; 
 
 For his strange, living boat 
 
 Was soon fast to his throat, 
 
 And ate him in a manner quite clever. 
 
50 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Now the moral of this 
 
 Is too easy to miss , 
 
 'Tis too plain to prevent us from finding 
 
 That this clumsy, mean verse 
 
 Simply tries to rehearse 
 
 The old tale of the axe still a-grinding. 
 
 'Tis a lesson also 
 
 To the young who will go 
 
 From their homes off in search of a better, 
 
 Who returh sadly wreck'd 
 
 And are lost to respect — 
 
 For the good of this world a dead letter. 
 
 September lo, 1895. 
 
 A STRANGE ANSWER. 
 
 When I was a child I loved dearly to hear 
 The stories of ghosts and such tales as affright ; 
 They wrought within me a mysterious fear 
 Which curdled my blood, but ne'er fail'd to delight. 
 
 Sometimes after supper the kitchen I'd seek 
 To get with the darkies — the family slaves, 
 And there I might hear any night in the week 
 Adventurous tales or the legends of graves. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 5 1 
 
 Some sable hero not unfrequently held 
 
 A place of importance at these special times, 
 
 And one of the tales which they loved much to tell 
 
 Was told as here giv'n in the following rhymes: 
 
 "There once was a man whom his master had sent 
 Alone in the woods boards and shingles to rive ; 
 And lireary and wild was the place where he went, 
 Remote from the highways in which people drive. 
 
 "A custom there was with some slave-holding men 
 To give to their slaves certain work to achieve. 
 And if they perform'd it before the week's end 
 The time yet remaining was free to receive. 
 
 "Accordingly this slave his work had begun. 
 And thither he went never stopping to wait ; 
 In four or five days he might have his task done. 
 Yet though if he did he must toil soon and late. 
 
 "One night — 'twas the last — he was glad he could say 
 Completion was near ; that although he had stoop'd 
 And strain'd many an hour he could finish next day ; 
 This said, laid his coat on his arm, and then whoop'd. 
 
52 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 
 
 "His voice, strong and clear, loudly rang thro' the air, 
 And pierced the deep gloom all around him so black, 
 All sounds of the echoes were still ev'ry where — 
 But hark ! what was that ! something answered him back. 
 
 " A slight, nervous tremor pass'd over his frame, 
 
 For he was alone, and he knew that no men 
 
 Lived back in that woods ; — but, said he, ' In heav'n's name 
 
 Did not some one whoop?' — Then he whooped again. 
 
 "Whoo-whoop! came the voice, and the same as before, 
 Except that 'twas nearer by half a mile's space. 
 Said he : ' I must hush and not whoop any more. 
 For surely that's something pursuing my trace. 
 
 " He quicken'd his step, but not yet to a run. 
 His forehead was damp with a cool, chilly sweat 
 He had not a weapon — a pistol or gun — 
 And fully two miles must be gone over yet. 
 
 "Again came the whoop! 'twas now fearful indeed. 
 Not farther behind than three-fourths of a mile. 
 And still coming on with inciedible speed 
 Much louder it grew, and more frantic and wild ! 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 53 
 
 '"Great God! 'said the man, and his coat he threw down; 
 
 He had not a moment or second to waste ; 
 
 O'er bushes and logs and the rough, rugged ground 
 
 He ran for his home in all possible haste. 
 
 "The feeling of fear was now high in his breast, 
 And higher it rose as for life he rush'd on ; 
 How anxious, how eager, how grimly distressed 
 He felt as he said to himself — 'I am gone.' 
 
 "But listen what screaming! and what did it mean — 
 Such horrible sound now so wildly afloat ! — 
 'Twas a brute's angry cry as he thought he had seen 
 The man's fallen form, but instead 'twas his coat. 
 
 " He sprang on the coat and his fury awoke — 
 
 How quickly in pieces the garment he'd torn ! 
 
 And though short was the time which he spent, yet it broke 
 
 His swift, savage chase, while the man hurried on. 
 
 "The latter now thought as he hasten'd along 
 That maybe 'twas thus he might 'scape the fierce brute ; 
 He pull'd off his pants which were heavy and strong, 
 And left them on trail to impede the pursuit. 
 
54 ■ MUSINGS OF A BACHEI.OR 
 
 "The lithe, savage monster soon came upon those. 
 And tore them up quickly to many a shred ; 
 But rnissing his prey he now madly arose 
 To chase the poor man who had gotten ahead. 
 
 "Ahead? yes ahead! and why strove he now more? 
 What lighten'd his heart and new energy gave? 
 'Twas light beaming out from his own open door 
 Which seemingly said: 'hurry on, I will save.' 
 
 "His strong, manly frame seem'd new vigor to gain, 
 Hope quicken'd his step, though he felt greater fear ! 
 His sinewy linAs bounded wildly amain, 
 Because he well knew his pursuer was near. 
 
 " But fate whose decree seem'd relentless at first 
 To spare the rich gift which is loved by all men. 
 Assumed a new turn, and allow'd him to burst 
 Into his own house and be safe once again. 
 
 " He quickly turn'd round when he'd gotten inside 
 To slam to the door to secure him within. 
 When lo ! in the light from the room he descried 
 A huge panther's head, and with horrible grin !" 
 
 This tale, though absurd, I still love to recall. 
 It carries me back to the scenes of the past ; 
 The kitchen, the faces, the fire-place and all 
 Shall bide in my mem'ry with joy to the last. 
 
 Octobei- 14, 1895. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 55 
 
 AUTUMN SUNLIGHT AFTER FROST. 
 
 After frost in the month of October 
 
 Is my favorite time of the year, 
 
 When the season is tranquil and sober, 
 
 And the leaves are all yellow and sear; 
 
 When the fields and the forests are richly bedight 
 
 In the soft-glowing rays of the autumn sunlight. 
 
 After frost comes the fine, bracing weather 
 
 Which imparts a fresh feeling and rare, 
 
 'Tis delightfully nice altogether — 
 
 This exhil'rating, October air; 
 
 There's a beauty, a lustre peculiarly bright 
 
 In the soft-glowing ra^-s of the autumn sunlight. 
 
 After frost when the farmers are trying 
 
 To get in their rich harvest of grain 
 
 All the beauty of nature is vying 
 
 In the verdure, the stream, and the plain ; — 
 
 These present to the eye a delectable sight 
 
 When so brightly lit up by the autumn s mlight. 
 
 After frost all the birds that migrated 
 
 When the heat of the spring grew too warm 
 
 Are again among us reinstated, 
 
 Harbingers of the cold, wintry storm ; 
 
 It is pleasant to see them on perch or in flight, 
 
 For they look glad and happy in th' autumn sunlight. 
 
56 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 After frost the hickories are dropping 
 
 From the boughs of the trees straight and high, 
 
 And the squirrels are running and hopping 
 
 To gather their winter supply ; 
 
 And they frisk and they jump like a shadowy sprite 
 
 Up and down and around in the autumn sunlight. 
 
 After frost there is something inviting 
 
 In whatever of nature I see, 
 
 And how much I regret that my writing 
 
 Fails to tell what I feel within me ; 
 
 'Tis my soul which alone can attain to the height 
 
 Of the transcendent glory of th' autumn sunlight. 
 
 October 24, 1895. 
 
 SONG OF THE OWL. 
 
 De owl sot on de cipus-knee 
 
 An' look'd up in de gum, 
 
 She said I aint gwine in dat tree 
 
 Untel I set here some : 
 
 Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 
 
 Dare's mo' whay dat come f 'om. 
 
 De owl, she edicated high 
 An' pooddy too — but grum, 
 You see her sense in dat big eye 
 Which do her looks become ; 
 Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 
 Dare' mo' whay dat come f 'om. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 57 
 
 x\n' when she 'gin to swell her th'oat 
 Look out fur some'n to come, 
 She mash her mouf down on de note 
 An' make de woods fair hum ; 
 Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 
 Dare's mo' whay dat come f'om. 
 
 An' ef she want to hab some fun 
 
 You nebber ketch her mum, 
 
 In makin' fun she mainest one — 
 
 She allers make up some : 
 
 Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 
 
 Dare's mo' whay dat come f'om. 
 
 De owl, she light but she aint spry. 
 
 An' when she wid her chum 
 
 She whoop an' laugh an' drap her eye 
 
 Jes like she drunk on rum ; 
 
 Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 
 
 No mo' whay dat come f'om. 
 
 November 2, 1893. 
 
58 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 [The following lines were suggested by the fact that call-meetings of 
 a trivial character are usually productive of much talk but of little good, 
 and if indeed any good is accomplished, it generally results from the sug- 
 gestion of some one from whom it was least expected.] 
 
