PS 2859 S185 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ®]^jt:..Y.„..(iu{U|ng{|t fa.. Slielf...SigF UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/howardgrayotherpOOsley AND OTHER POEMS. S>^ COPYRIGHT- "nS^ FEB 2 1B89 I) I BY AARON l; SLEYSTER. Preston, Minn, BRATTLEBORO, VT.: PRINTED BY FRANK E. HOUSH & CO., 1888. COPYRIGHT 1888, BY A. L. SLEYSTER. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. To HER WHO MOST LOVINGLY HAS LAUNCHED WITH ME ON THE TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE OF LIFE, AND IN WHOSE PERSON MY WORLDLY HAPPINESS IS CENTERED, I DEDICATE THE FOLLOWING LINES. A. L. S. PREFACE. The author of these hues does not make any pretentions to hterary abihty, since his original training and present circumstances give no allow- ance to such claims. His only aim being to give, in a few coarse outlines, certain pictures of life, showing that lamentable disposition which parents frequently exercise toward their children, which so often brings ruin and desolation in the after life of persons, whose youth promised once a happy man or womanhood. If this sketch will have the eflect to awaken a better sentiment in this respect, caus- ing parents to prefer virtue and ability to rank and finance, his feeble efforts will have been attained. A. L. S. INDEX. VXCK. Howard Gray D A Parody 55 Spring 5(5 Sweet Sixteen 57 Lines in an ALBi-:\r ^q To Mother (jO Congratulation 02 A Birthday Wish 02 Courtship at the Seashore G4 An Acrostic Og Ode to Prest< )N 09 An Epitaph ji Fifty Below Zero 7] Welcome 7;. Twilight 74 Epistle to John and David 74 The Boat Ride j^ A Reply 79 Ode to Algona 79 To a Singer 32 What do you Folks Want Here? 83 A Sonnet gj Lines to Uncle and Aunt gg A Prairie Fire 90 Lines to Miss 93 Lines to a Young Lady 9^ Welcome Home 90 Homeward 9g viii INDEX. A Fragment • : 99 Companionship 1^0 To A Hawthorn Blossom 103 BreaivING a Colt 10^ Lines in an Album • 106 Lines to a Lady Friend 107 Worship on the Hill • 109 To Mr. and Mrs. Smith . • HO Hush, the Summer Winds are Sighing • • HO Farmers' Song 1 1 1 Farmer Harwood's Address to his Wipe 113 Stanzas in an Album 117 Lines to Ruth 118 HO WAP GY\KY. CHILDHOOD. NE inorning in the month of May Among the hills I chanced to stray; To hear the merry songsters chime And fill my breast with thoughts sublime. I wandered 'neath the cloudless sky, The sweet w^ild flowers beguiled my eye; I drank the fragrant morning air, A thousand charms allured me ther*'. I climbed upon a sloping hill And spied the sparkling of a rill, While gazing on the dale below Where violets and daisies blow. How beautiful the glen did seem, The winding road, the babbling stream; The green clad hills on either side In grandeur with each other vied. 10 HOWARD GRAY. A little cottage (now no more) Adorned this vale in days of yore; E'en now no trace is left to tell The tale, except an old, old well. Here in this cottage, years ago. There lived a dame whose step was slow. Through age and toil her form was bent, For well she knew what labor meant. Her brow o'er-cast with silvery hair. Old age had left its furrows there; Her dim gray eye and hollow cheek Of worldly care a- volume speak. She had a son, though not her own, Now fifteen years, almost full grown; It was her daughter's only child Who Grandma's waning life beguiled. His name is simply Howard Gray, Bright as a lark and quite as gay; A favorite with boys at school. And teachers also, as a rule. Tall for his age, as I have said. Dark hair, brown eyes, and cheeks so red; A splendid form and much tanned face, An image of both health and grace. CHILDHOOD. II Their home was small and nothing grand, But all their own; also the land On which it stood, an acre lot, To them on earth the dearest spot. And happy was the jolly pair; Though Grandma, full of anxious care, Young Howard soothed and cheered her on. Her only staft to lean upon. And thus they lived; years came and went; Their lives, though lowly, were content; Their income small and incomplete. But every year they made ends meet. But suddenly and unaware Young Howard was in dark despair; For Grandma's spirit was called home, And left him in this world alone. Oh, fearful was that lonely night! His very soul was filled with fright; He seemed to hear the breezes moan, "Howard, thou art left alone." They buried her on her own ground At her request; a little mound Beside her husband near the cot Was Grandma Howard's favored spot. 12 HOWARD GRAY. Here Howard knelt upon the ground With aching heart and look profound; Where could he find a place to stay? And yet he must that self-same day. While musing thus, unnerved by grief, A neighbor came to his relief; A tricky man with forehead low. Who bore the name of Mr. Snow. One of his eyes was dim with tears, The other, meanwhile, blinked with sneers; His heart from whence the tears he drew Was full of speculation, too. If he could get this sturdy youth To stay with him, would be, in truth, A ready help upon the farm, Especially around the barn. To leave him here Vv^ould be a wrong; No doubt he'd get him for a song. So he assumed a piteous face In which an expert well could trace Deception of the meanest kind. To which young Howard was quite blind; His youth prevented him to see The vague look of hypocrisy. CHILDHOOD. . 13 "Howard," said he, "don't worry so; To lose your home is hard, I know; It grieves me much to see you thus; My boy, just come and stay with us. I have no doubt but we'll agree; I've known you long, and you have me, You know our folks are good and kind; As good a home as you can find. I know they'll gladly welcome you. My wife and little Bessie, too; Now, Howard, just make up your mind. And come at once, if you're inclined." At this the youth sprang to his feet, And did not ask him to repeat The kindly message that he brought; Nor did he hesitate for aught, But grasped him warmly by the hand, "Kind sir," he cried, " at your command.'*' And while the sun casts its last rays, The western sky seemed all ablaze; The two start down the narrow road And reach in safety their abode. HOWARD GRAY. MR. SNOWS HOMESTEAD. 'MAGINE now a farmer's yard, — Xo palace built for pomp or show; A simple house with barns and sheds, Such was the home of Mr. Snow. - Yet picturesque, with- all, this place; The high cliffs towering in the west All covered o'er with cedar shrubs, Protect it from the wintry blast. A spring comes oozing from the ground Beneath a bluffs and forms a rill, Which bubbles forth both nig-ht and day And slowly winds around the hill. Here at the spring at close of day The lowing herds will flock around, Which echoes through the deep ravine And w^akes the silent depth profound. We spy upon^the western slope, The snowy flocks are grazing still; We hear the bleating of the lambs While skipping up and down the hill. MR. snow's homestead. But turnincr now to Mrs. Snow. A gentle woman, kind and plain. Who treated everybody well, And in return received the same. Unlike her husband in his greed For wealth, possessions, land and pelf. She strove to live for others, too: Not alwavs thinking of herself. Their only daughter. Bessie, too. Was like her mother, kind at heart: And, though she was but twelve yea' s '^Id. She was as wise as she was smart. Here Howard stayed for five long years, And worked each day from morn till eve': And though he tried to please them all, One cent of pay he ne'er received. 'Tis true his mistress was as kind To him as though he was her son: And Bessie cheered him more than all: His deep affections she had won. It happened thus, one morn in spring. The winter snows had passed away. When first the birds began to sing: "Twas in the merrv month of Mav, l6 HOWARD GRAY. That Howard, coming from the field, Was met by Bessie near the rill; And side by side they wandered home, Which made his h(;art with rapture thrill! For though he never told her yet, He loved the maid v^^ith all his heart. While she, though young and full of glee, Was also pierced by Cupid's dart. While walking thus they were espied By Mr. Snow, who was concealed Behind a heavy growth, near by. Of hawthorn bushes in the field. The old man muttered 'twixt his teeth. And swore full vengance on the youth; For, though they did not speak of love. Without a doubt he guessed the truth. He had his fears; for Howard was A boy no longer, but a man; "Perhaps he thinks to marry her But I'll prevent it vv^hile I can. To have my only daughter wed, A beggar of a lowly race, I'll never tolerate the match; To-mjrrow he must leave my place." MORN'IXG. 17 MORNING. 