VMUOSMtUKMKif. ;;: \ ■LhA^j. .• ; BY. ,; ■ . ■« « s c^C^ '"••i/lf t^^m^ H\ b v»" -:W:.^:^ ■ ':'! ' - '^5fl^*'i?*' :: w ^w^^-^^- ^tti. % ^■MJ. w^ W^- ^: ^':-^[^V^ 4^/ '^.' (. / ; -/<\ iS v^w^-t-: / v-?: v?fr/'/- ^.:^t\\^^^:^^4 l''!' Sff- ^ i^\*l y^ K'^~ \ )!^^-;:--<$ ■"H-^ ^'■rj. ^ ^ Wv' ^*' )^ ;;:'\- Aj*t. /- 7- i,V;'-M-r'&' / wu'^^^.^W fei 7 A'<' r' / " "7"IS summer in the quiet land of bloom, vD 'Neath skies that winter never knew ; In forests deep the dusky cypress plume Nods where the wild-vine tendrils clew Among the humbler growth, beneath the shade Of centuried and hoary oaks, And where the rainbow-tinted sunbeams fade, Under the long and trailing cloaks. Of mosses, bannered to the lofty boughs. That weave a close and leafy screen For nooks where fly-begoaded cattle browse. In covers cool, of grateful green. II. Before the facade of the deep, dark wood. The fallow-fields and pastures lie. And ripening harvests, teeming, rich and good. Give pleasing promise to the eye. 26 BL A CK MA MMT. Among the china and the orange trees, And flowers of myriad dye, And jasmine vines, that in each bahri}^ breeze Their gay and golden showers fly, There stands, with open doors, a planter's home, And stillness reigns about its halls. Except the sound of bees around the comb, Or ring-dove's low and distant calls. III. The sunflower droops in comely grace Befoie the day-king's fervid rays — A Cl3'tie fair, who bends her modest face Beneath Apollo's ardent gaze. A shimmering haze is in the an', The mocking bird his riot stills. The river glints beneath the sun's fierce glare. And mists hang o'er the far-ofl hills. The pigeons croon beneath the eaving-frieze, A kitten sleeps in "mammy's" lap. And in a hammock, swung betwixt two trees, "Old marster" takes his noon-tide nap. BLACK MAMMY. 27 IV. THE STRANGER. 'Twas hazy, dreamy summer time In Mississippi's ardent clime, And I had wandered gladly back From war and desolation's track, And years of toil in fortune's hunt; Bescarred before the battle's brunt; Had wandered back, gray-haired and lame, To that old home from whence I came. Near two-score years before, a lad Of lightsome step, and spirits mad With wild ambition, but to wield A gleaming blade on vict'ry's field, And bear the Southern banner through The broken ranks of hostile blue. I met a grim and stubborn foe. And saw my cherished cause laid low ; I fell amid a rain of balls. And 'woke within a prison's walls. I've lived the dear "Lost Cause" to weep. And joyed to see the trouble sleep; 28 BLACK MAMMY. I live to praise the God above — The God of Peace, and Home, and Love- That now our land is One, and Free, And pray that thus 'twill ever be. V. Capricious fortune could not foil The just reward of worthy toil; So there, within the well-known ^ates — - Despite the Furies and the Fates — I stood upon the shaded lawn. Beside the grave of years agone. A man of wrinkles, but of wealth. In gold, and gear, and ruddy health. My father's sire dozed his nap. The kitten slept in mammy's lap. The pigeons crooned beneath the eaves, The zephyrs played among the leaves. And on the breezes, borne along. Came faint the ring-doves' cooing song. Till "marster" woke, I thought the while "Black mammy's" gossip to beguile. BLACK MAMMY. 2^ A safe incognito was mine, In beard, and hair, and furrowed line. That Time had lent me from his stall To freely clothe myself withal. I laughed and cried, to hear her tell Afresh the tale I knew so well — Forebore to hug the dear old soul Till she had reached her story's goal. mammy's story. Yo' mos' o-be jent, sah; hit's true - Dis place is known, sah, ez Ladue — De fines' on de rivah; An' dat's ole marster dar, asleep; I wouldn't wake him for a heap — - He's sich a reg'lar livah. But ef you'd seat yo'se'f a bit. Do' Ise no comp'ny dat is fit To ontertain you well, sah, I'll do my bes' tell marster wakes — - And dat I knows fur sartain sakes, Is wid de dinnah-bell, sah. JO BLACK MAMMY. Yes, sah, he's livin' here alone, Asceptin' color like my own; Ole mis' is gone to glory. An' all de yuthers dey's away, But not fur good, er gwine to sta}' — An' dar-by hangs a story; Ole marse an' mis', dey had a son — Marse Luther, jis an on'y one — An' also one sweet darter; Marse Luther married; den he died. An' his po' wife — jis' seem she tried- Lay 'side him shortly arter. She lef a lovely par of twins, An' jis' as like as two new pins, Asceptin' — is you Hs'nin'? — Dat one wuz gal and one wuz boy; Miss Genevieve and Marster Roy Dey named 'em at de chris'nin'. Ole marster's darter runned away, An' f'um dat awful, tryin' day. BLACK MAMMl. 31 Ole mis' she tuck to sinkin', An' 'twarn't but jes' a few months mo' She stood upon de Jordan sho', From golden cups a-drinkin'. 'Twas on a Sunday mistiss went; It 'peared de angel hos' wuz sent To take her up to heaven, Dat one day, when de gates up dar Is standin' open, wide ajar — De bes' day in de seven. De fac', it wuz, dat po' Miss Sue She loved beneath what Marse Ladue Wuz thinkin' wuz her ekal; An' so she 'loped, one rainy night. An' evah sence wuz lost to sight. Sah? Yes, sah, dat's de sekal. I'd nussed Marse Luther and Miss Sue, An' den I tuck Marse Luther's two; Now, bless yo' life. Miss Veevey Has got some six; an' when dey's here J 2 BLACK iMAMMT, Dey makes ole mammy jump, s'vere — You jis' had better b'lieve me! Well, arter young Marse Luther died, His wife a-layin' by his side. An' po' Miss Sue elopin', An' mistiss ridin' Jordan's wave, Ole marster's life wuz hard to save — De doctors guv up hopin'. But, bless yo' life, he stood it all; De angel stopped his bugle-call. An' marster's still among us; An' sence dat time he's strong an' well, An' nothin' but de Lawd could tell De happiness he's brung us. So things went on, year arter year, An' all wuz smooth and prosp'rous here; De cullud folks increasin; De cawn crap an' de cotton bale W.uz sho', an' nevah known to fail, An' blessin's wuz onceasin'. BLACK MAMMY. 33 An' jes' to cap de stack of joy, Dar cum along anuther boy, One blessed day like dis'n ; I think de angels ovah dar Mus' be'n a-singin' in de a'r An' c'ressin' an' a-kissin'. Up f'um de hot an' dusty way Dat 'long de rivah levee lay, Dat bar'foot boy come, swingin'; He whistled, as he trudged along. Some snatches f'um a lively song He'd hyrd de fiel'-han's singin'. Up thoo de lawn an' 'twixt de trees, Jes' like a spring-time rivah breeze, Dat youngster comes a-troopin'— I think he had de boldes' step A tired infant evah kep', An' nary bit er droopin'. Den he unloosened f'um his back A little ole bandana pack —5 34 BLACK MAMMT. Dat hilt his onknown treasure; F'um off his arm his bundle swung, An' on de grass hisse'f he flung, Full length, his little measure. Ole marster woke, an' quar surprise Jes' twinkled in his good ole eyes To see de youthful ranger; "Go fetch de lad to me," he said; Aunt Easter jis' w^ent right ahead Wid dis talk to de stranger: "Come here to me, you little scamp; I 'spec's you's nuthin but a tramp A-prowlin' thoo de section; Ole marster wants to talk wid you, An' sorter s'arch you thoo and thoo. An' give you some correction. I 'spec's he'll lock you up ontil De night am come, an' all am still; Den, while you quake an' shivah. He'll make de drivah take you out BLACK MAMMY, - 35 An' give you sixty — dar about — An' fling you in de rivah." Ole Easter thought it monst'ous smart To give some one jis' sich a start, When she wuz in de humor; Ghos'-stories, laws! she loved to tell, An' all dis truck 'bout hoodoo spell, An' every 'sterious rumor. Out spoke de brave, onda'nted lad: "I don't believe dat he's so bad As you gwine try to make him; An' what is mo', I aint afeared" — Dat's what he said, for hit I heard — Dar warn't no skeer could shake him. "You's pooty spunky, little man; But when you's in ole marster's han You'll sing anudder song, sah; So grab you up yo' traps an' truck. An' pray" ole Easter say, "fur luck, As you is gwine along, sah." 36 BLA CK MA MiMT. She led de lad to whar de fat An' jolly-faced ole marster sat, On dis yer same piazzah; '•I dunno whar dis chile is f'um, Er whv er wharfo' here he's cum, Er any 'skuse he has, sah." Den pompously, her jewty done, Ole Easter looks up to'ads de sun, As ef to tell de hour. Den takes de dinnah-hawn an blows A blast dat might er skeered de crows, Er brought a summer shower. "Well, youngster," says de kine ole man, "Jis tell me, ef you thinks you can, Yo' name, an whar you wander." "Mv name is Frank," de bo}^ replied: ''Ten da^'S ago my father died, An' mother's Over Yonder." Dtin, lookin' to'ads de cl'ar, blue skies, De tear-drops wet his bluer eyes BLACK MAMMY, 37 An' dimmed dar boyish brightness; Ole marster's tone got safter, too, While gazin' in dem eyes of blue, An' drapped his manner's lightness. "I'd like to get some work to do — Dat's why I come to visit you," De wanderer continued; Jis' den de ban's, who'd heard de hawn, Comes trapesin' in f'um out de cawn, Hard-handed, strong an' sinewed. "You see dem men?" old marster said; "Dey labors for dere daily bread, An' yit dey's well contented; Could you do dat, thoo all yo' days. An' live dere humble, drudgin' ways, Widout de choice repented.^" "One only gits what he can 'arn," De boy he says, "but I can I'arn To be a holpful man, sah; Jis' try me for a little while." 