« Prairie Flowers. By JOHN W. BEEBE. Poetry is the language of the soul. — Madam DeStael. The wildest flowers oft may bring The sweetest scent at christening; The shooting star sometimes may fling A radiant light; The bird, untaught, may often wing The grandest flight. TOPEKA, KANSAS: GEO. W. CRANE & CO., PRINTERS AND BINDERS. 1891. t ■^ TO MY WIFE, ALWAYS A FAITHFLTL COMPANION, AN INTERESTED LISTENER, AND A KIND CRITIC, f I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK. Copyright, 1891, by John W. Bebbe. PREFACK. "Pbaieie Flowers," my little book has been christened. Why, I can scarcely tell. Perhaps it was because they are blossoms of the hour, plucked here and there on the beautiful Kansas prairies. For the most part, these poems are not given to the public for the first time by this compilation — many having appeared in sundry journals of note. These have been read, praised, criticised, and cop- ied as clippings worthy the editor's shears, until I am convinced they belong to the public, not by reason of oriental garniture, neither ex- treme culture to reduce or expand, that they might conform to some single, critical fancy; but because they are free as the wild flowers, so beautiful and varied, after which they are named. For the kind words of welcome with which they have heretofore been received, I am not ungrateful ; and should the reader enjoy their freshness and variety, as here he finds them plucked and bound to- gether, I shall be well repaid for the publication of "Prairie Flowers." THE AUTHOR. Kingman, Kansas, August, 1891. INDEX. Introduction, . . .5 The Poet's Mission, . 9 The Kansas Pioneer, . 13 No Difference, . . 20 How Pleasant 't is to Read, . . . . 21 To A Dead Poet, . . 21 The Reporter, . . ,23 The Fault-Finder, . 28 A Morning in the Country, 29 Seven Pictures, . . 33 An Honest Man, . • 34 To My Native State, . 35 Sparrow Gray, . . .37 Old Age, .... 38 The Nobler Way, . .39 They Tell Me Love is All A Myth, . . . 41 Only a Bit of Moss, . 43 Ambition, . • • 44 Rest, My Brother, . . 45 Earth's Unattainable, . 46 To A Spider, ... 48 Those Yesterdays, . 49 That Boy, . . . .51 The Crystal City, . 53 The Tardy Rain Has Come Again, . . . .53 My Baby, My Beautiful Baby, .... 54 My Boats, . . . .56 The Beaver Hole, . 57 Do n't Be In a Hurry, . 60 A Cameo, .... 62 The Gossip, . . . 62 Bluing, . . . .66 The First Frost, . . 67 Advice Free : Take One, 69 Some Horned Cattle, . 70 When Coyotes Flee, . 72 Evening, . . . . 73 Work vs. Hope, . . .74 The Old Mill Pon', . 74 I Once Did Know a Lass, . 78 Spring, .... 79 Patty Cannon's Monument, 81 Restlessness, . . . 83 Winter, . . . .84 To Ironquill, . . 84 A Jail-Bird's Story, . 86 Mind : A Fragment, . 90 The Winter is Cold, . 90 Life : A Yision, . .91 Waiting, . . . .94 Who is My Brother? . 95 November Dreams, . . 97 Our Pet is Gone, . . 100 Good Resolutions, . . 101 To the Peerless Princess, 104 6 INDEX. What 's the Use ? . .105 Despair Not, . . . 107 Among the Pines o' Sus- sex 108 Healed, .... 110 A Vision of the Old Folks, 112 Man Was Not Made to Mourn, . . . .114 My Meecies, . . . 117 Morning, . . . .119 A Hundred Years To-day, 121 Grit, 123 The Agnostic, . . . 124 Rest, .... 126 Pictures in the Fire, . 127 Man's Adaptation to His Environment, . . 129 My Daughters, . . . 134 Oh, Come Ye to this Prai- rie Land, . . . 138 The Girl Beyond the Bridges, .... 140 A Kansas Episode, . 141 Why I Love Her, . . 145 Ingenuity, . . . 147 My West Countrie Love, 148 The Worker's Song, . . 149 Come, Sit Thee down with Me, Love, . . .151 Jessella, .... 152 Song to Liberty, . . 154 A Temperance Battle Hymn, . . . .155 Workman's Song, . .156 A Tayilight Song, . . 157 Kansas Song, . . . 158 Soppin' de Pan, De Singing ob de Skeeters IN DE A'r, . . . 163 De Frog Song, . . 164 Plantation Memories, . 165 Ghosts, .... 167 A Lass I Kenned, . . 168 To Egbert Burns, . . 171 POEMS IN DIALECT 161 Second Epistle to Robert Burns, . . . .175 Third Epistle to Robert Burns, .... 177 Fourth Epistle to Robert Burns, . . . .180 Frae Auld Nick to Robert Burns, . . . .182 A Street Affair, . . 185 POEMS OF FAITH AND HOPE. The Hindu Mystic, . .189 To My King, . . .191 Take up thy Bed and Walk, . . . .193 Come unto Me, Entreaty, . A* Prayer, A Retrospect, 193 . 195 196 . 