'EAUTIFUL morn at break of day, The dusky gloom half cleared away, And all around is still. The shades of night still linger near As if they lie in wait to hear The eternal Master's will. The earth in silence still is bound. And far or near, we hear no sound Save babbling of the rill; Far out upon the eastern sky The morning light we seem to spy Far, far beyond the hill. The grass and fields are wet with dew; Dim objects coming to our view, Show^ day is drawing near. The s waving of the lofty trees, Their branches floating on the breeze. Shake off the dewy tears. And now that glorious orb appears. The ligfht of day six thousand years Casts forth its gfolden rays. l8 HOWARD GRAY. A thousand birds are on the wing And make the air with music ring, — Proclaim the Maker's praise. This was the scene that met the eyes Of Howard who was first to rise, This lovely morn in spring; He ne'er in all his life before Beheld the aspect morning wore As such a glorious thing. He really did not miderstand Why everything appeared so grand Where'er his eye might fall; He did not know, thougfh he was wise. He only looked through Bessie's eyes,- So blind is love to all. He did not know so bright a morn Had dawned upon his life, forlorn With busy toil and care; Again the flocks await him now To which he makes with haste, I trow, With heart as light as air. Just as the breakfast bell was rung The morning chores were all done And they sat down to eat. THE APPROACHING STOKM. I9 If Howard knew his fate in store. Could note the frown his master wore. No doubt his heart would beat. How httle did young Howard dream That soon a cloud should come between Him and his soul's delight. To know how soon his dream would end And part him with his nearest friend, Would blast his visions bright. THE APPROACHING STORM. FTER breakfast Howard lingered For a moment at the door. And he noticed that the bright sun With dark clouds was covered o'er And he heard the thunder roar. W^hat a chanofe in the brig'ht heavens All within a single hour! All the earth was brig-ht with sunshine. Now 'tis siofhincr 'neath a shower In submission to its power. While he thus in wonder pondered How a change could come so soon, 20 HOWARD GRAY. Mr. Snow called his attention And invites him in his room, For, alas! to hear his doom. Howard, always quick and active, Followed him as heretofore. Thinking to receive his orders For the dav and nothino- more; But the old m"an shut the door. DECEPTION. jOWARD. sit down for a minute. For I have something to sav Regarding your future prospect; I \vish to inform you to-day. For some time I have been thinking It would be an excellent plan. For you to hunt up a fortune Like anv industrious man. Out West, you know, there are chances For any young man who will take Right hold of the plow and labor; There's thousands of acres to break. WOUNDED PRIDE. 21 Just think, a farm of your own, sir; You sow and you reap what you please, And with a few years of good luck, boy. You may live in comfort and ease. By keeping you here a life-time, Would be a neglect on my part; You know I always am willing To give a young fellow a start." WOUNDED PRIDE. ^HIS said, he gave a sudden glance At Howard, who seemed in a trance Scarce knowing what it all could mean; But soon awakened from the dream. And stretched himself to his full height With countenance alert and bright; His tone was manly, clear and brave. Unlike his master, who to save His ill-shaped mouth, spoke through his nose In tones as high as tenor goes. And Howard spoke: "Then be it so Since you're determined 1 shall go; But, pray before I leave your place. Explain to me why this disgrace 22 HOWARD GRAY. Should be inflicted on a youth \/^';S,; always dealt with you in truth; For well I know that all you said Are empty 'vords; and fear instead — The interest which you have in me, As to my future destiny, Is mere pretension, just to hide A sheep-pelt with a wolf inside." RAGE. jERE Mr. Snow burst forth with rage; "Think not that I am blind with age; For though my sight is failing me, With clear distinction I can see Youreftorts with^a honeyed word Without a cage to catch a bird. The reason, if you needs must know, Why I insist to have you go, Is simply that you do not seem To know there lies a gulf between My daughter born of better birth And you, the commonest of earth; E'en yesterday you walked with her And talked as though you really were Her equal both in birth and rank, A scheme quite common with a crank; TRUE MAMJOOD. 2^ And, now, please understand that I Dont let such liberties pass by Unheeded till it is too late, Nor trifle with my daughter's fate; I only, (any father would.) Use my own judgment for her good; Because at present she's too young To know to scorn a flatterinsr tongrue; — And, like all other girls, bv Jove, She believes there's such a thing as l' At break of day the following morn The boys were on their ponies' back Across the prairie to the herds, Light-hearted as their whip-lash crack, *In the evening, the cow-boys will circle round and round the herd, huddle them closely together; and Unally the cattle will He down to rest, where they remain till day-break the following morning. They call this practice, " Singing them to sleep."— yl. L. S. A RIDE OX THE PRAIRIE AT DAYBREAK. 37 While Williams, with his youthful friend Departed for his city work. Young Howard was to share his home, Employed as private office clerk. A RIDE ON THE PRAIRIE AT DAYBREAK. ,OW beautiful and fresh the morn Upon the prairie wild! Each sparkling dewdrop on the field Upon the riders smiled. The wild rose bushes all around Perfume the morning air; The modest violets bespeak That God himself is there. The little birds on every side At their approach take wing; While others, hidden neath the grass, Their morning praises sing. Far in the distance on a knoll A flock of cranes chey spy ; Still farther on the radiant beams Illuminate the sky. 38 HO^VARD GRAY. The first few miles they rode along- But little did they say; Each seemed amazed with nature's garb At the approaching day. It seemed to them serene, sublime, A paradise restored ; — All but the tree whose tempting fruit Our mother Eve allured. On, on they sped ; their coursers proud Paced nimbly o'er the plain With nostrils wide, curved, graceful neck And massive, wavy mane. At length the elder gentleman A story did unfold. Amusing to young Howard's ear; And this was what he told: — " Long years ago when I was young, I think about your age. Our country w^as in trouble then, Rebellion fiercely raged. Your worthy father and myself Enlisted the same day; Our boyish hearts just thrilled with joy The day we marched away. A KIDK ON THE PRAIRIE AT DAYBREAK. 39 Our weeping mothers bade farewell And kissed us o'er and o'er; Our fathers trembling said ^ood-bye And watched us at the door. ]3ut there was one, a neighbor girl, Whose parting caused us pain; We both had sought and craved her hand But both had sought in vain. How earnesth' we both had tried To win this fair coquette; J>ut on her heart we never made The least impression yet. Sometimes I thought my chance was best And pressed my suit anew; But then, again your father seemed To feel elated too. And thus we left her at the gate. That charming morn in Ma}'^; Both sighed for Fanny Howard's love. Your mother, Howard Gray. Ah! how we pictured to ourselves A boyish battle field I With steady aim and dexterous arm The musket we would wield. 40 HOWARD GRAY. Full soon we saw our big mistake; The marching was no fun ; The heavy knapsack on our backs Grew very burdensome. At night we'd lay our weary heads Upon cold mother earth, — The starry heavens for a roof, A fence-rail for a berth. For four long years we tramped about,. Half dead and half alive; Our comrades dropped off, one by one, But both of us survived. I often thought of our return With mingled joy and pain; It one should perish on the field, Would be the other's gain. But, as it was, we both went home, And, strange as it may seem. Our secret thoughts were just the same, And Fannie was the theme. Full soon I knew my destiny Despite my earnest pains; Your father had the inside track, And all my hopes were vain. A RIDE OX THE PRAIRIE AT DAYBREAK. T yielded meekly to my fate; Her choice had settled all. I moped about, while they, ah well! Were married that same fall. Since then I banished from my mind All thoughts of married life; And thus far I have kept my word, And lived without a wife. I shortly after that moved West, For I could not abide To see the idol of my heart As some one else's bride. I heard abojt the fever that Some fifteen years ago Came sweeping o'er the little town, And laid your parents low. I heard your Grandma Howard claimed The baby as her own. And here you are to-day, my boy, A man, and quite full grown. Thus ends my story of the past, And now I wish to make A proposition unto you For Fanny Howard's sake. 42 HOWARD GRAY. If you will stay with me a while. And prove yourself a man, I'll start you up in business And help you all I can." What could young Howard say or think Of such a noble man? Silence at such a time conveys What idle words ne'er can. His heart leaped up with gratitude And choked him for a while; His tongue refused to give a sound, He simply gazed and smiled. 'Tis wonderful how gratitude Will turn our senses dumb! While heart and mind o'erflow with words, Our lips are sealed and mum. He soon recovered and explained The sikmce on his part. Accepting, as you may suppose, With orlad and thankful heart. And ere the sun was half way up The azure cloudless sky, They reached the city, better friends Than kindred knots can tie. THE OLD HO.