38 BLACK MAMMl^, Dis broadened out ole marster's smile, Bekase he liked de ansah. "Come here, Sis Tabb;" dat's me; Ise here; An' standin' bv ole marster's cheer, I mos' o-be-jent waited; An' yit I'm here, devoted still, An' ready, too, to do his will Whenever hit is stated. He say: "Sis Tabb, you take dis boy. An' bring him up wid our Roy, Wid jis' de same attention; See dat he's fed an' neatly dressed. An' do in all things what is bes' — De res' I needn't mention." I tuck a likin' to de chile Right dar an' den; an' arter while I has him lookin' shinin'; Den guv him somepen good to eat — You'd tho't dat he'd be'n outen meat Ef you could seed him dinin'. BLACK MAMMY, jp He brung his appetite fur sho', An' et until he'd hold no mo' — An' me, laws bless you, pressin'; De chile wuz hawngry, dat's a fac' — He hadn't et fur weeks aback, Wuz jis what I wuz guessin'. I aint no reader in de books, But still I knowed from dat chile's looks, He warn't no common creature; He'd gentle way5 and manners sweet, An' 'ristocratic hands and feet, An' "blood" in every feature. He guv his little pack to me. To keep it safe as safe could be ; "My mother's Bible's in it — Hit's somepen I most dearly prize," He says, wid big tears in his eyes; I loved him f'um dat minit. I locked dat bundle safe an' soun' Down in a chis' dat's i'on-boun'. ^o BLACK MAMMY, An' dar it stayed in res', sah, Tell sich a time, in arter years, It dried a monst'ous sight er tears. An' 'splained things fur de bes', sah. He fell right into our ways, An' 'twarn't so monst'ous many days Fo' he wuz in a station 'Mong all de white folks on de place. As well as dem of our race. As one of de relation. x\n' him an' Roy an' Genevieve Jis' had good times, you kin believe — Ole marster, too, abettin'; Sich kyarin's-on an' rattlin' plays I nevah seed in my bawn days, An' kep' me wile a-frettin'. An' Juba, too — dat's my ole man — Him an' his brother — Uncle Dan — Would mix in de commotion, An' lead de racket, whoop an' dance, BLACK MAMMY, 41 Whenever dey had half a chance — Distractin', to ?ny notion. Ise raised some chillen in my time, An' mos' of dem was fair to prime, Of white and black vocations; But dese wuz p'intedly de wust Of any dis chile evah nussed. Of three whole ginerations. Hit warn't in meanness dey wuz bad, But hoyden- wile an' mischuff-mad, An' full of fun an' capers; To make dem chillen walk de chalk An' keep in boun's — you hear me talk — Hit wuzn't in de papers. De yeahs went on, an' I tell you, De tricks dem chillen played, hit's true. You couldn't hardly thunk it; One time dey tuck Aunt Easter's cat, An' wropped it in her Sunday hat. An' in de rivah sunk it. BLACK MAMMI, 43 Aunt Easter worried so dat — well, She thought "she had a hoodoo spell, An' so tuck down, er ailin'; She 'clared she knowed dat snakes an' toads Wuz in her legs by baskit-loads, An' jis' kep' on a-failin', Tell Frank an' Roy an' Uncle Dan Dey gits a monst'ous big tin pan An' hlls it full er vermin — Some iishin'-wu'ms an' harmless snakes. An' frogs, an' thousan'-legs an' takes De mess right in, a-squirmin'. Dey hides it onder Easter's bed, An' den Marse Frank he up an' said How he was hoodoo p'ison; He takes ole Easter by de ha'r. An' goes thoo some owdashus pra'r. Den brings her up a-risin'. An' den he makes ole Uncle Dan Hoi' up de things in dat ar pan U BLACK MAMMY. Befo' de eyes of Easter, An' make believe dey lef her lim' In true o-be-jence unto him, An' hoodoo had released her. 'Fo' dat she b'leeved, cis sho's you bawn, Dat Gab'el done had blowed his hawn, An' she wuz sho'ly dyin'; Dat trick jis' kyoed her right away, An' 'arly on de follerin' day She jis' was out a-flyin'. Mos' evah Sunday all de ban's On dese an' de adj'inin' lan's Dat's bv dese rivahs bounded. Would gether 'fo' sweet Jesus' face. Out in de woods, in some cool place. To hear de gospel 'spounded. An' in sich times dem chillen went. An' allers dere svv'eet voices lent To holp de meetin'-singin'; An' even yit I think I hear BLACK MAMMY. 4.5 Dem chillen's voices, bright and clear, All thoo de sarvice ringin'. De preachah, he wuz my ole man; De deekin, dat wuz Uncle Dan; An' while de folks wuz comin' Dese two sot on de moanah's seat, Mos' humble dar at Jesus' feet, Dis openin' hime a-hummin': GOOD LORD, REMEMBER ME. I wish dat you, my breethren true. Would larn dis modis' song. An' git it by heart, 'fo' we all part. An' shout it loud an' long: 'Member de rich, an' 'member de po', 'Member de bon' an' de free. An' when you done a-'memberin' aroun'. Den, good Lawd, 'member po' me. Why can't you do like Peter did, While a-walkin' on de sea? 46 BLA CK MA MMT. He clapped his han's to his .lovin' Lawd- Oh, good Lawd, 'member po' me. Josh-u-way made de sun stan' still Tell de hos' of de wrong wuz slain: Den he went on, tightin' for de Lawd, x\n' prayin' for remembrance again. Ef I could Stan' whar Moses stood, An' view de landscape o', I'd take up wings an' fly away Ovah to dat milk-white siio'. My chillen — sho'ly de}' wuz mine — Growed up together, jis' as fine As any in de county; Good-hearted, han'some, strong an' brave, Dey holp de po', all dey could save, From Gran'pa's wealth an' bounty. Ole marster didn't stint his means, But sont away to New Orleans BLA CK MAMMY. 47 An' got a private teachah — A man so good an' wise an' straight I allers thouo-ht he'd do fust-rate To make a Babtis' preachah. Dey larnt so much, an' growed so fas', Hit mad<: me sad — I knowed at las', An' so'ly felt de warnin', De}^ gwine too leave me, too, an' go Out in de worl' to reap an' sow. Some monst'ous 'arly mawnin'. Den one thing please me mighty well; One night I ovahearn Frank tell Miss 'Veevey how he love her; He talk so sweet about his love, An' sw'ar dat she's his turkle-dove. By all de stars above her, Hit made me smile. Ise hearn dat talk Mos' evah sense dat I could walk, Thoo all dese ginerations; But dat's de talk — you knows it, too — 48 BLACK MAMMY. Dat holps dis world of ourn thoo, x\n' populates de nations. Den Roy he fines de secret out, An' raves, an' stawms, an' t'ars about, Mos' dre'ful, to my notion. An' marster p'intedly goes wile, An' sw'ar he gwine to shoot de chile. An' rages like de ocean. Dey rave at Frank, an' fume an' sizz. An' say dey dunno who he is, An' treat him monst'ous bad, sah; But Frank he kep' his tempah down- He even doan' so much as frown. But jis' look sorter sad, sah. An' den dey tells him, to his face, He done has got to leave de place; . An' den he look heart-broken. An' say he nevah could believe 'Twuz wrong to love Miss Genevieve- He say it sah, outspoken. BLACK MAMMY, 4g But still he packed an' went away, An' jis' about de follerin' day Miss Genevieve wuz missin'. Laws bless you! Roy, an' marster, too, Wuz monst'ous hot; now, I X.^ yoti^ Dey jis' wuz fa'rly hissin'. An' marster sw'ar he b'lieve a cuss. Or somepen', maybe, dat is wuss, Wuz on de house a-layin, An' Roy, he gwine ter take a gun An' shoot dat Frank, 'fo' mawnin' sun — Dat's what he wuz a-sayin'. Den I comes up, an' mighty peart, 'Kase I doan' want dem chillen hurt, An' say it mos' severely: "I b'lieve, as firm as any rock, Dat Frank aint f'um no common stock, An' b'lieve it mos' sincerely." Den marster look at me as cool^ An' say he think dat I'm a fool — —7 50 BLACK MAMMT, In fac', he simply know it; He say, wid anger in his eyes, "Ef you's so mighty, monst'ous wise, Why doan' you try to show it?" Right dar an' den de wises' thought Dis po' ole niggah evah caught Went thoo my head a-flyin'. Down to de quarters, sah, I went, Jis' hke a doctah who wuz bent To see somebody dvin'. I busted open dat ole chis' An' to de bottom run my tis' An' dug up dat bandanner What Frank had guv to me befo', . Wid all his trinkets, years ago, An' shouted one hosanner; I dunno w^hy dat I wuz led To git de notion in my head. But I was sho' possessed, sah, De Bible in dat little pack BLACK MAMMY. 51 Would bring dem wand'rin' chillen back In marster's favor dressed, sah. I tuck dat pack an' fa'rly flew, Like dese ole limbs wuz young an' new, An' 'stonished all dat seed me; Dey think Ise crazy, but I run Like Jacob gwine ter meet his son; I mosied — yes, indeedy! Clean outen breath, an' almos' beat, I flung de pack at marster's feet. An' Roy, he den ontied it; De Bible, hit wuz on de top; You orter seed ole marster stop As soon, sah, as he spied it. Wid trimblin' han' he tuck de book, i.\n' at de fus' page tuck a look, Den shouted "Hallalooyah!" He read some words dat went like dis: "To my dear darter, wnd a kiss," An' dat wuz signed "Ladue," sah! S2 BLACK MAAair, Den lower down, Miss Sue had writ, In her sweet way, a little bit. To give it to anuther: "To Frank, my noble little son, M}' darlin boy an' only one, From his fond, lovin' mother." De shootin' talk den tuck a change, An' Roy an' marster 'gin to 'range To smooth de trouble ovah. An' pooty soon de los' wuz foun'; An' when de weddin' feas' went roun' De darkies wuz in clovah. Laws bless you! sah, hit made me glad To see de gorjus times we had — Sich joy an' merrj^-makin' ; Ole marster p'intedly growed young. An' whooped an' laughed, an' danced an' sung But, dar, he is awakin'! CANTO CANTO THIRD. A PICTURE. I. ^^D RIGHT boyhood time — -its holidays and -© toys; Its sorrows, great, as seen through youthful eyes : Its earnest plans, its sweet and satiate joys; Ah! dulcet season! how it flies, And then embalmed in mem'ry lies. II. "Black Mammy" held its picture up to me — An etching traced in lines of Hving light, And limned in colors lucent as the sea When 'neath the moonbeams soft and bright It shimmers in a tropic night. 36 BLACK MAMMT. III. I caught the dear old soul within my arms; Embraced her with an ecstasy of joy, As lover would a mistress rich of charms; She wondered; then exclaimed, "My boy? God bless us ! you is Marster Roy !" THE HOLIDAY. I. "Ole marster" opened wide his dyes, That filled with ludicrous surprise. And hardly thought himself awake. To see a bearded stranger take Such freedom on his grounds. "Hit's Marster Roy!" old Mammy cried, And tears of joy, in welling tide, Flowed down her dusky, wrinkled face. And Grandpa gave me his embrace With love that knew no bounds. II. No better welcome ever ran To chieftain from his loyal clan. BLACK MAMMY, 57 Than that which, given there to me Beneath my father's old roof-tree, Brought gladness to my heart. With youth my grandsire seemed anew; He took the dinner-horn and blew A mighty blast, that echoed long. And sudden stopped the freedmen's song. And gave Old Home a start. III. 'Twas something strange to call the hands. At such a time, from off the lands — With loyal fear of something wrong To those at home, the dusky throng Rushed in the nearest way. "Ole marster" told them that his boy. His long-lost grandson, "Marster Roy," Had come to home and friends again; "And now," he said, "let pleasure reign — I give a holiday." IV. A general shout the welkin rung. And then the darkies danced and sung — —8 ^8 BLA CK MAM Ml \ One iri'five old minstrel tuned his shell — A gourd banjo — most wondrous well To sinof a home-made song. The "bis: house" furnished oroodlv cheer Of "white bread," jam and '"'simmon beer,' And, all impatient for the rh3'me, The folks urge Cato, "Come to time*!