 (A Burlesque.) 
 
 A gobbler one morning awoke 
 
 To find his back cover'd with snow, 
 Said he: "Such as this I am sure would provoke 
 
 A saint, if he had to fare so. 
 
 Why is it I wonder that we 
 
 (Addressing the rest that were there) 
 Just have to sit here all night long in a tree, 
 
 Or on a high pole, and the air 
 So cold it would freeze anything? To my mind 
 It's caused by the baseness and work of mankind." 
 
 "Tut! tut! that is plain," said a hen: 
 
 "I find that as old as you are 
 You know very little indeed about men ; 
 
 All over this country, or far 
 
 Or near, it is said you can't find 
 
 One-half the meanness in a hog, 
 Or anything else, that there is in mankind. 
 
 You might ask a horse or a dog 
 If I am not right ; I'll suggest, anyway. 
 You ask all the fowls just to see what they'll say.'' 
 
 "Well dear," said the gobbler, "indeed 
 I'm anxious to hear from them all, 
 And at your suggestion I mean to proceed 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 59 
 
 At once, ma' am, a meeting to call; 
 
 I'll write it as short as I can. 
 
 And set forth the time and the place, 
 Just say we request your opinion of man — 
 
 That dastardly villian and base. 
 Our grievance is bad, 'tis too bad to be borne. 
 The yoke of the tyrant is all we have worn." 
 
 The time was the first set upon. 
 
 The place was a long garden walk 
 Where April the first thirty minutes past one , 
 
 Would come quite a number to talk. 
 
 The rooster, the gander, the drake, 
 
 The peacock, the guinea, and all. 
 Were look'd for that day with no thought of mistake, 
 
 As none could be deaf to the call. 
 And when, sure enough, the glad day did arrive 
 The adage would say: "They were too thick to thrive." 
 
 The rooster, well known on the land, 
 
 And ready always for defense. 
 With proud, haughty bearing walk'd up to the stand 
 
 And said it was time to commence. 
 
 The crowd being still'd by a rap. 
 
 The thing which came next to decide 
 Was whom they should choose as a suitable chap 
 
 To sit in the chair and preside. 
 The gobbler was thought by the rooster so famed 
 Without hesitation the o-obbler was named. 
 
6o MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 A second to this came at last, 
 
 Then votes on the noes and the ayes, — 
 The latter received a unanimous cast 
 
 Which caused a most pleasant surprise. 
 
 Elected, two members arose 
 
 To act as escorts to the chair, 
 And every one present seem'd glad to disclose 
 
 The fact that he was to sit there. 
 The rooster withdrew, when the gobbler averr'd 
 How grateful he felt for the honor conferr'd. 
 
 Now sitting with gavel in hand 
 
 The table he rapp'd quick and loud, 
 Announcing of course that he meant to command 
 
 Good order at once in the crowd. 
 
 Said he: "Let's to work if you please, 
 
 The hours are so swift m their flight 
 They bear us along as on wings of the bees 
 
 Into the dark hive of the night. 
 No further detention b}^ me I protest, 
 My views are well known, so let's hear from the rest." 
 
 These words, though so few, drew applause, — 
 
 A thing which enthusiasm owes. 
 And presently; after a suitable pause. 
 
 The rooster impetuous rose. 
 
 Addressing the Chair, he began 
 
 In terms of invective the worst ; 
 His hate, his contempt, and his censure of man 
 
 Were proof that he wish'd him accurst. 
 He thought that no creature that stood iti life's path 
 Deserved half so much of the eternal wrath. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 
 
 Then follow'd the drake and peacock, 
 
 And each with strong emphasis said 
 How sorry he was he was pow'rless to knock 
 
 Such scoundrels as man in the head. 
 
 A bloodthirsty villian indeed, 
 
 Whose life was as mean as could be, — 
 To gi-^e greatest pain and to satisfy greed 
 
 Express'd his career to a T. 
 "I wish," said the drake, "I care not what you think, 
 In depths of 'Inferno' his soul could now sink." 
 
 x\t this came applause and loud cheers. 
 
 Confusion and clamorous noise ; 
 The crowd getting quiet, then came to their ears 
 
 The out-of-place words of "Well, boys." 
 
 At once every one turn'd to find 
 
 Whence words so uncouth could proceed. 
 When far in the rear — away back there behind 
 
 The guinea was standing to read. 
 He thought by his essay to gain some renown. 
 But bother'd by laughter, got mad and sat down. 
 
 The gander was last to be heard. 
 
 And when recognized by the Chair 
 He said : " I expected to say not a word. 
 
 But now I could hardly forbear. 
 
 I've listen'd to what you have said, 
 
 Attentively too as I could. 
 And though well aware that the notice I read 
 
 Was not at all misunderstood, 
 Yet surely it puzzles the mind of a goose 
 To see what we'll gain by the means of abuse. 
 
62 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 " According to History you know 
 
 'Tis proved we should never be rash, 
 In righting our wrongs it is best to go slow — 
 
 Not carry things down with a crash. 
 
 Revenge goes its way without eyes, 
 
 Impell'd by the heart's blackest hate ; 
 How deadly its work, how unsafe and unwise, 
 
 Arrested, alas, when too late ! 
 I vow (no offense) from what some of you say 
 Your words are in keeping with this All-Fools day." 
 
 The Chairman was struck with this speech, 
 
 And cherish 'd the wisdom contain'd ; 
 He thought Mister Gander no "Goose," but might teach 
 
 The rest how contentment was gain'd. 
 
 The others likewise did agree 
 
 That anger their judgement had swerved. 
 And each one confessed that now he could see 
 
 'Twas what he had justly deserved. 
 The meeting adjourn'd, and this thought was impress'd, 
 That though they had spoken no wrongs were redress'd. 
 
 November 27, 1895. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 63 
 
 M-0-N-E-Y. 
 
 That mammon rules the mind and heart 
 
 Of men we plainly see, 
 The whole is greater than a part 
 
 Can never truer be ; 
 No woman, man, or urchin small 
 
 Who dwells beneath the sky 
 Will doubt the love among us all 
 
 For m-o-n-e-y. 
 
 The aged millionaire will win 
 
 Some blushing maiden fair. 
 While in her soul she loathes the sin 
 
 Of making such a pair. 
 The law of nature she perverts. 
 
 We need not question why, 
 'Tis but the pow'r which man exerts 
 
 With m-o-n-e-y. 
 
 The handsome, educated boy 
 
 Some rich old widow mates, 
 Her wealth it is he means t' enjoy, 
 
 Herself he stoutly hates ; 
 The principle which here we prove, 
 
 Let him who can deny, 
 Is wanton sacrifice of love 
 
 For m-o-n-e-y. 
 
64 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 
 
 What furnishes the rare beefsteak, 
 
 Keeps wood and coal for fire? 
 What gets the wine, the pie, the cake. 
 
 And all else we desire? 
 What cheers the heart, lights up the face, 
 
 Seems all to satisfy? 
 What helps so much in life's hard race? — 
 
 It's m-o-n-e-y. 
 
 What makes the candidate polite. 
 
 The merchant bow so low? 
 What stirs ^the farmer day and night. 
 
 And makes the doctor go? 
 What makes the student study late? 
 
 What makes the lawyer lie? 
 What moves all things both small and great ?- 
 
 It's m-o-n-e-y. 
 
 "What is the worth of anything" 
 
 (Alas, ignoble blot ! ) 
 "But so much money as 'twill bring ?"- 
 
 Life, honor or what not. 
 That pure white robe by virtue worn, 
 
 Bsteem'd and prized so high, 
 Is oft begrim'd and rent and torn 
 
 By m-o-n-e-y. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 65 
 
 ' Who are not wealthy,' Bulwer says, 
 
 ' Know not what can be done. 
 Wealth realizes all our ways, 
 
 By it great things are won ; 
 There's felt a granduer when possest 
 
 Which might the God's defy ; ' 
 For oh ! what might, what ease, what rest 
 
 In m-o-n-e-y. 
 
 "Love rules the camp, the court, the grove," 
 
 Thus Byron quotes the bard ; 
 But says : 'Twere difficult to prove, 
 
 (With poetry it's hard.) 
 But if love don't, why then cash does : 
 
 Without cash all were dry ; 
 The greatest pow'r that ever was 
 
 Is m-o-n-e-y. 
 
 June 14, 1896. 
 
 EPITAPH ON MR. BLANK. 
 
 Here lies a man from earth cut loose, 
 Tho' dead not miss'd, while here no use; 
 He grew in meanness not in grace. 
 And now he's gone to t'other place. 
 
 June 29, 1896. 
 
66 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 EPITAPH ON MRS. BLANK. 
 