197 INTRODUCTION. The bard, though simple he may be, His lyre doth tune from every tree, And chirping sparrow, chipmunk gray. And grass-blade growing by the way. The king of day, low in the west, A chord doth vibrate in his breast ; The gay grasshopper in the grass. Sings merrier as he doth pass. The sprightly cricket in his road. The awkward-looking dark-gray toad. The singing lark on stalk o' corn. Or hawk on last year' s stack forlorn. The whirring chicken, passing near. All create music for his ear. Must he, tho' held down wi' the chain Of abject poverty, refrain To sing the simple, inborn strain, That there no longer can remain? Can he not sing, tho' toil he may For bread, not born in fortune's way? A hapless wight, but ta'en to rhymes. Fruitless, but not the worst of crimes ! Shall he not sing ? Aye, aye, he must ! In prose his spirit soon would rust. INTRODUCTION. His heart is full, and he must sing — His homely rhymes are on the wing ! To sing the feelings of hi§ heart — The wellings-up there, to impart. He doth desire — it is his aim ; Nor dreameth he of reaching fame. An honest, sympathizing soul, That lights a flame, as coal doth coal ; This would he be, and hence he flings His heart and soul in what he sings ; If haply he may drive cold care. And warm a heart that shivered bare. POEMS, BALLADS, AND SONGS THE POET'S MISSION. They tell us we are wasting time, In meas' ring verse and jingling rhyme ; That other things would bring more gold, For poetry is seldom sold. They tell us — and- it may be true — That poets are a ' ' crack-brained ' ' crew, Who live in castles built of verse — Thank God, if ' t were in nothing worse. They tell us, aye, that they are fools. The ' ' rara avis ' ' of the schools ; From whom each dutice may pluck a quill, Wherewith to tickle us at will. We may be fools ; we do n't deny Attempting unknown heights to fly ; Our thoughts are loose — away they go O'er field and flood, cry "tally-ho !" We would not check them if we could ; We could not do it if we would ; The mind is such a wondrous thing, We could for aye its wonders sing. (9) 10 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. We roam o' er mountain, hill and plain ; With pleasure ride the raging main ; We flowers pluck 'mid tropic glow, Or wrap with furs in northern snow. We sail the quiet river on, Or dwell with people, dead and gone. We see a ruin, and soon rise The moss-grown turrets to the skies ; The long-gone battlements are there, Where lovers walk in praise or prayer ; ' And warriors grim in castled hall, • Make answer to the warder's call ; ' Where knight goes forth for ladj fair. And clash of steel is on the air ; The neigh of steed, and warrior's shout. Which tell of victory and rout, The maiden, weeping in the bower. Awaits the long-delayed hour ; The lover hastens, there to meet The one, of all the earth, most sweet. Of high-born love, and homely joy, ^ And purest gold without alloy ; Of mansion and of hut so small. He sings, for he doth know them all. He hath a mission to perform. Or in the sunshine or the storm ; From lowest earth to highest sky, -- The theme he sings can never die. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. H Oh, who hath richer feast than we ? We roam the world, in fancy free ; At richest tables sit at meat, Or with the poorest we can eat ! The Czar of Kussia cannot boast Of pleasm^es we enjoy the most ; The Emperor of China knows IN^aiight of the fire that in us glows. The heavens above, the earth beneath The forest and the blooming heath ; The fish in sea, the beast in lair, Are all the poet's tender care. ,^ His love to man, his love to God, Is scarce, if ever, understood ; He lives to love ; in all his dreams * ' T is love that fills the two extremes. The poet sings : we hear the song, And sweet its strains do linger long ; We heard it when our years were few, As ' t fell' from mother' s lips so new. We heard it later, when we wept. And hope within our bosom crept ; * - When laying loved ones 'neath the sod, The poet sang of heaven and God. We hear it in our middle years. When we are traveling on in tears ; And then we hear it later on, ' As we are stumbling, blind, alone. 