— Doan' chune de thing so long." V. BANJO SON(;. Has vou be'n hyrd de banjo talk? Choonka-ching, choonka-ching: ' An' see de niggah walk de chalk? An' see de niggah lif his feet To dat music, rich an' sweet? Choonka-ching, choonka-ching. Oh dat banjo — make us lif dem feet: Oh dat possum — good an' fat an' sweet: De niggah like to have a chance • To 'possum-hunt an' sing an' dance — Choonka-ching, choonka-ching. BLACK MAMMY. 59 Has you be'n hyrd de drivah sw'ar? Choonka-ching, choonka-ching; An' raise de niggah's kinky ha'r? An' see de niggah make de hoe Hum along de cotting row? Choonka-ching, choonka-ching. Oh dat drivah — make us Hf dem feet; Oh dat cane-fiel' — big an' broad an' sweet; What de niggah like to shun Am hoein in de br'ilin' sun — Choonka-ching, choonka-ching. VI. When Cato's banjo song was done, The "jawbone talkers' " work begun. And wagers high, of shucking pegs, x\nd raven claws and rabbit legs, And other current pelf. Were laid in many an odd, queer batch On this most unique singing match, Wherein each rival, in his time. 6o BLACK AfAAfMl^. Would sing, in certain tune, a rhyme, Invented by himself. VII. In such a contest, holding out The longest in the rhyming bout, Established high the dusk}^ bard. As winner, in the tierce and guard, Of wordy, sing-song light. Old Cato, Caesar, Luke and Eph Were of the talkers now^ the chief, And, judged by Jube and Uncle Dan, Their doggerel diversely ran Thus, wildly, to its height: VIII. Luke: Whenever I gits started in I talks jawbone tell hit's a sin; I talked jawbone from June tell June, An' some folks said I quit too soon. . Refrain — ^Ole Jaw-bone, do go home ; In come Jim wid a jose\' on. BLACK MAMMY. 6i C.«SAR : It aint no use to try to quit When I falls in de jawbone fit; I talks so long, an' talks so fas' I comes out winner at de las'. Eph: You works a middlin' size hockbone, Wid a good big chunk er hot caw^n-pone, Heap better dan de jawbone song; You hear mv sesso; . JULEY ANN. IN) JOHN ( in<:ia,KV oi. Coiokado. -|^EY say Ise cross an' cranky too, ^^ An' niebbe dal I am. ise had enough to worry thoo To aggerxate a hnub. Ise had nine chilhui in my day, An' nar\' one is lef; Dey all was tuck an' kyard away, An' Tm here by nnse'f. JULET ANN. 127 Ole master died when I wuz grown, An' stated in his will, I)at I mus' be Miss Susie's own — Me an' de water-mill. My chillun, dey wuz lotted out— An', mind you, 'fo' dey's bawn, Fur* I was healthy, young an' stout, , An' sho' as las' year's cawn. De fus' wuz Tom, dey tuck him when He jis' wuz fo' year old. An' foll'rin' him wuz little Ben, An' den my Jane wuz sold, An' Lu an' Jk)b an' Tip an' Jim — An' Sam, my crippled son, Dey even mosied off wid him, An' lef me nary one. Dem chillun's scattered ever'vvhar. An' dunno who dey is, ])ut dev will know me ovah dar When jedgment's sun is riz'. 128 DIALEC T POEMS. I may 'pear monst'ous cross an' ill, But Heaven knows I b'ar No spite, er hate, er 'vengeful will To block my way up dar. AUNT CHLOE'S CREED. To GEORGE ^V, OlILENDORF of Omaha. T SE hearn a monst'ous heap er talk 'Bout th'ology an' creeds, But you hear me a-shoutin' now, Dar's nuthin' like good deeds. Jes' gimme sweet religion, please — I don't keer what's its name — De Methodis' or Babtis' kind Will save you, jes' the same. I'm on my road to Heaven sho', An' aint got time to talk; Ef you is gwine 'long wid me 'You's got to walk de chalk; Ole Petah's standin' at de gate, AUNT CHLOE'S CREED, 129 An' hit am wide ajar, But jes' a lettah f um de church Won't take you in thoo dar. He gwineter ax you, mighty close, All 'bout yo' daily walk, An' ef you holp de neighbor po' Wid somepen else but talk; He gwineter sarch you thoo an' thoo. An' sho' as you is bawn, Ef you aint right, you'll wish dat Gabe Had nevah blowed his hawn. You'll see ole Mary shinin' dar. An' Paul an' Silas, too. An' Moses an' de other ones, De ship er Zion's crew; An' nary one will have a creed, Ascep' de chas'enin' rod. An' all will sing a "hallalu' " Aroun' de throne er God. —17 ISO DIALECT POEMS, SOME SINGIN'. To IIAI.SICV M. UHOADS, oi I)kn\ i:i<. '|^E^' talked so mighty monst'ous much ^^ About de white folks' sincrin' Up in de big high-steeple chu'ch Hit sot my years a-ringin\ So up I goes an' tuck a seat jis' whar de sexton p'inted, As 'umble dar, at Jesus' feet, As any onann'inted. De ban' struck up, and I declar' Hit nearly froze my livah, An' almos' raised my kinky ha'r An' made my marrer shivah. An' when de singin' started in, Away up in de gal'ry, Hit sounded like a cotton-gin A-screekin' fur a sal'ry. Dar warn't no soun' like "hallalu!" An' "Jerdan's stormy rivah," yUBE'S OLD TALLER BOG. 131 "Char-i-o' swingin' low fur you," As evah I could 'skivah. Hit warn't de good ole shoutin' songs We has at cullud preachin', Whar glory an' de love-feas' b'longs, Soul-sarchin' an' heart-reachin'. JUBE'S OLD YALLER DOG. To Captain M. H. LAMB. T SE be'n a-trav'lin' thoo dis vale Nigh on to eighty years, An' now my eyes is 'gun to fail Wid weepin' bittah tears. My po' ole wife is goned above — De way Ise gwine to jog — An' all dat's left fur me to love Is dat ole yaller dog. My chillun's scattered here an' thar. An' wouldn't know me now, But we will pass de gates ajar, OLD JUBE. JUBE'S OLD TALLER DOG. 133 At jedgment day, I 'low, An' while I make de 'stressful rounds Thoo all de damp an' fog, Of dese yar wearisome low-grounds, Ise got dat yaller dog. We's hunted, many a livelong night, De 'poSsum an' de coon, An' cotch 'em by de silvah light Of many a southern moon. We's built a blaze an' cooked de meat 'Longside a big back-log. An' had some times mos' monst'ous sweet — Jis' me an' dat ole dog. An' long as I is stayin' here Ise got one frien', I know ; Ef I is po' de dog don't keer — His head don't run on show. An' long as I is got a bite Er hominy an' hog, Ise gwine to 'vide — you jis' is right — Wid dat ole yaller dog. 134 DIALECT POEMS. THE TENDERFOOT. To \Vm. II. ROOT, OF Lakamik. y\ very fresh and forward youth ^^^ Came ghding from the east, And he was bent to ride, forsooth, A wild-eyed broncho beast, And be a bad man on the plains — A howling cowboy king — And rule the roost and hold the reins, And make the welkin ring. He landed here, in fair Cheyenne, Full rigged from top to toe. The picture of a deadly man Prepared to meet a foe. With "chaps" and belt, broad hat and gun. He seemed, in very truth, A Turco fierce, a fiery Hun, This callow, eastern youth. He splashed his name upon the book Where guests are listed do7/n. THE TENDERFOOT. 135 Then strutted out, with haughty look To carminate the town. The pioneer, who landed here In quite an early day, Stood back aghast and white with fear, Before this dread "hooray." The hotel had a boot-black lad, A wild, 3'et shining light. Who, moved by him who rules the bad, Laid for that eastern wight, And aided by a graceless crew Of jubilating sparks, That tenderfoot was trotted through A liveh' set of larks. In dress much like the buckskin scout Who terrifies "the States", That boot-black bad went sailing out. Conspiring with his mates. Thev found the tenderfoot, and led The unsuspecting guy 136 DIALECT POEMS. Through doctored drinks, of liquor red, And many a fearful lie. They fed him stories strong and tough Of terrible stampedes; How men are ground to sausage stuff While doing gallant deeds. And thus beguiled, some led him down Where Minnehaha flows, And others gathered through the town A gang of wild bronchos. When he had reached the water's side. There came a dreadful roar; "Stampede! stampede!" those hoodlums cried. And scattered long the shore; "Dive in, and save yourself!" they yell. The tenderfoot "dove" in. And down the horsemen came pell-mell, With whoop and rattling din. .That tenderfoot was nearly drowned. In water, muck and mud; THE TENDERFOOT. 137 They dragged him out and gathered 'round The damp, young eastern blood; They rolled him on the sandy bank To pump the mortar out, Then took the frail and tender crank The bee-line homeward route. He lay in bed, a week or two, Hard struggling for his breath, I^ut youth and beauty pulled him through And "coppered" hungry death. Then straightway homeward to the east That "bad man" took a train; He did not ride a broncho beast, And won't come back again. l^ut 'mong the men, and maidens fair. In his dear native town, He tells of dangers he would dare. And wins a great renown. Now such as these are 'mong the best Of holy terrors, who Are giving our glorious west Its gaudy, wicked hue. —18 ij8 D I ALEC T POEMS. RED CHECKS. To Col. BASCOM, of Kansas. T 'VE had the blamedest streak of luck That any fellow ever struck For six months now, or more. My togs are bad and gittin' wuss, My hat aint worth a copper cuss. Great heavens! what a bore! To show how things will all go wrong When on that road they start along, Just listen to this tale. I'd tramped a-many a weary mile, Without a single bite, or smile — Was hungry, worn and pale. 