^IF. 4? THE OLD HOME. AFTER A PERIOD OF SIX YEARS. IX years have passed since Howard left The old Snow homestead near the cliff, The asjDect is the same as when His lingering gaze beheld it then; But in the distance near the road AVe spy no more the old abode Where Grandina Howard lived and died. It was removed, and more beside; Her last long resting-place, the mound, Was tilled the same as other ground. No more are fragrant blossoms brou;:^ht And strewed upon that sacred spot, Now covered o'er with waving grain Bending lowly o'er the same. The dandelions, as of old. Have turned the meadjws into gold, Besprinkled o'er with sheep and cows, And shrubs on which the cattle browse; And just beyond is Mr, Snow Wandering slowly to and fro, In ineditation deep and wild; He lost his wife, and now his child 44 HOWARD GRAY. Is growing weaker every day. He fears she too will pass away; He feels dejected and oppressed, And with these words himself addressed: — "Remorse, reproach, aye, that's the word! My very soul within is stirred To daily hear that doleful knell, Suffering agonies of hell. Why haunt me thus with demon force? Why make a wretched matter worse? At night when slumber should repose, My misery no mortal knows; My weary slumbers bring no rest; The scene within my troubled breast Is like a heaving, roaring sea, Whose angry billows leap with glee Until the winds grow calm and still, But leave its waters troubled still. And thus awaken every morn To combat with another storm; The heedless deed my hand hath wrought; Its vengeance on my head hath brought. Could I recall that one mistake, A life's atonement 1 would make. Oh! could I see her smile again! But ah! the wish is doubly vain! Her life which was so bright and gay, THE OLD HOME. Too soon will fade and ebb away. Who can in all this wide, wide world Escape the vengeance at us hurled, When we have known a luckless hour In which advantage gave us power To blight a life by disrespect Entrusted with us to protect?' Thus Mr. Snow himself accused. He knew full well he had misused And placed his daughter's life at stake By one rash deed, one great mistake. For six long years she mourned and pined; Each day he saw her health decline. Her mother, too, had passed awav Five years ago the first of May; And since the time her mother died No friend in whom she could confide; Alone and frail the tender maid 'Neath heavy burdens was dismayed. She feared that Howard was no more; He promised her in days ot yore That he would write her frequently; Which had he done, the ecstasy To feel and know he was the same. Would help her bear whatever came. But now she could not comprehend 45 46 HOWARD GRAV. What had befallen her best friend; Some highway robber must have slain Her youthful lover, thus to gain Possession of his horse and purse. She knew not, but she feared the worse, And worried on from da}^ to day; She sometimes w^ould kneel down and pray That God w^ould take the life he gave And give her rest beyond the grave. Where are the cheeks once rosy red? Where is the light elastic tread, The luster of those azure eyes, The heart so free from care and sighs? Gone, like the graceful maiden form, A faded flower 'mid w^intry storm; That cheerful voice no more will ring, Nor sunshine to the household bring; A few more days and all is o'er, And Bessie Snow will be no more. Her sire now fain would recompense The error of his blinded sense. Without delay he now intends To tell her all, and make amends. E'en now he means to tell her why The messages ne'er reached her eye, W^hich Howard sent from time to time, COXCLISIOX, 47 And he as oft to flames consigned, Not e'en aware what they contained, He only knew his end was gained. His guilty conscience quaked within; He feels the consequence of sin While hastening to the place where she Was sitting 'neath the old elm tree Asleep; he did not dare to wake His injured child, her heart would break While hearing such disgraceful news With which her sire himself accused; His whole frame trembled with dismay, As cowardly he slunk away. CONCLUSION. ^HERE reclined the lovely maiden In an easy rustic chair, 'Neath the elm tree's shady branches, Drinking: in the fragrant air. How the gentle summer zephyrs In the balmy even -tide, Played around her golden ringlets, As they from her shoulders glide I 48 HOWARD GRAY. There she sat enwrapped in slumbers, With a brow so snowy white, Even purer than the hly Resting in her lap that night. Wan and pale is every feature; Is she dead, or still alive? Crushed by grief, and broken-hearted. Can a soul like this revive? See the lingering smile that ripples O'er those features white and pure! Is she dreaming of her lover? Can hope still her mind allure? See! in dreamland she doth meet him; Smiles disturb that slumbering brow: With extended arms she greets him. She hath reached the haven now. Hark! I see a form approaching, Human footsteps drawing near, While the sun's last ravs are orleaming-; What can bring a stranger here? Now he halts as if bewildered; Gazes on the wasted form. Breathes her name in accents tender. Helpless, hopeless, and forlorn. CONCLUSIOX. 49 While he there a moment lingers, She awakens from her rest; Reeling, tottering towards him, Falls upon his manly breast. ^'Howard, Howard, I am coming; This is heaven, keep me here! I have safely reached the portals; Where, oh! where is mother, dear? See the angels hovering round us! Oh! behold that glorious throne! Safe at last from earthly sorrow, Howard, leave me not alone! Oh, 'tis getting dark and dismal! Howard, dear, I see you not. Fold me closer to your bosom, Leave, I pray you, leave me not!" There, there on his bosom the maiden re- clined. Her lily white arms round his neck are en- twined. While murmuring breezes waft up to the sky Her pure, stainless spirit enwrapped in a sigh. !,() HOWARD GRAY. While he, with the sweet precious form in his arms, Defies even death, and would shield her from harm. But death was the victor and bore her away. And left him defeated, bemoaning her clay • THE END. MIS0ELLAI2EOUS POEMS, INTRODUCTION, The following collection, comprising Odes, Epistles, lines in Albums, and other fragments, were written at different periods, as the occasions presented themselves. The author craves the pub- lic to bear in kind remembrance the fact that he is not reaching for fame in the literary world, for reasons heretofore stated; but simpl}^ consents to publish them at the earnest, repeated solicitations of friends. Should this little volume, falling by chance in the hands of some weary pilgrim, be the means of beguiling a lonely hour, the author's hap- piness will be thereby agreeably promoted. A. L. S. A PARODY. |H! we have a little daughter, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud; And she's just as bright as water, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud. She is all of three years old; If the truth was really told She is worth her weight in gold, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud. She is worth her weight in gold; Jeanie Maud. When from labor I'm returning, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud; Why my heart is fairly yearning, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud, She will watch each passer-by; How her little feet do fly When her papa she doth spy, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud; When her papa she doth spy, Jeanie Maud. 56 SPRING. She will meet me on the walk, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud, And in cutest baby talk, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud; She will tell me all the news. Cheer me when I have the blues, And my pockets shell peruse, Jeanie Maud, Jeanie Maud, And my pockets she'll peruse, Jeanie Maud. SPRING. LL hail to the season that gladdens the heart! That causes the snow-banks to melt and de- part, That spreads a green carpet o'er hill and through glen. And beckons sweet flowers to blossom again. All hail to the season that brings us fresh showers! That turns leafless bushes to cool, shady bowers — A home for the songsters, a place for their nest, Of all the four seasons, sweet spring-time is best. SWEET SIXTEEN. SWEET SIXTEEN. .^7 KNEW a maid of sweet sixteen, The fairest I have ever seen. Her presence made me feel serene, Content and happy; Her graceful gait and modest mien Did quite entrap me. The first time that we ever met Is something I shall ne'er forget; It lingers in my mem'ry yet As fresh as ever; And from that day my mind was set. To change it never. « 'Twas in the school-days of mv \outh I first beheld my love; in truth I was an awkward boy, uncouth, But I could feel then, And make as sfood a choice, in truth. As anv bis: man. And after that with honest pride We loved to wander side by side. Upon the prairie far to ride With horse and carriage. Until at length I claimed mv bride By lawful marriage. 5S , SWEET SIXTEEN. And since that time I often thoiio-ht And olessed the sacred hour which brought Our hearts together on the spot At our first meetino-. Nor can I wish or think of aught, But bless that grreetino^. She left her home and kindred too, Her friends, who always had been true, E'en to her birth-place bade adieu, And felt contented To live where not a soul she knew, And ne'er repented. That confidence, that heavenly trust, That jewel in a woman's breast, Outshines, out-glitters all the rest Of her sweet nature; And curse the man in whom she trusts If he mistreat her. Now some folks take it as a rule A boy who falls in love at school Is either simple or a fool. But I know better; A flame thus kindled does not cool To icv fetter. SWEET SIXTEEN. ' ^9 A youth can make a choice as well While young; his tender thoughts will tell Whose image in his heart doth dwell; That is the omen, Unless he is too full of hell To love a woman. A youthful lover loves but one, Will raise her to that sacred throne Expressly built for her alone To reign forever; Nor can the fates his love dethrone, Or his faith sever. But older men are not so true; They are too fond of something new, And in a twinkle chang-e their hue They keep a "buzzin," Like bees 'mid flowers sipping dew, And love a dozen. 