12 ' PRAIRIE FLOWERS. He sings to us in tender lays, Of other loves in other days ; He raises us to higher heights, Treats our dim eyes to grander sights : And we forget we are not young. And b'lieve the themes that he has sung; We live the best of life again, Enjoy the sweets, forget the pain. Once more we hold our children dear, And cease to shed the burning tear ; Once more we kiss our loved ones true, And smile as we were wont to do. The poet sings this life to bless. And God removes the bitterness. We linger on; threescore and ten May find us old, but better men. The poet sings : we look ahead To see our friends — they are not dead ; But just have passed along before, And wait to meet us at the shore. The poet sings : we hear the strain, It sounds above the raging main ; The harps beyond take up the song, With it the heavenly hills prolong. The poet sings : the stream is passed. And we have reached our home at last ; The strains the earthly poet sung. Are sung in heaven by every tongue. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 13 The poet sings : he may be poor, May beg his bread from door to door ; But he is rich, as you may see, Because he sings to God and thee. The poet sings, and sing he will Till the last beating heart is still ; The song he sings, a song of love, Was sent to him by God above. THE KANSAS PIONEER, Yes, I had a hard time, stranger. When I first came out to Kansas ; Thought I ' d have to give it up, sir. No man knows better than I do What we people had to live on. Why, I '11 tell you, when I came here, I ' d no house, except a sod one. I gathered "cow chips" on the prairie, And the big weeds in the hollows. And the dead and sun-dried willows That had fallen in the valleys — Burnt off bv the fire, and fallen : Fire set out by careless herders. Which the wind had driven o'er them- Gathered these to cook our victuals. 14 PnAIRIE FLOWERS. I could tell you how I managed, Hauling corn-stalks for my fuel, On the coldest days in winter. Fifteen miles across the prairie. With no wagon-track to guide me — Nothing but a sea of prairie Rolling before, behind, beside me. And the winter sky above me. , Oh ! I tell you it was lonesome ; But I had the grit to stand it. I have carted loads of dry bones Sixty miles across the prairie. On the trail from Medicine river To the great Arkansas valley, To Wichita, now called a city — Sometimes, Queen of Southwest Kansas. Then it only was a village. Where the white man and the Indian Met on common ground and traded. I could tell you how I labored, How I turned the sod and planted. With a spade, some corn and pumpkins. Then they wrote from Indiana, "How are things 'way out in Kansas?" Yes, they called it "starving Kansas," And they told me, taunting, told me, "You '11 be back inside a twelvemonth ! " But I told them, "No, I guess not" ; And, to make the matter surer. Burnt the bridges all behind me — Could n't have gone back if I 'd wanted. PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 15 I could tell you of the dry years, When the people grew discouraged, Because the rain was- slow in coming. Some of them got up and "dusted" ; Went back east to see their people, Back to see their wife's relation. They could not stand some real privation. And become adopted Kansans. They did n't like the Kansas zephyrs ; They longed for trees, and not grasshoppers ; They hungered for the leeks and onions, And the black flesh-pots of Egypt. They could n' t stand prairie manna. Which, a Providence had sent them, That would make them self-supporting. So they rigged their prairie schooners. Left their claims to find new owners, Who might profit by their labors. « Claims not long to lie in waiting ; Men soon came who had the backbone ; Patched up those "deserted" mansions. Threw more earth upon the ' ' dug-out, ' ' Chinked the cracks and gathered fuel, -'And made ready for the winter. Now the very ones that left us, Often write to make inquiry ; And our best respects we send them, Tell them what they lost by leaving ; Lost a farm that 's worth four thousand. And a life of independence. 