'Twas gittin' awful cold and black As I come hoohn' down the track Into a country town. I didn't know a soul anigh Unto whose hash-pile I could fly For miles and miles around. RED CHECKS, ijg I walked into that country town, And in a faro bank sat down, And took a little horn. And, tell ye what's the honest truth, The checks they used, my gentle youth. Were grains of Injun corn. I watched that little game awhile, Then to myself said with a smile, "Now here's a chance for me." I know^ed that just a few miles back There stood a corn-crib bv the track. As full as it could be. I sauntered out of that 'ere place. And turned my hopeful, eager face Toward that brimmin' bin; And soon I reached the happy spot. And felt among the lucky lot, And took a big ear in. I shelled it as I went along, And sung the only happy song I'd sung for ninety days. 140 DIALECT POEMS. I stuck mv stake into my clothes And in that bank I stuck my nose, For I had made a raise. I watched the game a turn or two, And tried to look as green as vou. And thought I'd played it tine- Then walked up like a country jake And took a handful of my stake And laid it on the nine. The dealer looked up with a sigh, Which made me think a wumin's nigh. And said in tones so bland, ''My worthy friend, it mayn't look right. But no red chips are played to-night" And that's the way it panned. Now thar's my luck, and any beast Who says it's good, he lies at least — I'd tell him so right here — For in that bin, chuck full of grain, No man could ever go, again, And find a colored ear. '/, W\ "*. I'^i'Tr. ' ' v,'-^§ ^> \H^)^ Little SKoe To P:UGENE field, Esq. SHAR aint. much poetry, that's a fact, In a pa'r of worn out shoes. But I've seen truck agoin', that lacked As much of soul, or the muse. I've got a shoe, 'bout's big's my thumb. All gone at the heel and toe. That makes my poor old heartstrings thrum To the tune of long ago. It's the shoe of a little baby boy. Who was two or three worlds to me. He come and went, and took all the joy That ever I reckon to see. 142 DIALECT POEMS. The mother that bore him went along, And it broke my heart in two; Sometimes I hear her lullaby song When I'm holding that tiny shoe. And I hear the patter of wee, small feet. That fitted it when it was new, But all that's left is the memory sweet. And the little worn out shoe. Thar aint no poetry, much, in this. But I think I've got the clue To a road that leads to a mite of bliss. If I follow this baby shoe. OR POEMS, NO WORDS CAN TELL. Q WEET Geraldine, my bonnie queen. Qj Thou'dst have me tell in song With poet's art, from open heart, My love so deep and strong. No troubadour, in days of yore, E'er sang in accents free A song so sweet, at Love's fair feet, As I would sing to thee. But love like mine, at such a shrine. No words can ever tell. Or chorded string in music sing The hopes that in me dwell. 'Twould only cost Love's labor lost And be a struggling moan. Like limners feel who seek to steal With brush a dying moan. —19 146 MINOR POEMS. If thy bronze hair and face so fair Were pillowed on my breast, I'd whisper low "I love thee so," Nor hope to tell the rest. THE NATIONAL ROTUNDA. To Cf)L. JOHN A. JOYCE, Geokcktown, D. C. YON looming dome, that flouts the azure skies, Like snowy peaks that 'mong the mountains rise, In rare proportions lifted, chaste and strong, To where the fleecy clouds oft float along, And where full many a fierce and sweeping gale Hath raked its sides of overlying mail, Points to the only throne that freemen know, And symbols all that patriots ask, below. In^bas-relief, upon an eastern door, Rogers hath wrought from deep historic lore THE rotunda: 147 In breathing bronze, and snatches back again The scenes, the days, the stories and the men That marked the pregnant time when eager fame Was graving Isabella's queenly name Beside "Columbus" on the sacred scroll That freemen now, with trembling joy, unroll. Within the hall the gentlest footstep makes The echoes ring, and to the fancy wakes The tread of men, like Webster, Cass and Clay, Who honored well the nation's yesterday. These circled walls are deep and richly wrought. In carvings quaint, between the archings caught. And shadows of the country's struggUng past. In paintings grand, against the walls are cast. Here clings the hour when first a sailor brave Had crossed Atlantic's wild, tempestuous wave. And in the perfume-laden winds unfurled Granada's banner in a new-found world. 148 MINOR POEMS. The awe-struck natives flit among the trees, Watching the ship's sails fllHng in the breeze— The huge white birds, that strangely fluttered down. From Great Manitou's happy hunting ground. De Soto flrst beholds the murky tide Of Mississippi's waters, grandly wide. Beneath whose darksome, cold, and angry wave The gallant Spaniard found an unmarked grave. He heedeth not the lithe and naked form Of Indian maid in beauty, fresh and warm: But thrilled with wild ambition's dazzling dream, Greets, with a welcome glad, the noble stream. High over all, w^ithin the lofty dome — The helmet huge that crowneth Freedom's home — The. virgin States, in allegory grand. Are pictured by the limner's cunning hand. THE ROTUNDA. 149 Here Pater Patriae, laurel-crowned and calm, And winged Triumph, bearing Victory's palm, With Liberty behold the noontide sun Shine bright upon "a multitude in one." And there, by noble Freedom's gleaming blade, Priestcraft and Kingly Power low are laid. And from her blows the broken hordes of War Flee sullenly, and Peace smiles from afar. Then Ceres comes, with plenty in her hand, The queen of ripening harvests in the land. And Flora gleans the freshest flowers there To deck her monarch's long and sunny hair. Beside his giant forge old Vulcan stands, His mighty sledge within his brawny hands, And molten sparks from 'neath the hammers start. Where sturdy smiths, about him, plv their art. From out the glowing east young Mercury flies To where Columbia's commerce drooping lies, And now prosperity has brightly dawned With but a wave of his caducean wand. 150 MINOR POEMS. In graceful beauty, ravishing and nude, Beaming with love, like maiden hap'ly wooed, Sweet Aphrodite, born of crisp sea foam. Floats up from out her mystic, coral home. She grasps within her dainty, dimpled hand, The line which links us to the mother-land, x\nd Neptune rises, wonder-struck and grim, And trident-armed, from Ocean's' rugged brim. Then wise Minerva, teacher of the laws. Of science and the arts, the curtain draws. And marches forth with regal, stately tread. Just as she sprang from Jove's imperial head. ****** And thus the striking tableaux end, Where science, art and learning blend Their beauties with the graceful might That guides this nation in the right. "GYPSY." To My Sister NANNIE. /^H, yes! I'm gray, and bald, and old ^•^ Not even blest with a little gold — - But that sweet girl, she loves me well, And why, you never could, ever tell. Ah, she is bright, and good, and fair. And sunlight lives in her eyes and hair: Yet both are black as noon of night — Her lips would tempt an anchorite. 152 ^^GTPsrr And I love her, with all my soul — No pitiful love, like a miser's dole — My heart goes out to her as free x\s a home-bound ship on a homeward sea. And mine is a heart that's good and strong; Old as it is it carries no wrong; It has no crime nor sorrow to bear; 'Tis clear as the pure, intrenchant air. Living are those who'll laugh at this; But what care I for a serpent's hiss? When snakes crawl near enough to feel, I quietly grind them under my heel. But let me now the riddle unfold, Why she loves me, so gray and old. And she so young, and bright, and fair, With sunlight in her eyes and hair. I came, a veteran soldier, back From war and desolation's track, And, with my sword, I brought along My minstrel harp, and soul and song. BABrS MORNING. 153 She hung my sword in the old roof-tree, And came and sat upon my knee; "You are a poet," she said, "I know. And that is why I love you so." I am a man, and she a child. And with my story she's beguiled. For I'm a* doting old brother, you see, And she's a sister sweet to me. BABY'S MORNING. Y/^ THEN morning comes and sunlight streams In tender, soft and golden gleams, • And through the curtains dancing beams Steal coyly in the room. My baby wakes in grave surprise, And turns her great and wondering eyes Toward the shimmering matin dyes That tint the lilv bloom. -20 154 MINOR POEMS. 'Tis double morn to thee, sweet one— The morn of day and a Hfe begun — God grant thy day and life-time's sun May ever sweetly shine; That happiness without alloy, That cannot fail or ever cloy, And brightest rays of purest joy, May bless each hour of thine. COMING. To MY WIFE. /^VER the bay on the steamer, ^^ At noon of a beautiful day, 'Mid sights for a poet dreamer To dream of by the way. Out on the long pier, reaching Far in the blue of the water, Out where the gulls are screeching, Cometh my wife and daughter. COMING. 135 Away from the land of flowers, Away from the Golden Gate, Where a grand young city towers, l^hey come, my darling and mate. Over the rock-ribbed mountains, White with the winter's snow, Along by the frozen fountains That in the moonlight glow, (Jver the hills and pampas, Where frost at morning gleams, Where the wild deer frighted scampers, Along by the babbling streams. They come to my arms, long waiting; Coming o'er hill and lea. On wings of love to the mating. Coming, thank God, to me. Whiz! oh wheels of the engine; Dive through tunnel and gorge, Swift as the fishing penguin — And sing as ahead you forge. MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS. To STANLEY WOOD. -r^ THERE Nature's God hath roughest wrought, Where spring the purest fountains; Where, long ago, the Titans fought. And hurled for missiles, mountains: Where everlasting snows abide, And tempest clouds are driven Along the solid granite side Of yawning chasms, riven Deep in the Rockies' grandest pride, That lifts its head to Heaven; Amid the wilds, where awful rise The giant peaks, that fathom Night's starry depths and day's blue skies, And brood above the chasm, One monarch 'mongst the mighty hills Rears high his summit hoary. 158 MINOR POEMS. Like some grim king, whose legend fills A page of olden story, And heart o'er-awes and soul enthrills. Before his regal glory. The Holy Cross of Christian faith, Above the royal velvet, In beauty shines, an emblem wraith, High on his beetling helmet; Its white arms stretching through the sheen Of silvery mist, are gleaming; A talisman, the world to screen, Hope's symbol, in its seeming; A wonder grand, a joy serene. Upon the ages beaming. THREE LIGHTS. FULL forty years have trudged along The dusty road of life. That I have followed with a song, And by it found a wife. THREE LIGHTS. 