6o LINES IN AN ALBUM. LINES IN AN ALBUM. ROSE, more than all other flowers, Through balmy nights and sunny hours, Through many sweet, refreshing showers, Conceals its heart with magic power; Until at length reluctant yields, And modestly at last reveals Its pu'ity so long concealed. Embalms its fragrance o'er the field; And so, friend Rose, you're truly blessed! Half of your friends have never guessed The pure, warm friendship in your breast Known but to those that know vou best. TO MOTHER ON HER SIXTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY. ONG years have slowly traced the course of time, Since you still lived at Arnhem on the Rhine, A little orphan girl, scarce five years old, Thrown on the busy world so rude and cold. TO MOTHER. 6l A tiny, sickly flower, too weak to bear The storms of life without parental care. And yet, as if by magic, you survived, And see your children's children live and thrive. We fain to-day would gather round your hearth, To celebrate the day that gave you birth, And gather flowers, the sweetest on the lea, And weave a wreath most beautiful to see, And crown your brow around your silvery hair, And pin it with a hundred kisses there. But, mother dear, no blossoms can we find, There's naught out-doors but snow; the cold, cold wind Is howling fiercely o'er the frosty main; It seems that spring will never come again. And so we bring a jewel, you must take And wear it daily for your children's sake. The three small sets, two rubies and a pearl, For Bess and me, and for our little girl. Remember that we often wish and pray That God may comfort you from day to day. That many, many years may yet be thine, That beams of hope may ever round you shine, And may ten thousand blessings be your lot; And in your prayers, we crave, forget us not. 62 CONGRATULATIOX CONGRATULATION. iO you are to be married with Birdie, I hear; The announcement by mail has just reached my ear; It gave me great pleasure, as you may suppose, Enraptured with joy from my head to my toes. Accept my best wishes and hearty good-will; May the sweet dream of love your youthful hearts fill; May affection increase as you live for each other, And never grow cold, is the wish of your brother. A BIRTHDAY WISH. TO MRS. . EAR Mrs — , we come unexpected, To honor the day you so sadly neglected; For, as we are told by — , your daughter, Your birthday took place once a year, as it ought to. For forty-three years the twenty-fifth of Septem- ber Is the day we should bless, make glad, and re- men:j,ber; BIRTHDAY. 63 So Bessie and I have ^Dut both heads together, As we often have done in such cold, rainv^ weather, And felt it a pleasure in some way or other To show forth our love, as we would to a mother. So we offer this *keepsake, and prav you will take it, As you would from your children; we as cheer- fully make it. And wish you besides many years and much pleas- ure To bless those around vou, as vou've done without measure. And may they in return strew your pathway with roses, And your children remember the commandment of ]Moses, That their lives may be long in this great land of freedom. Where our heavenly Father will keep and will feed them, Is the wish of your friends, Bessie, Jeanie, and Aaron, Dutch artist at Preston, not a duke nor a baron. * A pearl card case. 64 COURTSHIP AT THE SEA-SHORE. COURTSHIP AT THE SEA-SHORE. EARS ago, they called me bashful, Nor could I deny the charge; But what happened at the seashore Is, I think, not known at large. Listen, then, and I will tell you What has happened unto me; When like other youthful lovers, 1 sought pleasure by the sea. When I came there, I found shelter In a first-class, grand hotel; Plenty cash which father gave me, Made me think I was a swell. I soon formed the sweet acquaintance Of a maiden fair to see; Young and cheerful, kind and pleasant, And her name was Winnie Lea. Every day we were together; Sang and danced till late at night; Grew so fond that we could scarcely Rear each other out of sio:ht. COURTSHIP AT THE SEA-SHORE. 6 For some time we knew no sorrow, And my money flew like chaff; Every wish of her, I granted With a cheerful, hearty laugh. Scarce two weeks passed by in sunshine; Then mv bliss came to an end, For she introduced a fellow Who appeared to be her friend. He was rather tall and slender. And his clothing seemed to me To be pasted to his body, Especially around the knee. After that I knew no comfort, For she was no longer mine; And that dude, the ghostly shadow, Kept her from me half the time. How I strug-orled to defeat him; Prayed a gentle zephyr might Waft him to the land of specters. Where he did belong by right. And althougfh she seemed to like me, Told me I was good and kind; Yet I ne'er could keep her from him And it preyed upon my mind. D 66 COURTSHIP AT THE SEA-SHORE. So at length I plainly told her That I never did believe It was lady-like for ladies, To encourag-e and deceive. to As I grlanced at her I noticed Tears bedimmed her bright, blue eyes; And in less than fifteen minutes We renewed the former ties. Then once more I felt elated; Believing every word she said; Pride now swelled my youthful bosom, Thinking I came out ahead. The next morning^ after breakfast I was gazing down the stair; Down below that dude and Winnie Had another meeting there. I was jealous in a minute; Would have given half a farm, If T could have knocked him endways As he touched my Winnie's arm. I could scarcely keep from jumping; Twice I made a little start; Then my left foot slipped a trifle. Down I thundered like a dart. COURTSHIP AT THE SEA-SHORE. 67 Oh! the sHde was rough and rugged, Seemed to me a mile hi all; Every jog became more painful Till I landed in the hall. There I sat and gazed about me, Looking for a place to hide; Heeding not the pain I suffered, From this rough toboggan slide. There stood Winnie bending o'er me, Asking if I wasn't hurt; While her eyes were sparkling brighter Than the diamond in m}' shirt. And that dude, he made me tired, Stood there trembling at the knee; With his eyes as big as saucers He kept staring straight at me. I arose and shook my feathers. And endeavored to explain; But they could not keep from laughing And I saw 'twas all in vain. So I climbed upon the stairway. Looking like a cyclone wreck; Feeling like a fool and wishing I had broken my stiff neck. 68 AN ACROSTIC, I just kept my room till evening, Left the dude and her alone; And at night when all was silent, Packed my trunk and skipped for home. Since that time I never ventured High-toned courting by the sea; But I found a little school " marm '' Who is good enough for me. And the dude may keep his Winnie, Feed her clams straight from the shell; On our farm we've eggs and butter Which will answer us as well. AN ACROSTIC. IRLS are, methinks, the sweetest flowe rs Entrusted in this world of ours, Resplendent to behold. True modesty, as I have seen, "^ In maidens smiles, a flow^er serene Engraved as if in gold. Many a blossom, every hue, Adorn the fields and gardens, too; None can however us beguile, Nor comfort bring, like maiden smiles. ODE TO PRESTOX. 69 ODE TO PRESTON. AIR Preston, Fillmore county's seat! Of whom I wish to sing to-day, While gazing from this high retreat, About a half a mile away. Here on the bluff's, rimong the trees. Beneath the shady boughs I rest, Fianned bv the balmy summer breeze, Sweet zephyrs wafting^ from the west The winding, sparkling stream below For years has grandly swept along; Now glistening in the sunset glow. Its ripples mock the wild bird's song. With graceful curve it finds its way Half sheltered by the lofty brow Of towering cliff's of rock and clay. Half hidden 'mid the verdure, now. Its other bank, a rising ground, On which our pleasant village rests, A picture of a grassy mound. With trees and buildings on its breast. 70 ODE TO PRESTON. The Court HouS2 dome points to the sky, With tall church spires on either side; The old grist-mill arrests the eye, Reflecting: in the river tide. The iron bridge which spans the stream, A noble work of art and grace, The dam beyond improves the scene, And adds more beauty to the place. High on the topmost hill beyond We see the city of our dead; While down below, the silent pond Is sleeping in its liver bed. The hum of industry vie hear, — The chiming anvils all around Like music falhng on our ear. The vales re-echoinsr the sound. t) Upon thy streets are genial men. Each in his chosen branch of trade. Who wield the cares consigned to them, While glancing on the progress made. Thy daughters, fairest on the earth. Adorn thy homes with modern grace; Prove what a healthful clime is worth. With rosy cheeks and smiling face. AX EPITAPH, Oh, Preston, thou art wondrous fair! Where'er our eye may chance to stray, We meet a scene of beauty there; All nature smiles on thee to-davl AN EPITAPH. BURY here with ink and pen. And hope I'll never meet again, A skunk in human shape. And, though he lives, he's dead to me; With stinkards I could ne'er agrree, Xor mourn their loss with crape. FIFTY BELOW ZERO. <^ANUARY twenty, Oh, dear, dear! We have had a plenty Jack Frost here. Jack must be a hero Wl|^o loves snow; Mercury at zero, Or below. FIFTY BELOW ZERO. Thirty, forty, fifty, Nothing strange! North wind blowing briskly. Still no change. Not a sign to brighten; it appears Much too cold for white men To live here. But we'll have to stand it Until spring; For we can't command it To take wing When the balmy breezes Come and go, And no more it freezes, Goodbye, snow ! Birds will sing as sweetly As before; Flowers again will greet me As of yore. So I'll stop^complaining And exhort Myself no more to rhyming, But stop short. WELCOMK. 