16 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. I could tell you what I wrote them, Wrote to friends in Indiana, Wrote to friends in the Blue Hen State, How I praised the skies of Kansas, How I talked about the prairies. How I told about the flowers That grew wild around my sod house. How I told them corn and pumpkins Grew without a bit of labor. And about the watermelons, Grown on sod in such abundance. I' told them how the wife and babies All grew fat, with cheeks as rosy As the sky before the sunrise. I could tell you how I labored. How I loved to plant the sod-corn. Pick the red sand-plum in summer, Catch a sly shot at the wild geese That in such great flocks went over, As the sun at times to darken. I can tell you we were happy. Many a day in that sod shanty. Frugal was our fare, but plenty. Best of all, we were contented. We had no sickness; not a doctor Ever came to feel our pulses — Could not dose us with his physic, Nor shove an awful bill upon us. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 17 Furthermore, I ' 11 tell you, stranger, I got a cow, some pigs and poultry. All the prairie was a pasture ; Tho' I had no fence nor hedges, I made shift with rope and picket, So had milk and butter plenty. And the pigs grew fat on sod-corn. As to eggs, they were not lacking. Bye and bye we had some neighbors That had come to stay like we did. People could not miss such chances ; Homes for poor folks lying idle. Rich land waiting for the furrow To be turned by the bright plowshare ; Rich land waiting to be growing Wheat and corn for the careful farmer. Who in the east had been a renter. And with all his time and labor Could barely earn a scanty living. I tell you, stranger, independence Is what makes the Kansas farmer Look so cheerful and so happy. Think about it ; look around you ! Here I 've got a quarter-section, All my own, and I can plant it. Reap the crop and go and sell it, And put the money in my pocket. I do n' t have to ask my landlord If he '11 buy some fertilizer — Truck to make the land productive. 18 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. I do n't have to ask my landlord If I can buy an extra heifer, Raise some geese, or a few turkeys, Like they do in eastern States, sir. What 's become of that sod shanty? Well, it ain't no beauty, stranger. But it did its duty well, sir. You see that pile out in the orchard ? That 's the ruins of the "mansion." I have my boys to plow around it, And let it rest for good it has done. My wife and I have lived on little — Eoasted sod-corn and stewed " punkins " ; Raised up children plump and hearty. There we burnt ' ' coal of the prairie, ' ' Gathered often by the sackful ; There we trembled for the future. Watched the Kansas storm arising. Heard the roar of heavy thunder, The dashing rain upon the prairie. Saw the flashing, forked lightning. Trembled, fearful of a cyclone ; There we watched the storm pass over. Thunder rumbling in the distance ; Saw the splendid bow of promise Spread its glory 'cross the heavens, Shed its luster on the prairies In the raindrops on the grass-blades. All these things I 've passed through, stranger, When I lived in that sod shanty, Which is now a pile of ruin. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 19 And I ' 11 tell you, listen, stranger, When I lived in that sod hovel. Wife and I had more contentment Than we have in that new mansion That you see so fairly planted On the slope of yonder hillside. Cares have come as well as riches ; Not but what we ' re moderate happy, For we have what we call "plenty." We have sheep and hogs and cattle ; We have gran'ries full to bursting ; We have something always growing, If it ' s nothing else but cares. Ha ! you laugh, but I 'm not joking. I could tell you something, stranger. Of this growing State of Kansas. I came to succor her, an infant. But she 's grown a winsome beauty. Still she honors those who helped her. When she was weak and much belabored ; She heaps riches up around them Who stand up and battle for her. And tlie more I understand it, The more I like to live in Kansas ; The more I love her broad prairies, To breathe the odor of her flowers. See her sunsets and sunrises. Watch the sparkling of her rivers. And the waving of her wheat-fields. Hear the rustling of her corn. 20 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Listen to her lowing cattle, And the sheep on hillside bleating, Hear the clang of growing commerce, Listen to the shrieking whistle Of the coming locomotive ; See her spread her iron fingers, Bearing means to build up cities, Mark out farms, to build the