 This unholy old dame (is there one to regret her?) 
 
 Was so hateful while here we can never forget her ; 
 
 Her tongue went the rounds of a measureless orbit 
 
 And struck with the force of the pugilist Corbett. 
 
 To stop this vile tongue nothing earthly could make her, 
 
 So in mercy to us God saw fit He should take her. 
 
 July i; 1896. 
 
 THE ROBIN'S SONG. 
 
 From the boughs of the trees there's a voice daily ringing, 
 
 'Tis the sound of the song which the robin is singing. 
 
 And so sweet are his notes I imagine him wooing, 
 
 For less sweet might they be if aught else he was doing. 
 
 From early in April he's singing so pretty 
 
 This rapturous song to his own little Nettie : 
 
 Oh my darling, sweet birdie, how fondly I love you, 
 
 How gladly my accents to heaven ascend 
 
 To that God who in wisdom is ruling above you 
 
 To ask Him to keep you, to bless and defend. 
 
 When the gray of the dawn the horizon is streaking 
 
 On the ear of the sleeper his love-strains are breaking. 
 
 When the sun in his glory the heaven is climbing. 
 
 With the breath of the morning his voice is still chiming; 
 
 At noon and at eve on the twigs he is swinging. 
 
 And gushing with love to his Nettie he's singing : 
 
 Oh my darling, sweet birdie, how fondly I love you. 
 
 How gladly my accents to heaven ascend 
 
 To that God who in wisdom is ruling above you 
 
 To ask him to keep you, to bless and defend. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 67 
 
 Though his nuptials are over and springtime is going, 
 His sweet, liquid ditty is flowing, is flowing ; 
 Though his tender young nestlings on him are depending 
 His song he still utters in gladness unending. 
 The world he makes brighter by warmth of the greeting 
 Which daily we hear in the song he's repeating : 
 Oh my darling, sweet birdies, how fondly I love you, 
 How gladly my accents to heaven ascend 
 ■To that God who in wisdom is ruling above you 
 To ask Him to keep you, to bless and defend. 
 
 July 18, 1S96. 
 
 THE GHOST OF THE ROADSIDE. 
 
 On many a page of ancient lore 
 We're told of ghosts in ghastly gore ; 
 Tradition brings us many a tale 
 Of those whose spirits weep and wail ; 
 And Holy Writ does not declare 
 That no such things inhabit air. 
 
 Within no castle great and old. 
 
 Or dungeon dark, and damp, and cold ; 
 
 Within no tumbling mansion drear. 
 
 Unoccupied for many a year ; 
 
 Nor where the trees and vines have shut 
 
 Almost from sight the mould'ring hut ; 
 
 Not where the fearless v^/arriors stood 
 
68 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 On battle's crimson field of blood ; 
 Not in the graveyard or the jail 
 Resides the phantom of this tale ; 
 But by the broad and open road 
 Is where he makes his lone abode. 
 
 'Tis said that once in every year, 
 
 As twilight's shadows dim the sky, 
 
 This apparition will appear 
 
 To all who may be passing by ; 
 
 And strange the sights which there are seen 
 
 Of fiery eyes and scowling mien; 
 
 Of hollow cheeks unclothed with flesh. 
 
 And bloody wounds still running fresh; 
 
 Of tongues emitting flame and smoke. 
 
 And limbs all dangling, bruised and broke. 
 
 In figures tall he often looms. 
 
 Or forms of monster beasts assumes; 
 
 Presents himself like birds of prey 
 
 Who sullen sit beside the way, 
 
 And crawling serpents long and gaunt 
 
 Add terror to this dismal haunt. 
 
 The sounds which at this place are heard 
 
 Are all save human speech or word ; 
 
 As if a secret to withhold 
 
 Not anything has yet been told; 
 
 But peals of thunder which appall. 
 
 The boom of cannon, crash of ball ; 
 
 The bass of ocean's rolling wave, 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 69 
 
 The cry of drowning wretch to save ; 
 
 The groans of death where weapon's gride 
 
 Has drawn from man the living tide ; 
 
 The howling tempest fierce and black, . 
 
 The roar and splash of cataract ; 
 
 These all with every horrid sight 
 
 In mad confusion there unite. 
 
 And others too which less appall, 
 
 As those of brutes that shriek and waul. 
 
 And those of all domestic fowls, 
 
 Of croaking daws and hooting owls, 
 
 Add notes of woe the place to fill. 
 
 Produced, it seems, by spectral will ; 
 
 Indeed there's nothing can escape 
 
 His pow'r to make, or sound or shape. 
 
 However strange these freaks may be 
 
 There's one yet stranger to appear: 
 
 No sounds yoii hear, no sights you see 
 
 Except within a certain sphere ; 
 
 And this incloses but a space 
 
 A rood's small siirface might embrace. 
 
 Explosive sounds which rift and rend 
 
 Cannot this boundary transcend ; 
 
 And torch and flame, though bright they shine, 
 
 Ne'er penetrate beyond the line. 
 
 And who that happens there could guess 
 The cause of all this vain distress? 
 'Twere hard for stranger to allege 
 The reason why, within a hedge 
 
70 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 Beside the road — a public way, 
 There e'er should be such wierd display- 
 But those who know have often said 
 'Tis but a spirit of the dead 
 Whose life, by wicked, murd'rous plot, 
 Was taken there upon that spot ; 
 For ever since the deed was done 
 Occurs this strange phenomenon. 
 
 And say they too that since the time 
 Of the commitment of the crime 
 No efforts have as yet been made. 
 By friendly hand or public aid, . 
 To ascertain by word or act 
 The circumstances of the fact ; 
 That he who did the crime commit 
 In freedom roams unpunished yet. 
 Hence all who know of this vile death 
 Are firmly grounded in the faith 
 That to avenge a deed so black 
 The spirit has to earth come back, 
 And will at length the secret give 
 Why he was not allowed to live ; 
 Expose the cause, the plot, the plan, 
 The murd'rer's name — the very man. 
 That his own blood may yet be shed 
 As retribution for the dead. 
 
 September 9. 1896. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 7 1 
 
 HOW THEY KHvLED HIM. 
 
 Way back in the 6o'vS, perhaps '63, 
 A steer on the land got hurt in the knee ; 
 And being no 'count my father said : 
 "Take him and eo knock him in the head. 
 
 He spoke to his foreman, Frazier by name, 
 And told Willis too to take part in the game ; 
 And they led him off with a pair of plow lines 
 To a forest of oaks and scrubby pines. 
 
 Their weapon of death was nothing at all 
 But a mallet of wood or rather a maul, 
 And this Willis thought a trifling affair, 
 But Frazier declared 'twould kill a bear. 
 
 When in the woods Willis fasten'd the steer. 
 And "Un Fra" as we call'd him, drew up near; 
 He planted his feet down firm in the earth 
 And slung his maul for all he was worth. 
 
 Almost as fast as the hail can fall 
 Down fell the strokes of Un Frazier's maul, 
 And Willis said every time the maul fell 
 It bounced and sounded " Who up pel tel." 
 
72 MUSINGS OF A BACHEIvOR 
 
 The steer's head was hard and his skin was thick, 
 And as Jack Grimes would say lack'd a "dead'nin' lick," 
 But Un Fra was old and needed more force. 
 His lick was not dead'nin' so, of course, 
 
 The maul was handed to Willis who 
 Would endeavor to show what he could do ; 
 He had watched Un Fra, and now at length, 
 The time was come he could show his strength. 
 
 Willis lifted the maul and like a cyclone 
 It "busted" the skin and broke the bone; 
 It came with a c^rash, a fearful jar. 
 And sounded he said : whooter smep khar." 
 
 " Whooter smep khar" and "who up pel tell" 
 Were the sounds of the licks by which the steer fell, 
 But Willis, who told it, made it appear 
 That "whooter smep khar" did the work for the steer. 
 
 July I, 1897. 
 
 TO-DAY I'M FORTY-ONE. 
 
 It is with pleasure and with pain 
 I go life's journey o'er again 
 
 In pensive retrospection ; 
 For many a flower bright and gay. 
 And many a thorn beside the way, 
 
 I see in recollection. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 73 
 
 My earliest years, now far removed, 
 But still by conscience most approved. 
 
 Will ever seem the bripfhtest ; 
 For then my life from day to day 
 Was naught but glee and sportive play — 
 
 'Twas then my cares were lightest. 
 
 This morn of life in childhood's May 
 Soon merges into broader day 
 
 Of hope and expectation, 
 And youth with many a promise bright 
 Points me to fields of sweet delight 
 
 With glowing contemplation. 
 