73 WELCOME. IS autumn now, and I behold Yonder beauteous, distant grove, The tree-tops tinted brown and gold; There, there's the place I love to rove! The little warblers on their wing Will soon seek homes in warmer climes; No more the distant woods will rinof No more our pleasant village chime. But fare-thee-well, my little friends, I do not deem your course as wrong ; But in the spring, pray come again, And cheer us with another song. And thus, friend Nellie, you have flown Not to a sunny, southern state, But to Dakota's western clime, Allured there by your destined mate. May Heaven bless you, is the prayer Of all your friends you left back here; We hope when balmy spring returns, You with the birds will re-appear. 74 TWILIGHT. TWILIGHT. ENTLE twilight, hour of rest, Is the thought in every breast; After busy toil and care All will join thy rest to share. Sweet to lay our ^vork aside, And with thee an hour abide, Looking- backward on the da}^ In a meditating way ; On the course that we pursue And we feel our strength renew; Weary limbs lose half their pain, Sinking hopes revive again. I.,owly as our lot may be, Twilight's hour to all is free. EPISTLE TO JOHN AND DAVID. MY OLD SCHOOLMATES. N this cold and stormy evening I am thinking of 3'ou, boys. And the times we had together In our early, childhood joys. EPISTLE TO JOHN AND DAVID. And if rightly I remember, While I sit and ponder here, We all made our first appearance. All within the self-same year. I oft' think I can imagine Thoughts within our mothers' breast. When the three compared their babies. Each would think her boy the best. Those were hours of golden sunshine; What thought we of want and care? Safe upon our mother's bosom, What on earth could harm us there? But, alas! we had no knowledge. Could not feel a mother's love; Could not feel the sweet devotion. Next to that of heaven above. Next came hours of playful childhood When our infancy was o'er; First from chair to chair, then farther. Till we ventured out of door. Even then we could not compass Nor a23preciate the bliss, Till some accident would happen, And get healed by mother's kiss. 76 EPISTLE TO JOHN AND DAVID. Even now when I'm in trouble I would fly to mother's breast; Tell her all mv care and sorrow. And receive her fond caress. Next came school-days with green primers And that awful A. B. C, As we twisted, sighed, and stammered, Standing- round our teacher's knee. There we stood, three little urchins, Gazing round in every nook; On the floor, or at the ceiHng, Any where except the book. Talk of patience with such pupils,— It would drive a Job insane; It was doubtful after lessons, If we knew our given names. But at nooning all were active. Then our minds grew sudden bright; We could shout and dance with laughter, Or enjoy a school-bo}^ fight. I remember well the frolics At the school-house, number eight. When we lived in Alto township. In the dear old Badger State. EPISTLE TO JOHN AND DAVID. 77 There in later years we often Spelled the other districts down; And rhetoric exercises Added laurels to our crown. I recall the many parties Of those joyful days gone by, And the bashful, rosy maidens. As we kissed them on the sly. How^ the girls would slap and scold us, Heeding not our woeful cry; While a roguish smile was lurking in the corner of their eye. Lovely maidens, tender hearted, They forgave us naughty men; Their bright cheeks with crimson glowing, Tempting us to try again. But adieu to old time pleasure, As the hour is getting late; It seems strange we should have drifted, Each within a different state. And although w^e now are severed From the scenes we held so dear; Let the ties of friendship ever Be renewed from year to year. 78 TiiK BOAT urnE. THE BOAT RIDE. stood one summer evenin": all alone Upon the iron bridge; I leaned upon The railing, and noticed that the sun Was slowly sinking out of sight beyond The distant hills; the western sky aglow- With golden rays, reflecting on the stream; A sight so beautifully grand to see. The graceful willows on the bank did seem In dreamy mood to sway and lowly bend As if they tried to. lull the stream to rest. Above the dam came drifting with the tide A tiny boat which bore a youth and maid, Both young and full of hope and life they seemed, Contented as the fragrant air they breathed. The youthful maiden seemed so pure and young^ A lovely rosebud, drifting on the tide; Far sweeter than the wild flowers peeping from Beneath the cliff' which overhangs the stream; And he, how gallantly he plies the oars, And gazes on the form he holds so dear; How carefully he doth select each word Lest it should not be pleasing to the one Who with her charms has turned into a heaven This twilight hour; nor would he nreak the spell A REPLY. 79 To him far dearer than all other bUss, His joys complete, how could he wish for more? I turned away, and wandered slowly home; Turned from the scene so sacred to them both, And left them in their joyous, happy dream; Unheard, unnoticed, save their Maker, God, Who in sweet nature's ^arb did smile on th.-m With all the grandeur only known to Him. A REPLY. 'Tis true, we cherish but few flowers Of all we gather far and near; And also of our many friends, But few our hearts hold dear. Oft' I shall think of thoughts you give The many callers at your home; And wonder if in thy pure breast, A thought of me is known. ODE TO ALGONA. LGONA, I behold thee still ! Thoughfour long years have passed away Since destiny against my will, Compelled me from thv streets to stray. 80 ODE TO ALGOXA. Can I forget the broad wild plains, Can I forget the shady grove? Ah no! in fancy still remains The scenes where once I used to rove. How oft' I wandered o'er th}^ hills At early morn, at close of day; The thought my breast with longing fills; Too soon those moments sped away. Thy green-clad teeming plains I see, The sweet wild flowers of every hue, The wild rose bushes w'elcome me, Algona, I am still with vou ! Thy grand majestic groves I see, The haw^thorn bushes covered o'er With blossoms which oft' beckoned me, Still 'waken memories of yore. With horse-shoe curve the silent stream Is slowly flowing calm and fair; O'er hanging boughs bend low and seem To see themselves reflected there. And then again, the river tide Sweeps grandly on in hallowed bliss; Where sunny banks on either side. Are waiting for a sdent kiss. ODE TO ALGONA. Si Here on the bosom of the plain, Encircled bv the winding: stream; The fairest city on the main, Algona, thou dost reign supreme! To all four winds thy thoughts are sped Along the wires with lightning force; Thy produce likewise, be it said, Is marketed in every course. For miles around the fertile soil Brings forth each year abundant yield; Lgrge herds of stock with little toil Are pastured on the untitled fields. Upon thy streets are men who seem To have ambition, pluck and pride; Progression is the noble theme Thy vales re-echo far and wide. Thy homes show forth on every side, The mark of industry and wealth; Thy sons toil on with honest pride. Thy clime affords them strength and health. Thy daughters gracefully adorn Thy homes or palaces of rest; With countenance as bright as morn. And love and virtue in their breast. TO A SIXGEK. Adieu I adieu I thou prairie queen ! Adieu ! broad fields of waving grain I Thv shady groves, and winding stream, Adieu I proud city of the plain! ^^ TO A SINGER. Her voice ^vas ever soft. Gentle and low— an txctllent ihin^Mn woman. — Shakespeare. ,WEET shiger of this western clime, Thy voice so pure, almost sublime. Thy name appropriate for thee A warbling birdie, blithe and free. Then let not sorrow mar thy joys, Be not deceived by dudish boys; But if a man with noble heart Should say "Dear ere we part, Pray let me whisper in your ear," Just lead him on, and you will hear A tale, though old, will seem so new, 'Twill tint your cheek a rosy hue. And you will breathe as sweet a note As ever swelled a birdie's throat; Your song will be just one short word; To you this may seem too absurd, But he will love to hear you sing-, And trade his "coppers" for a ring. ' WHAT DO YOU WAXT HSRE "WHAT DO YOU WANT HERE? " To the party who so successfully surprised us, November first. 1SS7, these lines ^re lovingly inscribed. N dear old county. Fond-dit-lac, Where I was bred and born, A land o'er-flowing as it were, With honey, milk, and corn. I soon grew up to be a man, Light-hearted, wild and free; I cared not what the fickle fates Might have in store for me. How happily the time passed by, Until, perchance, one day, A Scottish lass with winsome wavs Happened to cross niv way. And if you think I could forget, Kind friends, you're off the track; When-e'er I cast her from my mind, That moment she was back. I struggled on from 3'ear to year. But ne'er obtained relief. Until at length I married her; That settled all mv frrief. 