school-house To educate the Kansas children, The men and women of the future. Build the church and teach religion, • Make the waste once barren, blossom Like the rose in ancient scripture. (You will find a pleasant picture, Drawn in ages far and misty ; But we dare claim its fulfillment. And to claim that land is Kansas, The ideal of the nation. And the center of the States.) I could talk to you of Kansas For a week, and not get weary ; But time wears on — so come in, stranger ; Get a rest and some refreshment, And I '11 talk to you to-morrow. NO DIFFERENCE. Why are the poor dissatisfied, And cry for the rich man' s wealth ? Why do the rich, on th' other side. Long for the poor man' s health ? PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 21 The one lias much, yet little feels He hath so much to bless ; The one so little, helpless kneels In utter helplessness. HOW PLEASANT T IS TO READ. How PLEASANT ' t is to read The tales of long ago. Of poets dead, and feel the glow Their verse inspires. This I love : To roam in rhyme, and so prove That spirits, aye, may hold converse In manner thus, nor be the worse For talking with the dead. TO A DEAD POET. I AM thinking, O my brother, of the times that used to be, When we wandered far together — like the birds we were as free. Then we sang the songs of gladness, and we told the tales of love. As we watched the lights and shadows of the clouds that flew above. 22 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Yes, we roamed the fields together, and we waded in the brook. Or we sat and dreamed for hours in some shady, quiet nook. Then we ' d go where crowds of people went with hurry on their way, Like the waters onward rushing from the streamlet to the bay. I remember, O my brother, how you ofttimes used to say That the people did not know you, as you passed along the way ; You would smite your hands together, and would humbly bow your head. Saying, ''They will know me better, tho' it may be when I 'm dead." You had noble aspirations, and you longed to climb the height. Where the air you breathed was purerj and the heavens were more bright ; Where the soul could view its Maker, and where man to man was kind. In the Paradise of beauty, and the garden of the mind. But you 've passed the vale of shadows, and you 've reached the land of light ; You have done with earthly sorrows, and with envy' s noi- some blight ; Never more the wreaking arrows of the foe of all that 's good Can smite yoii 'neath the armor, as *you pass the lonesome wood. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 23 It were better, O m j brother, that you went from hence away, Where the streets are paved with jasper, and with gold of purest ray ; For the road you left was dusty, and with stones the way was strewn ; There were serpents in the hedges, and the lanes were dank and lone. There you bask in God's own sunshine, here the way was ofttimes cold ; Here your friends did often grieve you, there your friend- ships ne' er grow old. Here was music mixed with sadness, there the strains are naught but joy ; God hath changed thy tears to gladness, and thy soul hath full employ. There the Father comprehends you, tho' we failed to know you here ; We will follow in your footsteps as we live from year to year ; And when bye and bye, our yearnings have reached the long-sought goal. We will live for aye together in the haven of the soul. THE REPORTER. Of all the folks that wander thro' this wide world up and down. The reporter is the greatest man — we'll not except the clown. His nose he 's always poking into other folks' affairs ; He knows they often frown at him, but very little cares. 24 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. He's here and there and everywhere, in early place and late ; No matter what the company is, you'll always find his pate : His pencil in his fingers, and his note-book on his knee, While everything that ' s going on, next day you ' re apt to see. No matter what the subject is, nor matters it who done it, You'll see it down in black and white — you may depend upon it. Mayhap, a lady puts her foot upon an orange peeling — An accident — he jots it down, nor cares a fig for feeling. If slander dire should till the air, and some, good names should doubt. He quickly hunts the matter up, and "lets the cat right out." If married men should show their cooks a little too much favor, He ' 11 dish the ' ' savory pottage ' ' up, with salt-and-pepper flavor. If a married woman likes too well some other woman's man, That woman ' s sure to catch it then as only a woman can. The politicians all are his — "his own good lawful prey" — The way he handles them is rough — so ' t least the victims say. PRAIRIE FLOWER 8. 