 Youth past and manhood is attain'd. 
 That age my vision long has strain'd 
 
 To see with eager gloating ; 
 But he who fancies this the o-oal 
 
 o 
 
 Where rests in peace the longing soul 
 On slippery floes is floating. 
 
 And now to-day at forty-one, 
 A bachelor and all alone, 
 
 I much deplore my mission 
 My life is but a synonym 
 For carking care and troubles grim — 
 
 'Tis almost a perdition. 
 
74 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 Pain, grief, regret, remorse are mine. 
 My heart in anguish doth repine 
 
 Within this bleeding bosom ; 
 No charm can soothe my aching brain. 
 No art absolve its bitter pain. 
 
 Ah, Death, art thou more grewsome ! 
 
 July 14, 1897, 
 
 THE CHICK AND THE TOAD. 
 
 A chick and toad together came 
 
 And each the other call'd by name ; 
 
 'Twas "Howd'ye Chick," "Good morning Frog," 
 
 And thus Commenced a dialogue. 
 
 At first disposed to gen'ralize, 
 They spoke of fields and azure skies. 
 They talk'ed of life, its toils and cares, 
 And finally their own affairs. 
 
 The toad 'gan to fabulate 
 'Bout how he lived and what he ate, 
 Said life was sad in all its ways. 
 And dark had been his brightest days. 
 
 "Tis not," said he, "that I rebel 
 Against the Hand that rules so well, 
 But let me ask the reason why 
 If you are happy, why not I? 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 75 
 
 " The circumstances go to show 
 That few are equal here below ; 
 Just take for instance you and me, 
 The diff'rence all can plainl}' see. 
 
 "And hereupon, that you may know 
 What I have said I think is so, 
 I'll show by contrast plain and true 
 How 'tis with me. how 'tis with you. 
 
 "At night you go within a keep 
 And rest you there in peaceful sleep, 
 Your mother too broods o'er you there 
 And sweeter makes the rest you share. 
 
 "But where am I? ah, that is it! 
 Upon the cold, cold ground I sit ; 
 No walls of safety round me stand 
 And danger lurks on ev'ry hand. 
 
 "And food to you is often spread, 
 By man thrice daily you are fed ; 
 Now think of that ! — fy ! fy ! avaunt ! 
 You do not know what 'tis to want. 
 
 "But in my case liow diff'rent pra}' ! 
 I often go from day to day 
 Without a bug or even a fl}-. 
 And hunofer till I almost die. 
 
76 MUSINGS OF A BACHKtOR 
 
 "And in our nat'ral gifts I ken 
 I fall below you ten times ten, 
 Your features all are smooth and prim, 
 Your ermine suit looks nice and trim. 
 
 " But look at me. You've never seen 
 Such suit of dingy, motley green ; 
 And no kahau nor porcupine 
 Has features ugly half as mine. 
 
 "And now, Sir Chick, before I close 
 I'll talk to you about my foes; 
 To see how they their vengeance wreak 
 Upon a thing so small and weak. 
 
 " The cruel boy with stick or lash 
 Beats me as if I were trash ; 
 Relentless grinds me with his heel 
 As if he thought I could not feel. 
 
 " And e'en your species when they're grown 
 Have never mercy to me shown, 
 They catch and use me as they please. 
 And take my life by slow degrees. 
 
 "My greatest enemy, the snake, 
 I dread as man would dread the stake. 
 There's nothing else on this great sphere 
 Awes me with such keen sense of fear. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. ']^ 
 
 "With you these are noiienties, 
 Of course you have no enemies ; 
 And could I share such happy cheer 
 I'd want to live for e'er and e'er. 
 
 "Now, Mister Chick, I guess you see 
 That you must needs with me agree; 
 The truth is plain, I think, in this 
 Ineleo-ant antithesis." 
 
 The chick replied: "I dont contemn 
 Your words, but yet I must condemn 
 The truth of those which go to show 
 That I have not a single foe. 
 
 "Why when my days were scarcely five 
 A hen ate me almost alive. 
 My head and back so freely bled 
 She left me on the ground for dead. 
 
 "And few the days — yes, very few — 
 Since a fierce hawk upon me flew, 
 But slightly caught in his death grip 
 I wrung myself and gave the slip. 
 
 "The fox, the weasel, and the mink 
 Will eat my flesh, my blood will drink; 
 The night-hawk perches near my coop 
 Seeking a chance on me to swoop. 
 
78 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 " And man is yet more treacherous still, 
 He raises me simply to kill ; 
 It seems he likes on me to feed 
 When broil'd, or baked, or fricaseed. 
 
 " And now, Sir Toad, the thought disclaim 
 
 That I enjoy such happy frame ; 
 
 I'll say no more at present, since 
 
 What you have heard must needs convince." 
 
 "Umph!" said the toad, "I never knew 
 That life \Yent half so hard with you ; 
 Believe me, sir, 'tis with surprise 
 I find how wrong was my surmise. 
 
 "Well ! well ! I thought if anyone 
 Enjoy'd life's pleasures and its fun, 
 Drank in the sweets, no bitters knew. 
 That one I surely thought was you. 
 
 "And since I am mistaken here 
 I feel I have no need to fear 
 To say all creatures here below 
 Were made to suffer pain and woe.'' 
 
 July 29, 1897. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 79 
 
 SHE DON'T LOVE ME. 
 
 (Song.) 
 
 There's a certain little girl 
 
 About whom I daily think, 
 She's as noble as an earl, 
 
 And as pretty as a pink ; 
 She's as sweet as any rose — 
 
 Just as sweet as she can be. 
 And I love her heaven knows. 
 
 But she don't love me. 
 
 Oh ! how glad I'd be to get her, 
 She's so beauteous to see ; 
 
 But I wish I'd never met her 
 Since she don't love me. 
 
 All the stars that shine above 
 
 In yon high, "intense inane" 
 Seem to tell me of my Love 
 
 Whom my heart desires to gain ; 
 And so sweet the glance she throws 
 
 From that eye I love to see 
 That I love her heaven knows, 
 
 But she don't love me. 
 
 Oh ! how glad I'd be to get her, 
 She's so beauteous to see; 
 
 But I wish I'd never met her 
 Since she don't love me. 
 
8o MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 
 
 And the lusty, mellow rays 
 
 By the moon so gently shed 
 Are but symbols of the days 
 
 I would share when I was wed ; 
 For she's sweet as any rose — 
 
 Just as sweet as she can be, 
 And I love her heaven knows. 
 
 But she don't love me. 
 
 Oh ! how glad I'd be to get her 
 
 She's so beauteous to see ; 
 But I wish I'd never met her 
 
 Since she don't love me. 
 
 July 31, 1897.^ 
 
 AS WHEN HE CANNOT PAY. 
 
 If a fellow knows he's call'd a dolt and feels that he's 
 despised, 
 
 That he's held by all in disrepute and grossly criticised ; 
 
 It. is certain that such sentiments against him do inveigh. 
 
 But they do not make him feel so small as when he can- 
 not pay. 
 
 If a man who is not much depraved happens a crime to do, 
 A remorseful conscience aggravates his being through and 
 
 through ■ 
 It will oft appear before his mind and on his spirits weigh, 
 But it does not make him feel so small as when he cannot 
 
 pay. • 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 8 1 
 
 If the profligate or debauchee indulge his vices low, 
 
 The contempt his betters hold him in of course he needs 
 
 must know, 
 But despite the fact that he must see the error of his way 
 It is doubtful if he feels so small as when he cannot pay. 
 
 When the drunkard staggers in his walk and falls at length 
 
 dead drunk. 
 He will know when reason has returned that lower still 
 
 he's sunk, 
 And in shame he'll pledge himself to hold his cravings all 
 
 at bay. 
 But he'll not be apt to feel so small as when he cannot pay. 
 
 Though the swain his tale of love has told his best and 
 
 dearest girl, 
 And the doubt he feels about his chance has made his 
 
 senses whirl ; 
 Though he hears at last from her own lips: "What marry 
 
 you, sir, nay;" 
 Even then he does not feel so small as when he cannot pay. 
 
 If a man's fair bride turns out to be a slattern and a shrew 
 His humiliation is so great he doesn't know what to do ; 
 He is piqued by her in various ways, he's worried ev'ry day, 
 But she never makes him feel so small as when he cannot 
 pay. 
 
82 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 When a jockey meets his fellow-man and banters him to 
 
 trade, 
 Very vig'rously he plies his lies until the trade is made ; 
 But alas ! he loses in the deal, and if he would but say 
 It is then he feels almost as small as when he cannot pay. 
 
 And just so it is with all, I ween — I might go on and on, 
 But I've said enough, I guess, just now my meaning to have 
 
 shown ; 
 You may bring your meanness, sin, and shame, and folly 
 
 all in play. 
 But they never make you feel so small as when you cannot 
 
 pay- 
 
 August 4, 1897. 
 