84 " WHAT DO YOU WANT HERE ?" She had her choice and named the day, The first day of November; A lucky day, the neighbors said, And easy to remember. And since, — each anniversary, In our own simple way. With three-score rosy girls and boys We celebrate that day. And so it was last Tuesday eve, We had another spree; And all the villag-e children came To fill our hearts with glee. Our little home is far too small To let them romp and play; We locked the door and fell in line, And then we marched away. And as we slow^ly marched up town, They all cominenced to sing With joyous hearts they fairly made The air with music rino^. Each passer-by would halt with awe To solve the mystery; For so much sunshine after dark Is singular to see. "what do you want here?" We halted at my studio; It was a glorious sight To see them play the good old games Till ten o'clock at night. And Bessie previous had prepared A culinary show, With dainties for the little ones On a cloth as white as snow. At ten o'clock they bade good night With wishes and good will, Long life, and peace, and happiness, Me-thinks I hear them still. And then we slowly wandered home, The moon shone wondrous bright. The very heavens seemed to smile Upon our heads that night. And when we reached our cottage door I soon produced the key; When lo! the door flew open wide. Great Scott! what could it be? Why there stood Gray, the Mayor, too, And thundered in our ear In tones that shook our little cot, "What do yoii folks want here?" 86 "what do you want here?" And back of him stood Mrs. Gray, And Dr. Jones and wife; Nellie, Arthur, Emma, George, And Carrie, sure as Hfe. Oh! how they laughed and whooped it up, The door still open wide; While we stood looking sheepishly, Like lambkins side by side. They bade us enter, so we did. But still felt ill at ease; They seemed at home, (while we did not) As happy as you please. At length the truth began to dawn; 'Twas meant for a surprise, And slow but sure the film caine ofl That seemed to fog my eyes. I then beheld our kitchen board Prepared by dextrous hands; We soon were circled round the same At the Ladies' kind commands. What happened after that, — ah well, 'Tis useless to explain! The gratitude we felt that night, No words convey the same. A S(3NNET. S7 For who would dare so vain attempt, To other souls impart By writing down with pen and ink The feeling of a heart. * We may not live a hundred 3 ears, But this full well I know. You'll hold a place within our hearts Wherever we may go. A SONNET. ENTLE as a summer breeze fans a tree, Sweet as a rose that first begins to bloom, Mild as a ray of lightfrom the new moon. Innocent as a child from all sins free, Content as a robin that sings with glee. Bright as the golden sunbeams shine at noon, Fair as zephyrs that still the evening gloom, Pure as the v^hitest lily on the lea, Happy as a rdl that ripples sweetly by, Lovely as the sunniest morn in May, Attractive as a spring beside the wa} , Modest as a violet bloming nigh, Graceful as a cloud upon the sky. Sweet ISIaid I thou art the subject of my lay ! 88 LINES TO UNCLE AND AUNT. LINES TO UNCLE AND AUNT. ON THE BREAKING UP OF THEIR FAMILY. HREE months have scarcely passed away Since Bess and I did wend. our way Back to the land that gave us birth And once more gathered round your hearth. Like birds in the parental nest, We likewise found you truly blest With all your children; though full grown They still adorned the dear old home. But now it seems a change has come, We hear they leave you one by one; Thus two have left you since last fall, You soon will have no bairns at all. First, Mary with her roguish eye, With young McDonald dared to fly, On wild Dakota's plains to dwell Far from the home she loved so well. Next, Agnes changed her maiden name; She, doubtless, thought it was shame For Mary to become a wife While she still led a single life. LINES TO UNCLE AND AUXT. But such is life on every side; — A child grown up, cannot abide And feel contented and at home Until he has one of his own. To marry is the safest way, For us poor mortals to obey The laws of nature and of life In happy wedlock, man and wife. Of bachelors don't talk to me; Their happy life, so blithe and free, Is but a dry and wretched fate Compared with men who have a mate. Nor old maids mention, if you please; Their hfe of comfort and of ease Is but a vacant life at best, And love a stranger to their breast. Compare with them a wedded pair With three, four children, bright and fair, Who cheer them on from day to day, And, when they die, weep o'er their clay Your pleasant home where I have spent So many an evening of content; Those parties, when I was a boy, I oft recall to mind with joy. 89 QO A PRAIRIE FIRE. 'Twas there I recollect full well, Up to my ears in love 1 tV 11 With bonnie Be^s; it makes me laugh, I call her now my "better half." But, ah! 'tis sad, we all must own To see the children leave their home, As one by one their mates they find And leave the dear old folks behind^ But life is transient: this we know, Like flowers we come, we bloom and go; Old blossoms slowly fade away, While new ones glisten bright and gay. A PRAIRIE FIRE. Sacred to the memorj of Edward and Kate Maloney, friends of the author, and very dear to him, who were de- stroyed by a prairie fire at Huron, Dakota, in the spring of 1887. HE sun was shining bright and clear Upon Dakota's plain, While Ed Maloney in the field Was busy sowing grain. A PKAIRIE FIRE. ol His sister Katie with a friend Were in the house close by, Merrily chattingr, not aware That clanorer was so nisrh. The wind was blowing fierce and wild Across the level plain. But not with thunder, hail or snow, Nor cheerless drifting rain. It was a fiendish, prairie fire, Like demons leaping forth; Its fury on destruction bent, A hell upon the earth. The flames were raging lo the sky With roaring, crackling sound; With lightning speed it swept along The dead grass on the grround. The frightened maidens leaped with fear Out in the open air; And Edward with the horses came Just as the fire drew near. A gust of wind, with fire and smoke, And flames of burning hay Swept o'er them in a single stroke And took their breath away. 92 A PRAIRIE FIRE. There lay the poor unfortunates Upon the burning ground; What could they do to save their lives With fire all around? So unexpected did it come, No time to contemplate; To perish 'mid a sea of tlames Appeared to be their fate. Dear God ! we do not understand Why those Dure lives should fal', And meet v^ith such a frightful death; They were. beloved by all. So young; so full of hope and life, Devoured by reckless flames, Here 'mid the ashes on the sod Behold the charred remains. Wail ! distant hills, and mourn w^ith u<, Our friends have perished here; Moan ! gentle, summer breezes, moan, And shed a dewy tear! Come, all ye songsters of the air, And gather round thg c-iene And tune vour saddest, sweetest notes In melodv serene! LISF.S TO MISS . Wild, teeming plain*-, upon who-e breast, The sad event took j^-lace. Moan to ihc corner- of ihe t arth When darkness hides your face! Look down, ye angels, from above, And teach us to be calm; Anoint the aged parents' hearts W^ith soothing, healing balm I How sweet there is a hope beyond This mortal scene of woe, Where saints are clothed in spotless robes. As Dure and white as snow. 93 LINES TO MISS HE flower 3-ou kindly gave to me. As on the street I passed you by, Is truly beautiful to see. In brightness it resembles thee. But not so pleasing to the eye. Its beauteous hue a crimson shade. Supremely bright: but ah I I sigh To think how soon 'twill droop and fade; The sweetest flower, the faire'^t maid; Ves, all on earth must wane and die. 94 LINES TO A YOLXG LADY LINES TO A YOUNG LADY. Upon reading a/ew poems composed by her at the early age of thirteen. ^RIEND — ; — ,with 30iir sparkling eyes, I always knew that you were wise; But, really, ^irl, I am surprised In thee to find Such thought; who would have guessed could rise In thy young mind? Hold to the muse that guides your mind In tender years, and you will find Shell be a friend both true and kind In grief or joys. And not inconstant as the wind Or fickle boys. Although the world should frown or smile. And mock your efforts for a while, Some d^3' your stanzas will beguile Some weary breast, Who will appreciate your style And call you blest. LINES TO A YOUN'G LADY. How sweet when one can think and write And feel the mind ha^ taken flight; It seems to soar far out of sight; Enraptured thought Steals o'er us in the stilly night With joy we sought. Our mind, in truth, is our best friend, On whom we always can depend As soon as we can comprehend. An hour alone, The o-reatest blessing^ fate can send We all must own. And should you stray out in the wood Some day, perchance in gloomy mood, And o'er some sad misfortune brood. The o-entle muse Islnv turn the saddest hour for good. And stop the blues. She'll show you nature, and portray; The hills and valleys will seem g^ay At early dawn; at close of day All nature's fair. The groves in their magestic sway Invite you there. 