159 And blessed little ones have come To sit upon my knee, And glad my heart with joyous hum Of playfulness and glee. Through every clime, 'neath many suns, I've chased the fickle dame Of Fortune, who so swiftly runs Ahead of wealth and fame. I've tugged upon the battle-field. And felt that sternest joy That comes to see the foeman yield To warrior — but a boy. I've stood before my fellowmen, And won their strong applause. And felt repaid in glory when I've won a righteous cause. I've clambered up the rugged steep And found the blooming plain; I've wept with those who needs must weep. And laughed with them again. i6o MINOR POEMS, I'ull forty years I've; triuloed along The dusty road of life, Hut alvva}'s sang a happy song "^Fo ease the endless strife. For in it all two things I've found \'ea, three, to cheer the way — A wife, a babe, a conscience sound. Will light the darkest day. WATCH NIGHT." lo C. F. R. HAY WARD, Dknm.k. TS time the Old Year's knell was rung; (Tin time the New Year's birth was sung; The dirge and song, together sing— "The King is dead. Long live the King." While sitting, pondering, to-night, Before my lamp's dull, flickering light. With drooping eyes and failing pen I wrote the aimless lines, and then. Fell fast asleep, and had a dream, And to my fancy this did seem : i62 MINOR POEMS, I. Within an antique grate a ruddy blaze Lit such a scene as memory might raise Of olden time; those grand baronial days That stories chronicle, and poets praise. II. Partaking of the lire's warmth and glare, An aged man sat, idly musing there — Mused of the once Hyperion locks, which, lo! Were whiter now than winter's drifted snow. III. Mused on the lines which time doth deftly trace Upon the whilom youthful heart and face. "Life" was the musing old man's well-known name — He whom so many love — so few can blame. IV. The night without is cold, and dark, and drear; Faint are the throbbings of the dying year; Within the room a heavy silence dwells; A ticking clock the ending moments tells. WA TCH NIGHT. 163 V. A rush of passing wind, a wintry roar, Turns quick the old man's eyes toward the door; There, on the threshold, stands a phantom tall — A form whose mantle is a funeral pall. VI. His blanched locks upon his shoulders stray, And sadsome smiles upon his features play; "Be not dismayed," he said, "but calmly hear; I am the vision of the dying year. VII. "Behold this form that 'neath its burden bows; A load of lost and sadly broken vowts; I bear th}^ days and moments, unimproved. And on my face thy deeds have wrinkles grooved. VIII. "Thy golden chances, grossly thou'st abused; The evil chosen and the good refused; i64 MIA^OR POEMS, God's gifts exchanged for trifles light as air, And yet thy head wears age's whitened hair IX. "Awake! th}' dormant energies arouse, And in this sacred time renew thy vows; E'en now, the few remaining moments grasp — The hands on yonder dial almost clasp." X. Then casting on the dial a mingled gaze Of love and sadness, vanished. In amaze 1 woke, and heard the belfry's clanging din Ringing the Old Year out, the New Year in. ALERE FLAMMAM. To DOUCJLASS and INA RHODES. /^AILY and merrily twang the strings ^"^ Of poet's harp to-night, A,s he sits by his hearth and lightly sings Good wishes, true and bright. ALERE FLAMMAM. 165 Wishes for you, who have just begun To live in the high estate That warm, true love has faithfully won, And led you two to mate. He wishes your home may an Eden be With naught to ever beguile: An Eden with no forbidden tree, Nor serpent there to defile. Or a well-trimmed bark on a favoring sea, And blessed with Fortune's smile, That shall sail to the port of Eternity, Unheeding the siren's wile. He wishes that you may live till you see A life both happy and long, And children's children at your knee — And this is the poet's song. THE QUAKER POET. To JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER. SHE poet's shell is oft attuned To sing a nation's songs, And honor to that minstrel's name By well-earned right belongs. Yea, any soul whose chords are touched By poesy's deft hand, Adds one more strain of harmony To heaven's choral band. And by a strong and glorious pen It hath been sweetly writ, That others take the dross of earth— With God the singers sit. Now unto thee, great Whittier, I sing this simple lay; Thou, who hast sung, with poet's powder, The chains of slaves away. i68 MINOR POEMS. Before thy numbers, wise and strong, A people's shackles burst. And on their scroll of noblest friends, Th}^ name is written first. Full many a poor and suffering soul Hath thanked thee for the word That turned an angel toward the door Where need had wept unheard. I cannot chord my tiny harp In unison with thee. Nor sing the blessings thou hast wrought. On land and on the sea. The sweetest singers of them all. And blended into one, Could never tell, in words of ours, The good that thou hast done. But fain would I this tribute bring. And lay it at thy feet; In worth 'tis but the widow's mite — I wish it were as meet. THE S^NGERFEST. AA.' To PHILIP ZEHNER, Sr., of Cheyenne. USIC sweet, music wild, Music everywhere; Music grand and glorious, Sounding in the air. Whence come all these charming strains. Whence these happy, rich refrains? 'Tis the singers of the east. Come to make a music feast. And the singers of the west At the German Ssengerfest. Land of Goethe; land of Schiller; Land of glorious song. Where Beethoven and the Mozart Famously belong. Sends these singers o'er the sea With their roundelays of glee; — 22 lyo MINOR POEMS. From "der faderland" they come, Making this their welcome home, And the echoes of the west Reverberate the Ssengerfest. THE WORKMEN'S WAY. To T. J. MEEK, St. Eouis, Mo. tIFE'S journey leads us many ways. O'er valley, hill and plain, By babbling brook, through quaggy bog. And fields of golden grain, And here and there a path leads off— A tempting, shining way — And many thoughtless brothers turn, To find themselves astrav. •The lowering clouds oft gather 'round The 'luring path so light, THE WORKMEN'S WAY. 171 And darkness spreads her murky pall In one unending night. Then lost in night, and in the world By far more sadly lost Are they than those wrecked far at sea, On angry billows tossed. But blest are they who journey on, With hand in brother's hand; Receiving strength and giving aid — A strong and loving band. The weary track is easier then, The rough road smoother grows; And thorns are cleared from off the way, And b}^ it blooms the rose. Dear Charity, the guiding star Of all our walks below. Shall light us ever in the right. To where God's waters flow. And Hope, the beaming angel one. Will shed her spirit through And warm each heart with fervent faith. And blessings 'mong us strew. 172 MINOR POEMS. 'Tis thus our Ancient Order aims To honor him who delves With spirit true and faithful heart, And helps us help ourselves. And sweet assurance, too, it gives. That when we've gone before, We'll leave, with loved ones left behind, Protection at the door. A MEMORY AND A TEAR. > / IS noon of night, and from a long, lone (D walk, Tve come to sit me down and meditate: To croon and ponder, musing with myself; To mumble, in an old man's piping way. That walk had been a hard and wearv one, Had I been 'companied by other thoughts Than those which held me as I strolled adown The wintry street — the hushed and quiet street, Save for the restless wind, that blowing- light. * A MEMORY AND A TEAR. 173 Listless and wanton, thro' the bare-armed trees, Made music fitting to my reverie. So deep, and reaching to the past. That being once again a boy, my limbs Forgot the years they've marched along beside Since lusty youth, in roseate glow, was mine. In all the'years, since then, I've seen the world On many sides, and felt its jagged points. As rolling in swift motion, on its poles. It grinds the face of those who do not wear Protecting Fortune's mask, impierceable. I've sat within the shade of orange groves, And heard, in low and sweet and witching strains. Some far-off music, as of siren songs. Weird-like, from wooded shores of placid lakes. Soft o'er the listening waters steal along. I've borne the cold of arctic heights, and dragged. Half famished, o'er the sands of desert plains, 174 MINOR POEMS, And striv'n in solitude, annid the wilds And gloom of awful desolation lost. I've stood upon a lonely isle, far out Amid the sea, and yearning, hopeful, watched The waste to catch a sight of saving sail. And day by day saw, but with growing dread. The crawling canyons of the deep upheave. But in it all I've had a holy, sweet. And blessed memory to abide with me — My strong young manhood's tirst and cherished love. And here's a great and faithful tear; one lone. True, tender friend, of bright and bygone years That, some decades ago, held in their arms The long-lost love that I beheld to-night. So far away, and yet so vividly, Adown life's wonder-sided vista dim. Welcome thou art, my fellow mourner, here Beside the grave of buried hopes; welcome, Thou sweet and pure good comforter of mine; A MEMORY AND A TEAR. 175 And mayst tliou come again, sometime, to me, For with thee comes a gentle, tender touch Of pity for myself, that softeneth, As with an angel's kind and soothing ways, A heart that hath no other pain so sweet: A heart that crying, bleeding with it all, Hugs the strong anguish, for the blessed jo\^ It gave, when that young love was all the world. And Heaven, so pure it was, and blissful. THE IMMERSION, l"() Kiv. I). L. RAI)l<:i{. SHE Sabbath evening's sunsliine streams In tender, soft and golden gleams, ^riirougli early spring-time's half el. id trees, That shiver in the ehillint»' breeze. Down where the Kaw glides gracefully along, Beside the stream a joyous little throng Is gathered on the wave-washed, pebbly shore, ^Fhe Jordan Gate to God's Forever more. Clad in a loose and llowing gown. An aged minister goes down, With cautious step, and staff in hand, From where his congregation stand. And sounds the rushing waters till they gird His waist, and lave his long and snowy beard; He then returning lifts his streaming e^^es, Tn holy prayer, toward the upper skies. THE IMMERSION. 