 IS HE THE SAME? 
 
 Pythagoras believed that when the soul 
 The body leaves it transmigrates or goes 
 In other creatures; well, upon the whole. 
 The doctrine's strange, and yet nobody knows 
 But he was right. Man only can suppose 
 About all things, since he cannot acquaint 
 Himself with their beginning or their close ; 
 But yet he talks of things that are and a'n't, 
 Forgetful he's a fool without the least restraint. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 83 
 
 Pythagoras was a philosopher, 
 The first of all that ever used that term, 
 And notwithstanding this did he not err? 
 Can we assert him wiser than the worm, 
 Whose business, it would seem, is but to squirm 
 Through life, 'bout what's unseen by mortal eye? 
 He had a notion which he did not affirm — 
 Just like the ancient author "Turkish Spy" 
 Who says all things will live again after they die. 
 
 » 
 
 I'm not well read, or maybe I could name 
 Some others whose views with the "Spy's" obtain, 
 ,Tis said John Wesley's thoughts were much the same, 
 Though this I never did directly gain. 
 The "Spy" contends that beasts should not be slain. 
 Alleging they have souls as well as man, 
 And much more sense, also without his stain 
 Of guilt, — that awful and infernal ban 
 Which worse and worse has grown e'er since the world be- 
 gan. 
 
 He makes mankind inferior; no doubt 
 That's right ; for man's the meanest thing by far 
 On earth. There's nothing you can talk about. 
 From ocean's depths to heaven's highest star, 
 That strives so hard and willingly to mar 
 Earth's peace as man. He's the embodiment 
 Of all that's gross and bad, the strongest bar 
 'Gainst right and justice. Pity he was sent 
 Since he is the first work for which God did repent. 
 
84 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 As to the life beyond I'm like the Turk, 
 Although I cannot raise such strong defense 
 In my support as he. He wrought good work . 
 By force of argument and reason — sense 
 Such as I never had. 'Tis but pretense 
 With me to say a word. I do not know 
 The final destination of the dense 
 And crowded tribes of earth. 'Twere hard to show 
 They live again, and yet I think that they ought to. 
 
 But thinking's not enough; I must produce . 
 Some reason be it poor. I'll illustrate 
 My'views in a plain way, since the abstruse 
 Deductions of the learned are too great 
 For me. In doing this I beg to state 
 That no two creatures fare alike ; one beast 
 Luxuriates, another starves ; the fate 
 Of some's to suffer want, while others feast, — 
 The same 'mong birds and all — from biggest to the least. 
 
 And Revelation speaks of beasts, I shall 
 Not say in heav'n, but that's the way it looks ; 
 It's well to call such metaphorical 
 Or visionary, since, I guess, the crooks , 
 
 Of Scripture are right hard to straighten. Books 
 Divine teach us that God is just, and hence 
 If He be so, if with all things He brooks 
 No wrong, then it were nothing but nonsense 
 To say He'll give not all their future recompense, 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 85 
 
 Since justice is unequal here. The pain 
 Of some (I mean not men) exceeds the rest 
 So far that when they die I think their gain 
 Will be the greater as they're now distressed. 
 But I'll not go on thus; I've much digress'd 
 Already. I intended not to scrawl 
 As I have done ; my theme would not suggest 
 Such lines. The learned namesT here recall 
 Were meant, perhaps, my own vain prating to forestall. 
 
 But by the word "forestall" I may not make 
 My meaning clear. 'Tis better to revise 
 A little here, in order no mistake 
 Be made: Names of philosophers and "spies" 
 Are often sought by fools t' apologize 
 For their own ignorance — just so with me; 
 But since the great will talk and theorize 
 On foolishness, I can by no means see 
 W^hy I should not be given the same liberty. 
 
 "Is he~the same?" — the theme on which I write. 
 Relates, insapieiitly^ to a pet 
 I had, when a small boy, a kitten white 
 And clean with spots of gray ; I'll ne'er forget 
 How glad he always seem'd when me he met. 
 I call'd him Taunch, which was a substitute 
 For Tom, his real name. And when I'd let 
 Him sit upon my knee he, although mute, 
 Show'd an affection which no Stoic could dispute. 
 
86 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 We loved each other as devotedly 
 As child and kitten could. Where'er I went 
 He seem'd to seek an opportunity 
 To be there too. But life was never meant 
 To last, and his, alas! was quickly spent. 
 A bane for rats of which he ate soon robb'd 
 Me of the pet on whom my joy was bent ; 
 And oh ! how sadly, grievously I sobb'd, 
 How achingly my heart in painful anguish throbb'd. 
 
 The carcass of poor Taunch was ta'en away 
 And cast upon a lone and grassy field 
 Where in death's cold and still embrace, he lay 
 Exposed, unsepultured, and unconceal'd; 
 But high abov^e him the baldeagle wheel'd, 
 Unerringly he gazed and swoop'd and bore 
 Away my little friend on whom he meal'd. 
 At this my eyes grew dim, my heart it tore 
 To think that I should see my pet again no more! 
 
 Long years since then have pass'd and gone, and what 
 With life at school and with the busy trade 
 Which follow'd afterwards, my time has not 
 Been spent at home. It seems that there is laid 
 For some an evil force by which they're made 
 To do what they dislike ; I never thought 
 I'd live alone, no matter where I staid. 
 And yet, despite it all, stern fate has brought . 
 Me home a bachelor — a life I never soueht. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 87 
 
 Yes, I return'd four years ago, but not 
 To meet my kindred as in time that's past ; 
 Familiar ones who once endear'd this spot 
 Were far removed ; some dead, and others cast 
 Apart o'er this unbounded, wide, and vast 
 Domain of earth whose realm's a scene of great 
 And endless changes — changes which come fast. 
 Returning all was lone and desolate. 
 But here a Tom-cat lived who since has been my mate. 
 
 A friendship warm and true sprang up between 
 The cat and me. There is a constancy 
 In brutes which rarely has been known or seen 
 In man. They're always what they seem to be, 
 Without pretentious love and enmity. 
 "Ik Marvel" says the pleasure that we take 
 In fondling favorite brutes is small, that the 
 Enjoyment leaves no void when pass'd.' But make 
 Of them whate'er we wish they do not us forsake. 
 
 The foundling I call Kidnus or Tom-cat, 
 And with me has he staid most faithfully ; 
 And not a rabbit, bird, mole, mouse or rat. 
 Escapes his vigilance. Chicanery 
 Is not perhaps improper here, for he, 
 It seems, does use it skillfully 'mong these 
 However wary, wild, or quick they be ; 
 Rabbits, and mice and rats he gets with ease, 
 And not unfrequently the birds among the trees. 
 
88 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 But the great likeness which he bears to Taunch 
 Surprises me. His color — white and gray — 
 His shape, affections which are true and staunch, 
 Are all the same. No matter in what way 
 You look at him — his features, habits, play — 
 The likeness is exact. Ne exeat^ 
 It's Taunch, it's Taunch, sent back with me to stay. 
 Socrates nothing knew, I'm worse than that 
 As all mav soon determine by this feline chat. , 
 
 Is this idea stranger than the one 
 Pythagoras conceived? Did he not prate 
 As foolishly, perhaps, as I have done 
 In these unrhythmic lines about my "mate?" 
 Well," as I said at first, it's hard to state 
 With certainty the knowledge or the name 
 Of things. We never know what we relate ; 
 And who can tell but somewhere 'yond the flame 
 Of stars I'll learn that Taunch and Kidnus were the same. 
 
 February ii, 1898. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 89 
 
 VIRLINE. 
 
 To view thy charms is but to know 
 The glory which on earth is found, 
 T' obtain a glimpse of thee does show 
 A form with grace and beauty crown'd. 
 
 Thy words of warmth and tenderness 
 Are ever ready to bestow 
 A cheer to lighten earth's distress, 
 And render less life's sum of woe. 
 
 As the smooth lake more sightly grows 
 When winds its waters lightly rile. 
 So thy sweet face more radiant glows 
 When brighten'd by a rippling smile. 
 
 Thy tresses are like menilite, 
 Thy cheeks are like the ruby rare 
 Whose beauty forms a part of sight 
 E'en though thy person be not there. 
 
 Thine eye of purest, softest brown 
 Infuses gladness by its ray. 
 Its waves of sparkling glances drown 
 The pangs which on my bosom prey. 
 
go MUSINGS OF A BACHEIvOR 
 
 Would I could trace within that eye — 
 That tranquil orb of living light — 
 A glance whose meaning did imply 
 Consent that we in love unite. 
 