95 96 AVRLCOME HOME. You'll feel above the common lot, The cruel world can harm von not You will not wish or breathe for aught But to remain, And linger near the sacred spot That knows no pa'n. Then keep on with the gen lie strain, Your efforts will not be in vain, 'Twill bring you joy, and ease your brain To make a rhyme; Your mind will brighten up again With thousrhts sublime. WELCOME HOME. 'ELCOME ,welcome home, ^Pi^>^ Welcome to thy native clime! Welcome to thy parents' cottage. Let their tendere^t love be thine Friends on every side will greet thee, Here where thou art known by all; Some perchance with tears of gladness, Some with praises thee appall. WELCOME HOME. 97 Not with honeyed soiiof ot' praises Do I greet thy presence here, Flattery is but deception And is not within my sphere. But thou knowest, in gloomy weather Rays of sunshine will beguile Many a dreary frown we harbor, And replace it with a smile. Thus the cheerful smile of girlhood, Casts upon our weary way Ravs of sunshine, thoughts of gladness, Bidding elder hearts be gay. Youthful m:iidens are like rosebuds; On the bush, how purely bright! But remove them, soon they wither, Almost vanish out of sight. Ne'er can they embalm their fragrance Like a full grown blushing rose; Left by thorny stem protected, 'Mid the KavfS until it Mows. Thus I welcome thee, friend — — . Safe 'mid fond parental care; May their tender love and guidance Be thy counsel everywhere. 98 HO-MEWARD. HOMEWARD. '■With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy." — y~oknson. |OME from labor I'm returning, And for rest I long and sigh; Weary limbs are fondly yearning While our little cot I spy. Humble is our little cottao^e, But 'tis large enough for three; It affords us ample shelter, And 'tis heaven on earth to me. There a smile for me is waiting As I enter through the door; When I cast my cares behind me Half my weariness is o'er. Though the world smile on me coldly, Still my loved ones fondly cling, And uphold me as a hero Who can do most anything. A FRAGMENT. 99 A FRAGMENT. S I came home to dinner I The other day at noon As hunorry as a sinner And stupid as a loon, Our Httle daughter met me, As fast as she could fly; She had some news to tell me I noticed in her eye. And long before she reached me She told me that the cat Had " free tute lichel tittens In papa's old black hat." How eagerly she told me This funny bit of news; Then with a dozen questions She drove away my blues. Oh! precious little children, You fill our hearts with glee! Why some folks don't like babies Is a mystery to me. lOO COMPAXIOXSHIP. COMPANIONSHIP. AN EPISTLE TO MY FRIEND, AND COMPANION OF FORMER DAYS. AM thinking of you, Clarus, And the days of long ago, When \ve both were m the Grange Store I above and you below. Well I know the place was dirty All around in every nook; And when e'er the wind was blowing, Goodness, how the building shook! There we lay 'mid ragged bed clothes Spread upon the dusty floor, Talking of our future prospects While we heard the blizzard I'oar. And at night while " cold as blazes," We would seek our humble bed, And upon the caseless pillows We would lay our weary heads. There we lay amid the rubbish, With the coal stove all aglow, And through cracks behind the counter We could spy the drifting snow. COMPANIONSHIP. lOI Rats and mice, instead of angels, Poured out blessings on our heads; And sometimes in playful frolics They would skip across our bed. We would 'waken from our slumbers When our customers would knock At the door so bright and early, — Sometimes nine or ten o'clock. Then we jumped as if bewildered With the loud and bold alarm; Scratched the bed behind the counter Like two roosters in a barn. Some would think life was a burden With encounters rude as this; But it seems to me, friend Clarus, Like a pleasant dream of bliss. Like a dream I still remember, Cherish it with honest pride. How I wish we still could wander In our friendship, side by side. But 'tis past; yes, gone forever; But our thoughts will ever flow Backward to the Grans^e Store buildingr And the joys we used to know. 103 COMPANIONSHIP. Here our friends would come to see us From the country and the town; I recall them all quite clearly, But I need not write them down. Memory will clasp them fondly; Hold them with a fond embrace; And I see them in a vision, Well I know each smilino- face. There your noble little sister, To her duties would attend; Make out statements for her brother, Speak a kind word tor her friend. There she toiled from morn till evening While the customers came in With their pails of eggs and butter, Or, sometimes, a little tin. How some folks would think and wonder Would it wash, or would it fade; Finding fault and acting silly On perhaps a ten- cent trade. Do you ever stop to ponder How we fixed that Dr. C, His grammatical effusion Did not worry you and me. TO A HAWTHORN BLOSSOM. IO3 How we con(|uerc(l hini with kindness, Tamed the brute so fierce and wild, Till he was as meek and orentle And submissive as a child. But why write another feature? I have given you a start; If you would recall more stories, I refer you to your heart. I oft sit in meditation And recall. the blissful past; Bitter drops are also mingled Which remain while life doth last. TO A HAWTHORN BLOSSOM. ,WEET hawthorn blossom, welcome! Thrice welcome unto thee! Thy perfume is so wholesome And very dear to me. Thou art the fairest emblem Of purity I know; In truth thou dost resemble A flake of spotless snow. I04 BREAKING A COLT. The lily may excell thee, In size I know it will; But when e'er I smell ihee Thou art the dearest still. BREAKING A COLT. LD settler Smith from Smitherville, A worthy farmer of renown Was sitting on the green one day, Beside his farm house south of town. His hopeful son whose name was Jack, Came from the barn-yard on his way, Leading a long-haired, stubborn colt To let it drink some rods away. Good-natured Jack, he tried his best To lead the vicious, kicking brute; But all his efforts proved in vain, The beast seemed very hard to suit. Old Smith, by this time getting mad, Exclaimed, "Why don't you ride him Jack? If I were you I'd fix him soon, I'd climb upon his pesky back." BREAKING A COLT. I05 But Jack possessed a little sense, And thinking while his father spoke, Replied, " I have a'good long neck, But do not care to have it broke/' " Confound it, let me show you how! " The old man yelled, and rose meanwhile; And climbed upon a four board fence, Assuming an assuring smile. " Bring forth that boss! " the colt was brought; He tried his best to get astride; The colt was not quite near enough; His son pushed on the other side. At length the old man took a leap And landed square upon his back; He seized the rein, and smiled once more. And then commanded " Let go, Jack! " At first the colt seemed paralyzed With fear, and stifly paced away; While Smith called back, "What do you think? I'll ride a colt like this all day." No sooner had he said these words The colt reared with a sudden bound, And flung the old man in a heap (Most sad to see) upon the ground. io6 LINES IN AN ALBUM. The colt went skipping o'er the green, While Smith arose and tried to speak; He shook the knots out of his legs His words were anything but meek. His son came running to the scene, His heart with sympathy was touched. And asked him in a tender tone, " Say, father, did it hurt you much?" The old man answered, but with pain, He was not in a speaking mood; " Perhaps it did not hurt me much, But didn't do me any good." LINES IN AN ALBUM. ES, Dick, I do recall to-day The many times we used to meet. To practice our first actj.ng play, The drama, called, " Out in the Streets." We sent for wigs and tableau lights, And fooled away our hard earned cash; And all to play a single night The farce entitled, '' Hans von Smash." LINES TO A LADY FRIEND. I07 Then ''Ladv Aiidley's Secret," which We phiyed with ample pomp and pride; And then our company got ditched And got into a fuss be^ides. It strikes me now, I hope I'm right, That men who have to work all day, Should go to bed and rest at night, Instead of fooling with a play. LINES TO A LADY FRIEND. Who was longing for the return of her parents, who were abroad. HILE gazing in this cheerful fire Bright sparks are flying from the grate; My heart overflows with strong desire To try and cheer poor lonesome — . Bright sparks of fire of brilhant hue, Oh! mock me not when I ain sad, Just teach me something I can do. To cheer my friend and make her glad. I met her on the w^alk to-day, And gazed upon her snowy brow; And something in me seemed to say Your little friend is lonesome now. loS LINES TO A LADY FRIEND. I looked again and I could read A ihoiiofht I knew she woidd not own; Her longing wa^ severe indeed, But bravely bore her grief alone. Her parents both have gone abroad To try Eureka's milder clime, Where violets spring from the sod, And roses blossom all the time. Thy parents in the land of flowers Still linger near the ocean; yet Though balmy air beguiles each hour, Think not that the}^ can thee forget. Their dailv thoughts I know, are thine In flov^^ery dell or near the sea While gazing on the foamy brine, When wrapped in slumbers dream of thee. So cheer up , do not yield To homesickness and lone despair, Pray listen to a friend's appeal, WMio joy and sorrow with you shares. A few short months and spring again W^ill make us glad as oft before. Thy parents will return, and then 'Twill be like happy days of yore. WlJKSHIP OX THE HILL. I O- WORSHIP ON THE HILL. SUNDAY MORXIXC, MAY 6tH, i888. GAIN I breathe the fragrant air; once more Gaze on the vale I oft' beheld before, And rest upon the same old rocky brow, All snow and ice a month ago; but now Bedecked with beauteous blossoms fair to see; On everv side thev seem to smile on me. A little goldfinch, scarce two rods away Upon a bush pours forth his sweetest lay; Be not afraid, my little friend, nor quit Thy charming lay, or twig on which you sit. 1 will not harm thee nor molest thy song, I love thee well, how could I do thee wrong? Sweet bird, knowest thou this is the Sabbath day? And this our place of worship on the hill? Beneath the canopy of heaven we'll pray Together, worshiping the Sovereign will Of Him, our Maker and our God of love, Who said that he would look from heaven above Where two or three were gathered in His name. And pour abundant blessing.