177 Now as he leads a convert in — Toward his God — ^away from sin, A song of joy the silence breaks, And echo from the hills awakes. The song is hushed and Christian hearts rejoice, As o'er the stream the old man's feeble voice Is heard, in distant, deep, and solemn tone. Sweet as the wind harp's melancholy moan. And in the name of God, and Son, And Holy Spirit^ — Three in One — The sinner sinks beneath the wave, And grasps the pearl the Saviour gave. And now the joyous band upon the shore Sing louder, louder, sweeter than before. And 'cross the stream another happy throng- Catch up the swelling chorus of the song. And faintly o'er the waters wide Like vesper hymn, the echoes ride. Till up they roll, through heaven's open door. And swell the music there forevermore. —23 BETWEEN THE OAK AND ELM. To GEORCJE GASTOX, Esq., of Kansas City. /^UT on the skirts of a brave young town, My friend has built his quiet home — Out of the reach of the surf and foam Of the surging sea of life around. On a lofty hill, rough, grand and steep. Whose beetling face looks sternly down, As in an ever-dark'ning frown. To where Missouri's waters sleep. Below a sister city lies. From out whose strong and throbbing heart The blood of commerce fresh doth start, And through its iron arteries flies. And far beyond the opposing hills. Across the river's sleeping tide. Where gallant steamers nobly ride. The bloom-decked plain the picture fills. THE OAK AND ELM. lyp A happy man — if such there hves — Must be my noble, hearty friend. No little grief his soul should bend, For he has all that Fortune gives. An oak — a monarch of the wood — An elm-tree grand, of haughty mien. His little cottage stands between, As safe as ever castle stood. His wife, a young and girlish joy. Makes full each day his cup of bliss. With many a sweet caress and kiss. And laugh, and jest so gay and coy. And that their lives be thus, along The oft-time rugged path of life. Full free from every care and strife. Shall be the prayer that ends my song. Twenty Years Ago. TWENTY YEARS AGO. To LEONORA BARNES. T sat to-night, by a pale, sad light. Dejected, lone and wan. Till memory brought a happy thought Of twenty years agone; A thought most sweet that came to greet That time of roseate glow, 'Mid shining rays of halcyon days. Now twenty years ago. It lit the gloom, and filled the room With mem'ries bright and gay. And banished pain, and once again Drove sullen Care away. I thought of you, so good and true. And Katie, now laid low. And Pleasure's prime, in the golden time Of twenty years ago. i82 MINOR POEMS, Dear Katie's soul has found the goal Where angels rest above; Her voice is blent, in chorus lent To songs of purest love; She wears a crown, and yet looks down To loved ones left below, With smiling face and same sweet grace Of twenty years ago. God grant that we, left of the three. May meet on earth again, 'Mid all the joy, without alloy. That troops in Friendship's train ; Then we'll recall the pleasures all That now through mem'ry flow, And live them o'er and many more. Like twenty years ago. AWAKE THE HARP. To JOHN L. MURRAY, Cheyenne. ^ WAKE the harp of Ireland, ^'^ The symbol of her fall; Upon her sod take noble stand, And sound dear Freedom's call; Brush off the dust that centuries Upon its strings have flung. And wake the proud old memories Of which her bards have sung. Now strain the chords to harmony. And strike them bold and free, For Erin and her liberty, The gem beyond the sea. iS4 MINOR POEMS. Though fiiint the ray of hope now gleams, From Erin's cloud-hid sky, 'Twill burst yet iu effulgent streams J)y grace from Ilim on high. Once more her sons, brave, warlike, bold, Will write a page of glory, And wear again the collar of g<^ld, Renowned in olden story. America, the freeman's land, Looks with approving smile Upon the gallant Fenian band Who love the Emerald Isle; And who with old llibernia's power Will dash the lion down. And once again revive her hour Of glory and renown. To HKLKN DLVniK. SHE gallant knight, in days of old, Sang gaily flagon songs; The monarch drained his cup of gold And laughed his people's wrongs; With goblets, flowing to the brim, Bacchantes drink their wine, But no alluring rosy rim l^rings song to harp of mine. Yet notes of memory sweetly come In songs I love to sing, Of hearty, healthy bumpers, from The gourd beside the spring. —24 jS6 MINOh' roEMS. The soldier Ioncs his oUl iaiilccn, And sounds in son;^ ils |)iais(.'; '^riu' lover lo.'isls his nnslrcss (|uc"C'n In vviiu'-bi'<^(>lU'n lays; '\\w soul ol poc'sx^s oulpouic'd Alike lo cup and kinj^. And all forget iIk' brown old ;^()urd TIk'n draid< IVom al the spiinj^. There's happiness in bancpiel halls, Amid the hiiohl and ^ay, Wliei"e ])rillianl son«> the soul enlhialls, And w'il and wine hold sway: Hut all the joys in nieinor\ stored No sweetei- thought can bring '^riiaii those of ch'au^hls IVoni out tlie l;(>iii(1, Witli Nell, l)eside the spiin;^. PARADOX, To IHANK 1K)\I). T saw Ji poor oUl toper stand At break of day, one chilly morn — In this, our free, enlightened land. An abject slave, distressed, forlorn — Stand chilled, and aching to the core, Before an open doggery door. And while within he trembling gazed — His nerves unstrung and reason dazed — Upon the liquids at the bar. He said, in voice of yearning raised, "Thou art so near and yet so far." A little later on I saw A poor and ragged, starving wretch, Stand shivering in the air so raw. Before the broad, inviting stretch Of cafe window, richly filled With meat and game, but freshly killed, And quail and poultry, neatly dressed. i88 MINOR POEMS. And trimmed and garnished,water-cressed, A tempting menu for a czar — The ragged man the sight addressed, "Thou art so near and yet so far." I saw a bankrupt, standing where His yearning eyes could plain behold A mass of jewels, rich and rare, And stacks of silver and of gold; He thought of bright and happy days. Of business brisk and prosperous ways. And then of creditors and debt. And duns, which now his path beset; His paper, worse than under par; And cried, in tones of deep regret, "Thou art so near and yet so far." I heard a sighing lover plead For pity from his favored fair. He swore she was his faith and creed And praised her eyes and auburn hair; He knelt and prayed, and raved and tore, And wept and shed his tears, galore. PARADOX. i8g She melted not to see him so, But gave a strong, persistent "no." Then, while he watched his fading star, He groaned as he beheld her go, "Thou art so near and yet so far." I saw a soldier, old and lame. Go begging for his daily bread; I saw a poet strive for fame. Who won it — after he was dead. The world is full of gold and gear. Of health, and gold, and goodly cheer, Yet poverty and dire distress Prevail among us none the less. And hearts will sigh, that wear a scar. And lips that Dead Sea apples press, "Thou art so near and yet so far." 'Twas ever thus, that those who need The most of pity and of aid — And often those of greatest meed — Good Fortune doth the most evade. The tickle dame will grind and rasp i(^o MINOR POEMS. The hand that seeks her toys to grasp; 'Tis he who delves the hardest way Who wins a grudged and meager pay. So here I loll, with my cigar, While others whine their "lack-a-day," "Thou art so near and yet so far." RECOMPENSE. SHE whistle gave its signal shriek; The bell in warning measure rang; The iron links complained, and eke The heavy wheels their rail-beats sang. The pond'rous train moved slowly on. Till, reaching yon broad stretch of plain, It flew toward the east, and gone, My love left me, in tears again. 1 cursed the train that bore away The darling, all I love, from me — •l^ut list! I bless the same to-day. For that will take me, sweet, to thee. TOT'S BIT. To J. C. BAIKD, Ksu, >"7~IS seldom little Tot has coin— viJ He's only a poor man's son- But Charity, with all her friends, May count dear Tot as one. ig2' MINOR POEMS. Tot had a "bit" not long ago, This winsome, weesome elf — Perhaps some grown-up friend of his Knows where he got the pelf. The little toddler scrambled down The steps that very day, A candy shop full in his mind, That stood just over the way. He saw a man, outside the gate. So ragged, pale and sad, That Tot in sympathy stood still And eyed the dime he had. A selfish thought came rudely first, But Charity was there. "Here, tate the bit," he softly said, "An' dit some tose to wear. "An' buy some food an' tate it home. An' feed yo' babies too." Poor little Tot had mighty thoughts Of what a dime could do. LOVE'S AGONY, 193 "'Tvvas only a little thing," you say? , But Tot's a little boy, And that was Hke the widow's mite, And Tot's his father's joy. LOVE'S AGONY. Ii-li liebc dich, so musz Ich weinen hitterlich.— Gct-the. T love you so it makes me cry ; ^ My heart is welling, and I sigh The whole day long. Sometimes I "think that I must fly To where you are, or slowly die — And this is wrong — Will some sweet angel tell me why? Oh! why should I love her Hke this And be denied one little kiss, Or happy hope? What holds me back, that thus I miss The meed and measure of the bliss For which I cope. While flames of love around me hiss? —25 ig4- MINOR POEMS. Ah! thou art here, sweet angel; stay And help me live, till I can pray To lose this woe. Then take the burning love away, And guard me safely, night and day, And soothe me so That I'll forget the siren's sway. THREE WISHES. 44 TJT AD you a wish, that might come true, JL What would you wish?" said Tillie; "I'd wish that I were sweet as you," Gallantly answered Willie. "And what w^ould you?" said she to Ben; The answer came, demurely — "I'd wish for gold — I'd win you then. And break Will's heart as surely." "And I," said she, with smile so sweet It flushed her beauty's brightness. IMPROMPTU. igs "Would wish that all whom I may meet Would treat me with politeness." How strange, and yet how very true, The sweetest and the fairest Of earthly blessings — freest too^ — We, blindly, make the rarest. IMPROMPTU. To HUGO E. BUECHNER. TN the still and the noon of the night I hear the tick of the clock, As I muse by the flickering light And list to the time unlock. In the buzz and the hum of the day. The tick of the clock is unheard. But, nevertheless, it sings alway Its changeless good-bye word, To moments consigned to the past — The moments of time, that unfold The way to the open door at the last, And the gate to the life untold. THE SILVER GRAYS. To Hon-. HOMER MliRRILL, ok Rawlins, Wyo. SHE sable curtain of tlie night Is lifted in the glowing east, And in the rosy morning light A young man rises from a feast. "Boyhood is gone," said he to those Who stood around him there, "And inward come the tidal flows Of Age and all its care. "Youth's bright illusions all are past. And duty bids me go And build a home to rest at last, When Hfe's chill winds shall blow." THE SILVER GRAYS. ig7 Beside him through the wilderness, His dear and sweet young wife Is ever there, with lov^e's caress; The solace of his life. Among the dim old forest aisles. Across the bloomless plain. And 'mong the mountain's wild defiles. Their weary way is lain. Onward, toward the setting