 Could we, those solemn pledges vow'd, 
 Unite and dwell in love's fair bow'r ; 
 O'ercast by no portentous cloud, 
 My life were happy from that hour. 
 
 It soothes to think that time may bring 
 A brighter future than the past ; 
 Bright as the glow of sunny spring 
 When love shall crown my hopes at last. 
 
 Virline, sweet girl, thou knowest well 
 The depth to which my soul is moved — 
 That strange, unconquerable spell 
 Which grows in love when most beloved. 
 
 Then wilt thou not, dear girl, consent 
 Our hearts in union to entwine. 
 Remove that gnawing discontent , 
 Which I must feel till thou art mine? 
 
 Ah, yes, thou art too gentle sure. 
 Too good, humane, and kind, I know; 
 Too merciful, too sweet and pure 
 To break the heart which loves thee so. 
 
 March, 1S98. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 9I 
 
 BERTHA MAE. 
 
 (Air ." Departed Days.") 
 
 "'Tis night when meditation bids me feel" 
 
 There's one to whom my thoughts will stray, 
 And oh how fondly, eagerly they steal 
 From me to dear, sweet Bertha Mae. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 A rose she is in mem'ry's garden rare, 
 In mine she'll bloom and ne'er decay ; 
 
 For while life lasts she'll ever blossom there, 
 That sweet fair flower Bertha Mae. 
 
 The night of sorrow, howe'er deep its shade. 
 Bright thoughts of her the gloom dispel. 
 
 And when with her how oft I have delay'd 
 The last and saddest word — farewell. 
 
 What is the greatest joy I yet may share, 
 What will inspire a hope to live? 
 
 To hear these words from that sweet angel fair 
 My hand and heart to thee I give. 
 
92 MUSINGS OF A BACHEIvOR 
 
 THE FISHING-PARTY. 
 
 (A Nursery Tale.) 
 
 Long time ago the buzzard said : 
 
 "To-day I'll go a-fishing, 
 The wind is low, the morning red — 
 
 Exactly to my wishing. 
 But yet," quoth he, "there'll be no fun 
 
 With no one else to join me ; 
 Br'er Rabbit's one I'll bet upon, 
 
 I'll go and try him — dern me." 
 
 The rabbit 4ived a mile or more 
 
 Across the growing heather, 
 But soon the buzzard's at his door. 
 
 And talk they there together. 
 Says he : " Br'er Rabbit, get your pole, 
 
 And let's go down and try 'em ; 
 I know they'll bite, and bless your soul ! 
 
 How lovelv 'tis to frv 'em." 
 
 The rabbit says : " Good ! — very thing ! 
 
 I want some fish to eat, sir. 
 And if you get the longest string 
 
 I'll then agree to treat, sir." 
 The buzzard laughed with merry glee. 
 
 And said: "You must be funning, 
 On that you'd better wait and see, 
 
 When fishing I'm not running.'''' 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 
 
 Conversing thus they dig the bait, 
 And soon are hot and sweating, 
 
 When presently from at the gate 
 
 They're ask'd : "What are you getting?" 
 
 "I'll dog my cat! yonder's Br'er Fox, 
 Yes, got his pole — he's going ; 
 
 Make haste, Br'er Rabbit, fill the box- 
 All hands can have a showing." 
 
 Thus spoke the buzzard. Then, with airs, 
 
 The fox came up descanting 
 On such good fortune unawares, 
 
 And lots of other ranting;. 
 Says he : "That digging's all no use. 
 
 For I have bait a plenty ; 
 Let's go, time's slipping — why, the deuce." 
 
 We might have had 'bout twenty." 
 
 When all are ready off they rush 
 
 Down where the fish are laving. 
 Where over streams the breezes brush, 
 
 And shady limbs are waving. 
 Arriving there, the old canoe 
 
 They push from out the sedges. 
 The rabbit says: "Get in, you two, 
 
 I'll fish around the edges." 
 
 93 
 
94 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 The plan seem'd good, they could not see 
 
 That further talk was needed ; 
 The boat was rather small for three, 
 
 Hence to this plan acceded. 
 The rabbit then a worm impaled, 
 
 And jutting roots he straddled. 
 While down the stream his comrades sail'd, 
 
 As noiselessly they paddled. 
 
 The rabbit thinks: "Now go, canoe, 
 
 I know you think you'll beat me. 
 But that's all right— I'll see to you. 
 
 Unless my plans defeat me. 
 My purpose is to spend the day 
 
 In rest and peaceful slumber, 
 But when the first are ta'en away 
 
 I'll carry off my number." 
 
 Suiting the actions to his words 
 
 He then, 'neath willows weeping. 
 Lay down, and, lull'd by songs of birds. 
 
 Was soon so soundly sleeping ^^ 
 
 That hours, — those bubbles on the stream J|| 
 
 Of life's swift flowing river — 
 Before he waked him from his dream. 
 
 Had gone, and gone forever ! 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 95 
 
 The day was waning when from rest 
 
 He roused, nor did he tarry, 
 But of the boatmen went in quest 
 
 Lest all his plans miscarry; 
 He hastes along the winding bank 
 
 Near where a beech is standing, 
 On whose "fantastic roots" and dank 
 
 He finds his comrades landing. 
 
 He hides hard by within the weeds 
 
 To see what they are doing. 
 When lo ! they're stringing fish like beads, 
 This done, they speak of going. 
 "Which way, Br'er Buzzard, shall we go? 
 
 Which way would you suggest, sir?" 
 "Really, sir, I hardly know. 
 But this I think is best, sir." 
 
 The buzzard bows direction meant, 
 
 Then both of them departed ; 
 The rabbit mark'd the way they went 
 
 When up he bounced and started ; 
 He runs around and gets ahead. 
 
 Thinks he: "By George! I'll bet 'em 
 That when they come they'll think I'm dead, 
 
 And in that way I'll 'get 'em.' 
 
96 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 "But now, suppose they find me out, 
 
 How will it be hereafter? 
 Ah, well, on that I need not doubt, 
 
 I'd turn it off in laughter. 
 And then they will not think it's I, 
 
 They'll think it is a stranger ; 
 They'll say he's dead and go on by. 
 
 Of course there'll be no danger." 
 
 He hears them coming, down he lies 
 
 And feigns a death-like habit ; 
 The buzzard sees him, when he cries : 
 
 "Hello! here lies a rabbit/' 
 "Tis!" says the fox, "here in this fern, 
 
 What think you was the matter?" 
 "Can't say, but if we had no turn 
 
 His flesh should grace a platter." 
 
 To carry him they both were fain. 
 
 But lack of strength forbore them ; 
 They pass'd when round he went again 
 
 And stretch'd himself before them. 
 When seen, surprised more than at first. 
 
 They stood in silent wonder ; 
 Such unexpectedness just burst 
 
 All further talk asunder. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 97 
 
 They pause, but soon resume the route 
 
 Whereon their mental bother 
 Was high. They walk a half mile out — 
 
 When — heav'ns ! there lay another. 
 "Look here!" the fox exclaims, "we're near 
 
 Our homes, and what to do, sir. 
 Is : leave our fish with this hare here 
 
 And go for t'other two, sir." 
 
 "All right, Br'er Fox," — and off they snatch. 
 
 The very breezes riding ; 
 The artful "hare" then steals their catch 
 
 And throws it safe in hiding. 
 But knowing now that he must "skip" 
 
 Since he has stoop'd to sJiab it^ 
 As quick as thought he gives the slip, 
 
 And — good-by. Mister Rabbit! 
 
 The fox and buzzard miss their find, 
 
 And have a sad misgiving 
 That there is mischief in the wind 
 
 As sure as they are living. 
 The buzzard says : "Oh ! by the way ! 
 
 I might have taken warning 
 By what I heard that rascal say 
 
 'Bout 'loupfest string' this mornino-." 
 
98 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 He then relates the circumstance ; 
 
 The fox says: "Did you ever!" 
 Then here they come with eyes askance, 
 
 And in a work all over. 
 Suspecting what the rabbit's done, 
 
 The trick in part detected ; 
 They hurry back when all is gone, 
 
 Point-blank as they'd expected ! 
 
 Lord ! Lord ! Lord ! — how they ripp'd and flounced ! 
 
 Cut caper and gyration ; 
 The buzzard said: "I'll just be doimced! 
 
 If this don't beat the nation." 
 But naught for that the fish were gone. 
 
 The idle, lazy "dreamer" 
 Had all their honest labor won 
 
 Like many a thievish schemer. 
 
 Febrnary 4, 1899. 
 
 ADVICE TO GIRLS. 
 
 Trust no men-folks when too pleasing. 
 