^ on the same. Then let this be our service of to-day. I sit and listen, while you sing your lay, Praiire God, on whom we all for breath depend: Praise God above, with me, my little friend! no TO MR AXD MRS. A. P SMITH. TO MR. AND MRS. A. P. SMITH. OF PIPESTONE, MINN. HE melancholy wintry days again, Have cast a gloomy aspect o'er the main; Two months ago the summer clays were o'er And ever since we heard the Storm King roar. But yesterday and day before it seemed As if I did not feel the cold, and dreamed We had a few warm, balmy, sunny days, And fancied that I saw the golden rays Among the parting clouds, upon the sky, A summer scene and pleasing to the eye. My (h'eam was not a dream, but really true. The two short days of summer sunshine, too, Were 'wakened memories of other days, Aftection's coals rekindled to a blaze, When you and your beloved wife were here To fill our hearts with gladness, and good cheer. HUSH, THE SUMMER WINDS ARE SIGHING. |USH, the summer winds are sighing, Gently, sadlv 'mid the gloom. While we place a precious treasure, Slowly, gently, in the tomb. FARMERS SONG. Ill Young and fair was winsome Minnie, Loved by all who knew her best; But, alas, her days are numbered. And we lay her down to rest. Tears we shed of deepest sorrow. But they never can re^^tore Minnie and the years of sunshine. VVe shall see her smile no more. But there is a home above us Where a blessed Savior waits. Beckoning his children onward To the pearly, golden gate. Here we bow in meek submission, Father, God, thy will be done; Take our richest earthly treasure Savior, bear her safely home. FARMERS' SONG. AIR, — "tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are march- ing." S we gaze the county o'er, Farmer's hearts are getting sore, As we look upon the ruined fields of grain, Caused by chintz bugs and by rust, Imps of hades 'neath the dust, Gnawed the roots and killed our growing crops again. 112 FAKMEKS' SONG. CHORUS. Tramp, tramp, tramp, through FiUmore County, Cheer up farmers and be brave; In perhaps another year Not a chintz bug will be here: Antl our rolling fields with golden grain will wave. Just look back a year ago When we first began to sow, Oh how little did we think 'twas all in vain; As from day to day we'd toil. Sowing in a fertile soil. And expected soon to gather in the grain. CHORUS. Oh it was an awful sight, To behold our fields grow white. Long before the time to reap, to bind, and shock, Getting worse with every morn, Then they ruined half the corn, And we had but little hay to feed our stock. CHORUS. But we wintered safe and sound. While the snow was on the ground, Though our stock looked rather poor and gaunt last spring; And to-day we're all alive With our thrifty, noble wives. And we seem to he ir the babies sweetlv sincr; — FARMER HARWOOl) S ADDRKSS TO HIS WIFE. II3 CHORUS. So then let us iry once more. Not to feel so blue and sore, For this year our sherls are loaded down with hay; Corn and "taters" look quite well And we'll have some stock to sell, So I bid you cheer up comrades and be gay. CHORLS. FARMER HARWOOD'S ADDRESS TO HIS WIFE. "An honest peasantry, a country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.'' (loldstnit/i. NOTHER summer passed and gone, — Another year has flown away, Our homestead has the mortgage on, Which ten long years we tried to pay. Yes wife, we've labored hard, I vow; We've tried our best to get along. But reall}' I'm discouraged now. For everything is going wrong. Last year we had no crop at all; No fodder for our hungry stock; No soft, warm flannel in the fall; No overcoat or fur trimmed fruck. 114 FARMER HARWOOD's ADDRESS TO HIS WIFE. Our children had to go to school In calico, so thin and cold, It made me shiver like a fool To see those garments patched and old. Their sweet young faces had a look — E'en though they never did complain — I saw the tears they tried to brook; It gave my heart exceeding pain. How oft' f watched them on their way Amid the drifting, biting blast; They tried to feel content and gay, — I did so hope 'twould be the last. How truly glad I was last spring To see the snow-banks melt away; I loved to hear the wild birds sinor; My heart re-echoing their lay. « Yes, carefully I tilled the ground, And scattered broadcast o'er the lield The precious seed so plump and sound. Expecting an abundant yield. From day to day I watched with care, As children do a treasured toy, And often I would breathe a prayer, I almost could hav^e w^ept for joy: — FARMER HARWOOD S ADDRESS TO HIS WIKE H; And all my hopes were gratified With sunny days and showers of rain, I felt content and satisfied While gazing on the wavy grain. But ah, the dreaded chintz bug came. Together with destroying rust, And took our growing crops again, And flung my prospects in the dust. And here we are again, dear wife, Much worse oft' than we were before; I never yet in all my life Have felt so wretched, mean and sore. A long cold winter coming on. The storm king stares us in the face; Our purse is empty; all is gone Except the mortgage on the place. I never stopped to think, dear wife; To my regret. I was a fool; I have been busy all my life. And labor was the golden rule. But now it seems there's something wrong; When crops were good we could but gain A living as we went along; To pay up debt was always vain. Il6 FARMER HARWOOD's ADDKKSS TO I'.IS WIFE. We waste our years of strength and liealth; Our days of vigor flying fast; Our produce brings but little wealth; Our labor cannot always last. And then again, for thin^rs we need We have to pay a double piice; MonopcJv with fiendish greed Cuts from our labor many a slice. ' I'm but a plain, hard working man, And have no extra brains to spare, But know I labor all I can To aid some wealthy millionaire. Yes, millionaires as smooth as oil. Increase in number every where, While laborers with honest toil Can't get enough to eat and wear. I hate to grumble at the law; My Bible tells me to be meek; But want has struck my soul with awe, And something in me bids me speak. Dear wife, 'tis not the hand of God That brought about this cunning plan To rule us with an iron rod; It is but selfishness of man. STAXZAS IN AN ALBUM. uy But it is Lite and time to seek An unpretending place of rest; I told you this peculiar freak To ease mv care-worn, troubled breast. Go bring: the Bible from the shelf. The good old book 1 dearlv prize; A world of riches in itself, That is not bound bv mortgage ties. The faithful wife produced the book. Which opened of its own accord To Nehemiah, chapter tilth, And they perused the holy Word. Then knelt they down in humble praver. With lines of faith upon their brow, And earnestly thev pra\ ed that God Would send a Nehemiah now. STANZAS IN AN ALBUM. CANNOT help but think, friend Kate, How truly blessed the man will be. Who somedav will be fortunate Enough to share his life with thee. Your cheerful smile from dav to day, Like sunbeams dancing on the lea. Like roses strewn upon his wav. How could he choose but wor^hip thee? Il8 LINES TO RUTH. LINES TO RUTH. O NIGHT, I have the meanest cold That ever yet has taken hold Of me with fiendish power; Yet, tune my harp and let me sing. And bid my restless thoughts take wing, Let song beguile the hour. And while I sing I'll serenade Fair Ruth, the ever cheerful maid, With beauteous raven hair; Whose eyes like stars in beauty shine. Whose sunny smile is more sublime Than sunbeams in the air. Yes Ruth, I sing not to the dames, The proud, high born whose haughty names In leading papers shine; Although they travel far and wide In costly robes with pomp and pride. And drink the choicest wine. What though at Washington they dance, And round the greatest statesmen prance And dress elaborate; And spend a fortune every year, And nearly rob their papa dear, Can never make them g-reat. LINES TO RUTH. II9 Give me a maid, friend Ruth, like thee; As independent, bright, and free, And not afraid to toil, A girl who can in time of need Earn her own food and clothes, indeed. And make no great turmoil. These are the girls that I admire. To them I tune my willing lyre, In gentle strain of praise. Hail to the countless thousand girls. The grandest, purest, brightest pearls On which the eye can gaze!