sun. They work their toilsome way, Which opening 'fore his axe and gun, In shines the eastern da\-. Now here to-day some old folks stand, The brave, the strong, the true. Who settled up this shining land, And some are 'neath the yew. May honors, peace and plenty dwell, Through all their coming days. With these good folks we love so well, The dear old Silver Gravs. To Hon. F. E. WARREN, Gov. of Wyoming. |N olden walls, in memory's halls, With roses 'round it clinging, A picture rare, of antique air, The old log church is swinging. Of timbers rough, and gnarled and tough, It stands in rustic beauty, A monument to good intent And loyal. Christian duty. The forest trees, kissed by the breeze Of early autumn weather. Stand grimly by, and seem to sigh And bend their boughs together. THE OLD LOG CHURCH. igg They seem to feel that woodman's steel Will come to end their glory, And whisper low, and soft and slow, Among their leaves, the story. Down by the mill, and up the hill, And through the hazel thicket, And o'er the mead, brown pathways lead Up to the rustic wicket. And by these ways, on holy days. The village folk collected, And humbly heard the Sacred Word, And worshipped unaffected. Sweet Fancy's art and poet's heart Can see the old-time preacher And village sage, now^ turn the page As minister, or teacher. For in the church, with dreaded birch. On week-days he presided, In awful mien, a tutor seen, 'Twixt lore and licks divided. lo Hon. F. E. WARREN, Gov. of Wyoming. /^N olden walls, in memory's ^ halls, With roses 'round it clinging, A picture rare, of antique air, The old log church is swinging. Of timbers rough, and gnarled and tough, It stands in rustic beauty, A monument to good intent And loyal. Christian duty. The forest trees, kissed by the breeze Of early autumn weather. Stand grimly by, and seem to sigh And bend their boughs together. 777^ OLD LOG CHUBCH. igg They seem to feel that woodman's steel Will come to end their glory, And whisper low, and soft and slow. Among their leaves, the story. Down by the mill, and up the hill. And through the hazel thicket. And o'er the mead, brown pathways lead Up to the rustic wicket. And by these ways, on holy days. The village folk collected. And humbly heard the Sacred Word, And worshipped unaffected. Sweet Fancy's art and poet's heart Can see the old-time preacher And village sage, now turn the page As minister, or teacher. For in the church, with dreaded birch. On week-days he presided. In awful mien, a tutor seen, 'Twixt lore and licks divided. 200 MINOR POEMS. But where it stood, in dappled wood, A city sprang to life. And jolly noise of barefoot boys Is lost in business, rife. With years now flown, the children, grown, Are launched on life's mad billows; The pretty maid is matron staid, The master's neath the willows. A MINER'S MEMORY. -^D IG warning drops, like skirmishers, "^2^ Rattle amid the bowers; The wind weeps through the pines and firs In the stillicide of showers; I sit in the hut and hearken To the voices of the storm. And I watch the mountain darken. While I keep thy memory warm. 'Delving day by day for treasure. Locked within these vaults of stone, TOT'S TELEGRAPH. 201 While I hum a homely measure That I've sung to you alone, Day and night, and ever singing. Comes a minstrel fay from thee. And on memory's bells he's ringing Songs of love you've sung to me. TOT'S TELEGRAPH. 44/^OME, show me, dear Granny, v^ Which way she did go; My sweet little cousin, Who loved me so. Ten hundred miles away? Over the plains? Across the high mountains? Through snow and the rains? Oh! it was long ago She went away. And every big hour Seems just like a day. —26 202 MINOR POEMS. "Let me go call again My very best, And maybe my cousin, Way oft in the west, Where days go a-hiding, Will hear me, and then I know she'll come, Granny, Quick as she can. She'd like to see Tottie, I know. Granny dear. So let me go tell her We want her back here." Thus plead little Tottie, A wee four-year-old. Blue-eyed and handsome. With curls of bright gold. He has heard that his father Can talk every day To men across oceans. Far, far away; Then why shouldn't he KITTY CO TLB, 203 Have a line of his own, To send her a message — His love who has flown. KITTY COYLE. KOW the woods are fresh and green, Kitty Coyle, Let us seek their verdant sheen, Kitty Coyle, And while an hour away Of the beauteous summer day 'Mid the sweets that cannot stay, Kitty Coyle, For my muse you do invoke. And my heart is almost broke With the love you do provoke, Kitty Coyle. In the tresses of your hair, Kitty Coyle, My heart you did ensnare, Kitty Coyle, 204 MTNOR POEMS. And ill the cliarmino- liolu Of your eyes so deep and brij^ht My heart is buried tjuite, Kitty Coyle, And I see within the hue Ol their heaven-tinted bhie ^I\) haj^i^iness a clue, Kitty Coyle. I low bitter sweet is love, Kitty Coyle, 'I'hal passion Ironi above, Kitty Coyle, And tiiis moment while 1 kneel, What e.xcpiisite jo\ I feel In my heart so warm ami leal, Kitty Coyle, Oh! ril sutler endless pain. And ril nexcr smile a<;ain, if my love ^ou tlo disdain, l\ill\ Coyle. ITA EST. I walked by the sea and picked up a shell, Thrown out on the scalloped shore, And I listened to hear what it could tell— It crooned the city's dull roar. I threw it, far back, in the foaming sea; Its song was a dreary drone; A story of sorrow and pain, to me — The memory of a moan. Some flowers, that grew by the homeward way, I plucked as I strolled along; They drooped and died with the waning day, And end of a vesper song. 'Tis easy to keep a glittering sin — They last until cast aside; But fair, sweet prizes, we glorify in. We've gathered and they have died. A FANTASY. To MY MOTHER. /^UR noble craft was gliding down ^■^ The river, dark and seething; I paced the deck, and memories sweet Came gently o'er me stealing. The darksome clouds had cleared away, The stars were brightly twinkling. And in the distance sweetly chimed The far-off herd-bell's tinkling. A FANTASr. 207 And from me to the distant shore, In radiant beauty beaming, A path of Hght upon the tide Was clearly, softly, streaming. It was as if the waters dark Had stolen all the gladness That shines from Luna's kindly face, And left it full of sadness. As, fast or slow, the boat rode on, Still in the waters glimmering, From off the starboard guard, this Hght Danced, clear and bright and shimmering. While gazing on the weird-like scene, A beauteous vision lightly Stepped on the path, and toward me came — An angel, fair and signtly. Oh ! what a moment to my soul Was that when she was near me: Before my raptured eves there stood My sister, loved so dearly. 2o8 MINOR POEMS. I sought to hold her in my arms — My mother's long-lost daughter — But smiling with good-bye, she sank Beneath the gurgling water. L'AMOUR. T love to love; 'tis youth itself — The fount De Soto sought — But with no kingly power or pelf Is love's sweet solace bought. Just yesterday I tottered 'long A dreary, weary way. Crooning a rickety, droning song, Like some old harper's lay. I, wondering, thought of growing old. And why? with heart so strong? But trudged along the cheerless wold Humming the rickety song. 'Twas lack of love — the death of soul- For Love is, true, a boy. I met the boy and quaffed his bowl. Found you and youth and joy. BEN LELAND. To B. F. ZALLINGER, ok Denver. "Jx minstrel old, but not like those Who live in olden story, Who touched the harp and sweetly sang Of knightly deeds and glory ; A minstrel old, who sang the songs Of Pompey and of Sambo, And tuned his voice in concert with The quaint old thrumming banjo; A minstrel old, whose quips and quirks And burlesque recitation, Convulsed the gathered crowds that heard Their humorsome relation; Who, in his drifting, tossed about And by misfortune bandied, At last caught on a foreign shore. All homeless, friendless, stranded — —27 210 MINOR POEMS. His only help the old banjo — Eked out his sad existence. Alone, sweet memory showed him home, And blotted out the distance. In Britain's capital, one night, A minstrel band was singing, And through the hall, in mellow notes, "Kentucky Home" was ringing. And as the numbers died away The old man sat and listened, While in his dim and failing eyes Fond memory's tear-drops glistened. "Sing it once more," he trembling cried. And all the people started. As if the strange old man had ris'n From 'mongst the long departed. The minstrel band sang once again, And when the song was ended The old man's song, with that refrain. In hope beyond had blended. DAY DREAMS. To Mv Angel Sister. SHERE hangs within my lonely room, A picture, deftly shaded. Of trees and flowers, all in bloom, 'Mid day that's scarcely faded. The prospect toward the horizon Is tinged with vapors golden, Where day's last rays are thrown upon A forest, wild and olden. The picture hangs before the chair Where sat I, lately, dreaming. And in it, 'mid the foliage there An angel's form, in seeming, Arose upon sweet Fancy's wings And gave me kindly greeting; 'Tis your dear face that vision brings — I'm waiting its repeating. I I I Tl TT-n , I I n ' [m .r i-i Will. M. Garrard. COME, DREAMS. To Dk. W. M. GARRARD. /^II leagues! Oh leagues of mountain waste ^^ That lie between my love and me! Come, Sleep, with swift and blessed haste, And span the rugged sea; Come, Dreams! Oh Dreams! I long for thee To bring my idol back to me. 'Tis true, my darling baby love — My heart, my treasure and my soul — The loving Father, up above, In sleep doth lead us to the goal Where, dreaming, I'm caressing thee. And dreaming thou art kissing me. Through all the dreary, weary day. In all my waking hours, I sigh along the heavy way That lies between this love of ours; But we can meet in dream-land bowers And gather there love's sweetest flowers. A DREAM. To Hon. S. C. BASCOM, of Kentucky. ^^NCE on a balmy summer day I bade my cumbering cares adieu, And wandered from my darksome way To scenes of fairer, brighter hue. I rambled through a shady wood, Where, oft in childhood I'd been told. Lived elfin people, pure and good, And where a mystic river rolled. As darkness gathered o'er the earth, And bright stars glittered in the sky. When all the birds had ceased their mirth, And nature hushed her lullaby, I kneeled beside a gnarled old tree. Upon a soft and mossy bank, •And soon, in happy reverie. My troubled spirit sweetly sank. A DREAM. 