 Better that you'll not them heed, 
 Spurn their overtures and teasing, 
 
 They're the men you seldom need ; 
 They're deceptive in their natures, 
 
 Rarely are they what they claim. 
 Base and vile and sland'rous creatures 
 
 Seeking often to defame. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 99 
 
 Would you keep unstain'd the vesture 
 
 Of your virgin innocence, 
 Shrink from every smile and gesture 
 
 Which should prove but false pretense ; 
 Prize the honor you inherit 
 
 High above all wealth and fame, 
 Let the world behold your merit 
 
 In a pure and spotless name. ■* 
 
 Can you lose those mem'ries holy 
 
 Which make home seem like a heaven, 
 Seek you now for melancholy 
 
 And for sorrow's bitter leaven, 
 Then let self and social pleasures 
 
 Of your life take sole control, 
 Eat Dead Sea fruit, waste your treasures. 
 
 Blasting thus your life and soul. 
 
 Gentle maiden, naught is better, 
 
 In this life we live below. 
 Than that you should early fetter 
 
 Some man's heart as on you go ; 
 Some strong soul whose early loving 
 
 Shall wax stronger with the years. 
 One true heart that will be proving 
 
 Ne'er a cause for grief and tears. 
 
lOO MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 Let your souls grow up in duty 
 
 Seeking e'er for God's own light, 
 You will thus gain grace and beauty 
 
 And make life grow sweet and bright ; 
 You will thus see how life's even 
 
 Glows with ever bright'ning skies; 
 Peace and joy are surely given 
 
 But to those who thus are wise. 
 
 Life grows sweet when truth controls us, 
 
 Gilds us o'er with deathless rays, 
 With white raiment it enfolds us 
 
 Blest with God's unfailing grace ; 
 Lifts the soul into a haven 
 
 'Yond the arch-enchanter's reach. 
 Pure as blooms beneath the heaven 
 
 Or bright as sea-shells on the beach. 
 
 But "the primrose path of dalliance" 
 
 Shun as you would certain death, 
 And be sure no doubtful alliance 
 
 Smirch your name by slander's breath. 
 Wouldst thou to thyself live truly 
 
 Anchor safe thy trust in God, 
 Then dark days shall prove unruly, 
 
 Lighter too the chastening rod. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. lOI 
 
 Let the mother in whose travail 
 
 Your young eyes first saw the light 
 Never hear you scorn or cavil 
 
 At what she holds just and right ; 
 Strive to aid her in her burden, 
 
 For you'll lose her soon at best, 
 Strive to make yourself her guerdon, 
 
 Strive to give her peace and rest. 
 
 You, perhaps, may think your escort 
 
 All in all the world to you. 
 But your father's heart a resort 
 
 Make when skies grow black and blue : 
 He has loved you with a loving 
 
 That's unspotted, sweet and pure, 
 So, dear maiden, e'er be proving 
 
 That his trust in you is sure. 
 
 April 25, 1899. 
 
I02 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 
 
 B. G. W. 
 
 Before I have done with my verses and dates 
 
 A word let me add on this son of old Gates ; 
 
 Receive him all people, whoever you be, 
 
 No man is more worthy I grant you than he: 
 
 Exemplary in life, ever noble in aim. 
 
 Square-dealing and just and exempt from all blame. 
 
 Great not in the sense of the learned degrees 
 
 Of Masters of Arts and your LL- D's ; 
 
 Of rank in the army, the navy and such — 
 
 Distinctions high-sounding and yet not so much ; 
 
 Moves not among magnates- — no, not in this role — 
 
 And mines of great wealth ^re not his to control; 
 
 Not these make him ereat, but true orreatness of soul. 
 
 Well favor'd is he, and a man of strong mind. 
 In business, a model, in manners refined ; 
 Lost not in the glare of a millionaire bore, 
 Less likely to lean to the rich than the poor. 
 In all his relations, deny it who can, 
 A pattern he is, and no doubt a "good man." 
 Methinks you would like this exception to know, 
 So trace these initials — the names they will show. 
 
 April, 1S99. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. IO3 
 
 A FARMER'S REVERIE. 
 
 (By J. W. M.) 
 
 I am sitting here all lonely 
 
 By my humble cottage door 
 Far down below Ahoskie 
 
 I hear the railway's roar ; 
 Some freight train is belated 
 
 And disturbs the tranquil night, 
 But the stars begin to glitter 
 
 While the moon too adds her light. 
 
 Forty years and more have vanished 
 
 Since I first beheld, the light, 
 Fort}^ years with many a sorrow 
 
 And days when all was bright. 
 Forty years God bless: ^ us, reader. 
 
 We are growing sere and old. 
 And our locks are swiftly bleaching. 
 
 Losing fast their tints of gold. 
 
 Now my friends, allow a farmer 
 
 With ne'er a wife or child 
 To entreat your good opinion 
 
 And a spirit very mild' — 
 As you scan these lucubrations, 
 
 Of a bachelor forlorn. 
 Who at times is sorely puzzled 
 
 As to whv he e'er was born. 
 
I04 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 But there comes a brighter prompting, 
 
 And it lifts my passing cloud, 
 For a score of dear companions 
 
 On my bookshelves yet do crowd. 
 There gay poets and romancers 
 
 Jostle sages and divines ; 
 Hero kings and great philosophers 
 
 In their shining ranks combine. 
 
 Thus accompanied I am thankful 
 
 That at times some cheerful friends 
 Help discuss the world's transactions 
 
 And its wicked aims and ends. 
 Thus apart I walk unsullied 
 
 And await that coming hour 
 When we all shall cease to struggle 
 
 For either human pomp or power. 
 
 My farm gives me little trouble 
 
 Save when cotton sells too low; 
 My tenants endure the sunshine 
 
 And stay out when cold winds blow. 
 The ingleside is my harbor 
 
 When e'er I'm thus disposed. 
 And in this way avoid hardships, 
 
 That on many are imposed. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 
 
 It's true no wife nor children, 
 
 Are seen here to cheer my days, 
 But neither am I troubled 
 
 Concerning means and ways 
 For subsisting and sustaining 
 
 Such a household properly; 
 So no petty cares assail me, 
 
 I am thus far wholly free. 
 
 But alas! we're ne'er contented 
 
 With this our mortal lot ; 
 We seek for what the world has, 
 
 And it little matters what ; 
 We struggle till we get it, 
 
 Then prize it when 'tis lost; 
 So contentment is a phantom 
 
 And elusive as a ghost. 
 
 It is thus that I, a farmer, 
 
 And a bachelor unchained, 
 Can rest in modest comfort 
 
 And gratitude unfeigned. 
 I obey the Tenth Commandment, 
 
 And abide the changing years, 
 I alone of all my household 
 
 Here remain where smiles and tears 
 
 105 
 
I06 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 
 
 Were mine in former seasons, 
 
 When in childhood I was gay, 
 And my fair young mother blessed me 
 
 With her love by night and day. 
 Here my father watched my footsteps 
 
 As I first began to walk. 
 And I hear his ringing laughter 
 
 As I made essays to talk. 
 
 He and my honored grandsire 
 
 Both were sleeping long ago. 
 But their< graves are close out yonder. 
 
 Where too I soori shall go. 
 I love to watch the spreading field 
 
 In spring-time growing green ; 
 .1 love' to watch tlic milk-white lambs 
 
 Careerino- o'er the scene. 
 
 And the calves, with tails uplifted, 
 
 Join in the wild career. 
 Sure spring-time is the gladsomest. 
 
 Of all the thi'onging year. 
 The cotton fields are all abloom. 
 
 And tall wheat bends in waves ; 
 And then from out some apple tree 
 
 The robin's sweetest staves 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 
 
 Come ringing full of life and glee, 
 
 Till evening breathes of love, 
 And then in twilight soft and low 
 
 Is heard the cooing dove. 
 The martin's cry with dawn is heard 
 
 And awakes bold chanticleer. 
 While noisy geese and gobblers, too. 
 
 Are heard both far and near. 
 
 The lowing cows, the mule's loud bray. 
 
 With added hound and horn, 
 Join in with negro plowman's cry 
 
 To serenade the morn. 
 So I a farmer think and live 
 
 And take my part in life. 
 And thank my Cxod the great mad world, 
 
 With all its heat and strife, 
 
 Though very near, is still afar 
 
 With all its wild uproar. 
 I am as one who lonely treads 
 
 Some distant island shore, 
 And only hears the sounds of woe 
 
 While round me all is peace: 
 I calmly listen to the wails 
 
 And cries until they cease. 
 
 107 
 
I08 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 I stand upon a height and feel 
 
 That I at least am safe, 
 While others waste their little day, 
 
 And vainly fret and chafe. 
 So thus 'tis sweet to have a friend 
 
 Disturb my solitude. 
 To loiter o'er the fields with me 
 
 Until the evening's quietude 
 
 Drives us in doors. Then late in night 
 
 We sit beside the fire, 
 And then with no disturbance, 
 
 We talk until we tire. 
 The Spanish war and politics. 
 
 Of course we ventilate, 
 But other topics please us more; 
 
 We leave the war and State 
 
 To commune with sceptered men, 
 
 'Who from their marble urns 
 Still rule our spirits and exalt 
 
 Each soul until it burns 
 With wonder, love, and thankfulness 
 
 That such men ever stood 
 As leaders, priests, and prophets 
 
 For the human multitude. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. 109 
 
 Such men are deathless as their deeds, 
 
 They lift and guide us still, 
 And lapsing ages only serve 
 
 Their names and fames to swell; 
 They loom upon the buried past 
 
 Like those tombs of mighty kings. 
 The Pyramids, along the Nile, 
 
 Surviving still all other things. 
 
 Thus in placid ease I wander 
 
 Down my evening plain of life 
 With no care from wayward childen, 
 
 With no sound of scolding wife; 
 With an heart that trusts the future, 
 
 Still unscathed by what is past, 
 I wait the coming hour 
 
 Which shall be of earth my last. 
 
 THE FIRST FLY OF THE SEASON. 
 
 BY J. W. M. 
 
 Persistent fly, no longer try 
 
 To share with me my dinner; 
 With all your eyes, you're still unwise, 
 
 You small wrong-headed sinner! 
 This fruit and cream may doubtless seem 
 
 A thing to warrant peril. 
 But wicked sprite, avaunt my sight ! 
 
 Or there may be a quarrel. 
 
no MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 'Tis plain to see that unto me, 
 
 You are one guest too many, 
 You would not seek my peace to break, 
 
 If manners you had any ; 
 Pray grant me voice and my own choice 
 
 In what I give a beggar ; 
 And I must scold, freebooter bold, 
 
 A'f " this your ceaseless leaguer. 
 
 You are so shy, good Mr. Fly, 
 
 In other people's business, 
 I'm sure that you are of a crew 
 
 That hails from Massachusetts; 
 But sir, beware ! I do not care 
 
 For Boston nor its common ; 
 Your active mind you should confine 
 
 To some strone-minded woman. 
 
 You buzz and whine around my wine 
 
 And o'er the dishes swagger. 
 With all the grace and brazen face 
 
 Of some huge carpet-bagger. 
 The scallawags have got the bags. 
 
 The darkies raise the odors; 
 So take your nose from out my close 
 
 And bum some other borders. 
 
OR THE FARMER- POET. m 
 
 On Brooklyn Heights are your delights — 
 
 Haste there and be a preacher, 
 With dirty hands and broken bands 
 
 Along with Parson Beecher; 
 Yes, insect fair, go anywhere — 
 
 I would not be uncivil. 
 But hear me swear, I would not care 
 
 If you went to the devil. 
 
 This breezy morn, as I slept on, 
 
 Upon my nose you settled ; 
 And cannot yet my foe forget 
 
 How I was roused and nettled. 
 Are dreams and meals and all that steals 
 
 The thorns from weary living 
 To be thus marred and evil-starred 
 
 By troubles of your giving? 
 
 You bring to me such misery 
 
 As Poe found in his raven ; 
 With maddening feet my face }'ou greet 
 
 Each dreadful morn and even ; 
 I do not break your cursed neck, 
 
 Because I cannot catch you ; 
 Some human bore alone has power, 
 
 Small miscreant, to match you 
 
 If gift of speech were in your reach, 
 
 And you some Blaine-like talker. 
 My cup were full, another fool, 
 
 Mip-ht dang-le at a halter ; 
 
112 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 For who would dare such fardels bear 
 Through all his stifling summers ; 
 
 I would as soon live in the moon 
 With none but Sherman's bummers. 
 
 But prying fiend, my woes will end, 
 
 They will not last forever, 
 Tho' now so spry and quick of eye. 
 
 You can't abide cold weather; 
 John Frost will come and be your doom. 
 
 You long-perplexing trouble ; 
 You'll change your tune and vanish soon, 
 
 Like any other bubble. 
 
 THE WATER-OAK. 
 
 BY J. W. M. 
 
 The water-oak, with green vast cloak, 
 
 And limbs sent far abroad, 
 Is standing here, from year to year. 
 
 With its shadow on the road. 
 The ancient stage-way, broad and fair. 
 
 That leads to old St. Johns, 
 Where long ago Ahoskie Ridge 
 
 Commenced its first of towns. 
 
 Ahoskie Ridge that stretches far. 
 From Union to Rich Square, 
 
 A pleasant haunt where men are strong. 
 And maidens passing fair ; 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. II3 
 
 The glory of its cotton fields, 
 
 And breadths of golden grain, 
 No other region here about 
 
 Can rival or attain. 
 
 This water-oak was planted here, 
 
 And nurtured well by God ; 
 Its mighty shade at noontide rests 
 
 Upon the weary road. 
 The black and twisted limbs are strong, 
 
 Wide-sweeping 'neath the sky. 
 Whereon the pewee hangs her nest, 
 
 When summer breezes sigh. 
 
 It is a Saul amid its kind. 
 
 So regal is its girth, 
 A perfect acorn must have dropped 
 
 To give it such a birth; 
 Some loving Dryad surely watched 
 
 It as it slowly grew 
 So broad and fair, and many-limbed. 
 
 Beneath the arching blue. 
 
 There was a time, Oh, long ago ! 
 
 When it was small and weak. 
 But now a giant's force would fail 
 
 Its fastenings to break ; 
 It grapples deep the earth below 
 
 And broadens year by year — 
 The fairest, proudest tree that grows 
 
 In regions far or near. 
 
114 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 
 
 No clustered palms on eastern waste, 
 
 More grateful to the eye, 
 A lordly monument it seems. 
 
 Of ages long passed by; 
 It lifts its huge and gnarled trunk. 
 
 Far upward toward the stars, 
 And flings defiant arms abroad 
 
 To meet fierce winter's wars. 
 
 The storm may come in its agony, 
 
 And shriek as it hurries by, 
 The water-oak unharmed and strong-, 
 
 Beneath the vaulted sk}-. 
 Stands like some soul, self-poised and firm, 
 
 Assailed by tempters dire — 
 Fast-anchored in a deathless hope 
 
 That cannot fail or tire. 
 
 Wa5^-faring men with heat outworn. 
 
 Here pause at summer noon. 
 And gaze aloft, 'mid coolest depths, 
 
 While like some deep bassoon. 
 The bull-frog's heavy bass is heard 
 
 F'rom out his sedgy home ; 
 And here at dreamy twilight swells 
 
 The bittern's solemn boom. 
 
OR THE FARMER POET. II5 
 
 I loved it in my sunny youth, 
 
 It cheered my listless hours — 
 I loved the pewee hidden deep 
 
 Amid its leafy bowers; 
 It grows in view of that fair home 
 
 Where I was bred and born — 
 The home I fondly cherish still, 
 
 Thoup-h lono- from it I'm torn. 
 
 And sweet is now the thought of one, 
 
 Who oft at eventide 
 Passed under these thick boughs with me, 
 
 Ere she became a bride. 
 Ah water-oak ! can you forget 
 
 The grace of such a time? 
 God bless you long, mine ancient friend. 
 
 And this dear love of mine ! ! 
 
 Beneath it stern Cornwallis rode 
 
 From Guilford's bloody field. 
 And then anon it heard the bells 
 
 That for peace and freedom peal'd ; 
 And when the eighty years of rest 
 
 Had all been fully scored, 
 Then through its shade the swelling tide 
 
 Of civil war has poured. 
 
Il6 MUSINGS OF A BACHEIvOR OR THE FARMER POET. 
 
 It heard Matt Ransom when he charged 
 
 Through Plymouth's deadly hail, 
 For even here the storm of sound 
 
 Was borne upon the gale ; 
 It heard the thunder of the guns 
 
 When Cooke fought all the fleet, 
 As slowly down the Albemarle 
 
 They went in foul retreat. 
 
 Alas ! and down this very road, 
 
 From Appomattox came, 
 A handful of that noble wreck. 
 
 Forever dear to fame; 
 They came — the worn and weary men. 
 
 That Lee had led and loved. 
 And even this stern water-oak 
 
 With such a sight was moved. 
 
 Ah, water-oak ! Old water-oak ! 
 
 I love you well and long, 
 I would that I some fitting praise 
 
 Could lift in this my song ; 
 There's not in all this land of ours 
 
 A broader fairer tree, 
 lyong may your shadows stretch around 
 
 And shelter mine and me! 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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