213 Then, on the zephyrs borne along, And echoing through the sylvan aisles, I heard this sweet melodious song: "Dame Fortune comes with sunny smiles." She came and brought a golden cup, Filled from pellucid Lethe's stream. And gave it me that I might sup Till Fancy spread a cheerful dream. I drank, and straightway rose a scene Such as no mortal eye e'er scanned; Sweet fairies danced upon a green. To music from a daisy band. Methought, that 'mid the fairy throng I saw my loved one sporting there. And heard her cheery, winsome song Ring sweetly on the moonlit air. And happiness without alloy Beamed from her blue eye's soul-lit ra}^; Her soul seemed flowing o'er with joy — The bonnie, blithesome, blessed fay. ; « ^^-=-(^6, EDGAR WILLIS NYE. I've watched thy conspicuity, It's growth and continuity, And wished thy contiguity, Bill Nye. I've enjoyed thy lucidity And thine artless timidity, Combined with intrepidity. Like pie. No other man's jocundity Plath near so much profundity, Nor yet the same rotundity, Bill Nye. And thou findest it lucriferous — - The same as, argentiferous — While the cheering is vociferous. Aye, aye. 220 HUMOROUS RHYMES. But now, discarding levity, Assuming proper brevity — I wish to thee longevity. Bill Nye. And I'm praying rever-ent-ly That the sweet subse-quent-l}- Will deal with thee most gently. Bye, bye. O'KEEFE OF PIKE'S PEAK. SHOU art gone from our gaze, O'Keefe, And the order that took you's a thief. Your lies will be missed. And the man will be hissed Who tries to come up to O'Keefe. In pseudology you are the chief. And also the blooming cap-sheaf. We stand up in line And shed tears of brine « Because you are going, O'Keefe. NO! NO! NO! 221 There's nothing can measure this grief — We are wrecked on Sorrow's cold reef — As a magnific liar, None ever stood higher Than you, the colossal O'Keefe. iNO! NO! NO! -^3 E your wife, my gallant beau? ^^ I'd smile to murmur, no, no, no. Do I love you? Yes indeed- - That's a main point in my creed. But I'm too young to marry yet. And much to utter fly, you bet. M}' married sisters. Sue and Nell, Were each a sweet and dashing belle; Their husbands are the best of men — Jolly Joe and royal Ben — But Sue and Nell don't ride about. And go to concert, ball and rout. And harvest fun and see the plays As in their blessed single days. 222 HUMOROUS RHYMES. And as your humble servant does, With beau and brother, friend and coz. Somehow, a hubby thinks his wife Should shed her shell and change her life, And quite forego all maiden bliss Because she's simply doffed the Miss. I love you, Jim, my gallant beau, But w^e'll not marry, no, no, no. ******** Just what I said! See there! See there! Now listen to my Jimmie swear. And now he stalks across the floor, And rushes out and bangs the door. My married sisters, Nell and Sue, Say that's just like their hubbies do. I much dislike to lose my beau. But we'll not marry, no, no, no. HANNAH McGLUE. To A. IDHLMAX. -^5 V a little white cot, where prairie flowers "^^ Grow nearly in at the door. And fairies at night, in their tiny bowers, Sing low to each elhn wooer; Where under the stars, like diamonds glisten As bright as the stars, the dew, When all the birds to the whippoorwill listen; 'Twas there I met Hanner McGlue. Htr hair is as black as tlie night raven's pinion; Her v^oice is the lark's sweet song. My heart is her slave, her dutiful minion. In fetters of love bound strong. Her eyes are bright and wondrously witchin', Of Heaven's deep beauteous blue; And her love, dear love, I am ever so rich in. My darling sweet Hanner McGIue. One night when the bright crescent moon was shining So softly in at the door. 224 HUMOROUS RHYMES. And vines 'round the trellis were tenderly twining, I told her my love o'er and o'er. She promised me then she'd be mine forever — M}^ own, sweet, loving and true — I'll never be sad again, never, no never,* I've won my dear Hanner McGlue. *That is, h y e r. A SKIMMER. K I'o IIARHY DEUEL, ok Omaha. S you journey through life. With its joy and its strife, Its sorrows, and blessings, and pain. The lights of the day, Or the shades on the way. Its earnings, or losses or gain; You'll rind ere you've ran The short little span A SKIMMER. 225 That leads to where Zion's lights glimmer, There's nothing so true As what I tell you — "There's a great many holes in a skimmer." The young and the old This truth may unfold, That things cannot always go right. Sometimes you'll be sure That your friend is as pure As streaks of the sun's brightest light. But as clouds may arise To darken the skies, And the bright light of noon may grow dimmer, In the first flush of youth You may learn this sad truth: "There's a great many holes in a skimmer." But brace up yourself And gather your pelf, The best friend's a dollar or two; 'Twill prove you indeed A true friend in need, —29 226 HUMOROUS RHYMES. As fervent as Heaven's deep blue; Then as you go 'long Remember this song — Just make it your text-book and primer; You'll never regret, If you never forget — "There's a great many holes in a skimmer.' OUT WEST. To ALFRED JACKSON, Esq. TT makes no odds from vs^hence you came, Nor what your family rates; In fact we care not what your name Formerly was in "the States." Just settle down and do the square. And try your level best To be an honest man, and fair. If you want to grow up in the -West. It is not name, or style, or stale. That pulls men through out here; MY GIRL. 227 None of these things will make you great In many a lingering year; But walk a chalk, and bear a hand To help a needy guest; Pay up your debts and show your sand, If you want to grow^ up with the West. On mountains, plains, and rugged brooks Here's room for all the world — Except the dudes and cranks and crooks — And "Welcome's" flag's unfurled. A man who keeps the "Silver Rule" Will always stand the test; A chap from any meaner school Is apt to "go up" in the West. MY GIRL. To FRANK H. CLARK. NO, she's not an angel — not a bit, And, truly I don't care — not a whit; 'Pon honor I am glad. But I fear 'twould make her sad That I said it — if not mad — saucy kit. 228 HUMOROUS RHYMES. Now, wouldn't I look sweet, mister man, With an angel on my arm? — 'twouldn't pan, A-going to a ball. Or perhaps nowhere at all — Now wouldn't that be gall — Kiser Khan? An angel with red hair — -think of that — And candy-striped hose — rather fat — Clean gone upon a team — Rather spoony on ice-cream. And a daisy- — I should scream — at the bat. And if she were an anpel — don't you know? She'd shake me mighty sudden — aint it so? Then I would be bereft — Most beautifully left — With my gizzard shocking cleft — not for Joe! WELL, RATHER. To (iEO L. TAYLOR. I'D rather picnic on the porch, And croquet in the yard. With Susie Ann or Liza Jane To be my playing pard. WELL, RA THER. 22g Than go to any fishing place On Independence Day, And fight big flies and nasty gnats, And swear my soul away. I'd rather kill my gnawing greed Before a home-spread feast, Than take a chance of broken bones Behind a livery beast; To ride ten miles through heat and dust. And very nearly die, Just for the sticky privilege Of sitting in a pie. I'd rather spend the day at home With little ones and wife. And take a modicum of rest. And lead a decent life, Than go a-camping anywhere, And soak myself in rain, Arid limp to town that blasted night. Racked with rheumatic pain. EPIGRAMS. ii, 7\ ^^^^^ ^i^l show," said Lida Jane, ^^^ "Which way the zephyr blows." "Also," said Tim O'Featherlane, "Which way the julep goes." "What is a sigh?" she softly sang. In poet's frenzied rot. "Ace high," when nary pair is out. Will simply scoop the pot. They were sitting on the window-sill; The night was balmy, clear and still, When something I don't know about Occurred, alas, and they fell out. Ah! she was angry too, I wot. For 'twas a savage bump she got, And as she fell, her golden hair Caught in a tree and dangled there. EPIGRAMS. 231 He saved the locks, but mild surprise With sadness mingled in his eyes, And she has lost her warm adorer. Since now he's but her hair restorer. With a beard like Rip Van Winkle, And a pair of eyes that twinkle If you drop but a nickel in his palm ; And he thanks you most sincerely, And overwhelms you, nearly. With his blessings and his rich, blarney balm. He says he fought with Kearney, And is on his homeward journey From the bloody fields of war and the camp. He has told his little story Till his head and yarn are hoary, And novv he thinks it true, the aged tramp. ,'It was a most unvarying rule. That all the boys in our school Who came from blooded stock. 232 HUMOROUS RHYMES. Were ever dull," quoth Parvenu. "Then one w^ould guess," said Grin, "that you Were never on the dunce's block." "I have some tenderlines," he said, "Inscribed to my latest mash." The night fiend read the stunning head. And vowed that they were "hash." |tie most popular TFanscontinental \^m. S. B. JONES, Asst. Gen. Pass. Agent, Omaha, Neb. J. W. MORSE, Cen. Passenger Agent, Omaha, Neb. THE Has a System of Fast Train communication be- tween the Seaboard, the Great Lakes and the Mississippi, nnparalelled in Excellence. The Is simply beyond comparison, and its Motive Power is the admiration of the foremost authorities on mechanism of the age. In point of Hatural Attractions, The Baltimore and Ohio is without a rival, having long been accorded the proud distinction of being Tiie piGtDPesque Line or Amenea. . J. C. PANCBORN, Ass't Cen. Passenger Agent, Baltimore, Md. C. K. LORD, Cen. Passenger Agent, Baltimore, Md. THE Is the Principal Line TO m 9 ^lani (&r ^ _c®) And otner important Eastern Cities, and the only Line running THROUGH CARS BETWEEN St. Paul ^ Kansas Gitji. Direct Gonnectioii at gt. Paul for gt. Louis ^ Chicago. PACIFIC COAST CONNECTIONS VIA Qpepn Sliopt Line ^ NoFthern pacifie. Be sure your Tickets read via m tT. W'"" ^, *^^ 'lift ■■. r'ia' 'fj* ' \^,''iy y / ; ■ ^V ',,*»^ ./.^ . ''^-^^^^^ j« ^- •!' i L-" / / i '■-^ '-^'^)-\'rM:^ \\V ^-4iP^'~---7^U \ \\:--% Aif^- "^-2^ vH -'^ ~I,>^ r\:.^'i/' / ^ 7r. ''i'*' '^*cuT>#^i^#:'^:iS<' ^'i^'/i;<* vi-:-~i fin p^^M^- y ^w^:;:\t: ^.^^M:/:::iM-\L ^•^.^:C