25 The least wrong step lie ever made, no matter when or where, His evil deeds are hawked about, and told of far and near. His virtuous acts are all forgot — except by the other side, Who kindly cover his failings up, at least all they can hide. Then straightway he is interviewed, and gives himself away, For all he says is duly told in dailies of next day. ' T is then he tries to take it back, and says it ' s all a lie ; Th' reporter claims it ' s all a trick, and stands him cap-a- pie. And if, by chance, he gets the place for which he labored sore. He ' 11 find no chance to make a slip — they watch him evermore. We ' ve told you what reporters do — a part of it, at least — But after all, their table ' s not a table all a feast. They have their trials as other men, and fightings many a one ; And often when the world's asleep, their work has just begun. They labor by the midnight oil o'er crooked marks and signs, While papers high are piled about, enough to craze their minds. —3 26 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. One writes the parson's sermon up in columns two or three — In fifteen minutes you can read an hour's delivery. Then very often they will "hedge" and turn on the re- porter, "He said some things I didn't say, and did n't' say what he ought to." But then they 're s' posed to know so much, what dif'rence should it make ? What's heard and seen is duly told — who cares if heads do ache? 'Tis true, when comes the circus show, with horse and wagons gay. He often sees the elephant without a cent of pay ! Pay ! did I say ? well to the boys that sure would be enough ; But that reporter's pay is just "a quarter-column puff." And every time he meets a friend, or bids the time of day. The world is such a foolish thing — it thinks he'll for it pay. Betimes the sleight-of-hand man comes, with queerly- wrought regalia ; Soon hunts he that reporter up to show his paraphernalia. 'Tis so at night he comes in free, to th' boys it seems like magic ; But the reporter knows quite well the end is not so tragic : PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 27 For see next day, in letters black, his mystic arts are told ; 'T is then the quack is glad at heart — 't is good to him as gold. Now would you the reporter blame for doing thus what he did? He ' s such a sympathetic man, he thinks such things are needed. The world is full of fools, he knows, who ' re sure to be all cheated ; And so he feels his work not done, until that part 's com- pleted. But then he gives it to the great, and yet the great do n' t mind 'im ; They know his business is just that, and know right where to find him. Howe' er he holds their foibles up, explaining each minutia. While the people fall a-cursing him, as they do the Jews in Russia. ' T is thus he goes through life's long role, his daily work pursuing : To chronicle each event in scroll for the whole world' s re- viewing. And when the close of life draws near, his back he ' s laid supine on ; To friends he wills his note-book dear ; his body, the worms to dine on. He feels his work has been to lift the bulk of civilization; So leaves his thoughts, like yeast, to lift the rising genera- tion. 28 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. He breathes his last; away he's laid, and at his head in marble, ^ ' Here lies the dead, the honored dead, ' ' or some such other garble. But often comes the honor when the honored low are lying — Sometimes it cometh just before, but comforts poor the dying. While these are going, others come, take up the work they 're leaving; Kecord the world's play going on, the laughter and the grieving. So noiseless turns the wheel of Time, and dies its sons and daughters — But let us not forget the mound where lieth the reporters. THE FAULT-FINDER. Of all things troublous ' neath heaven' s broad span, The worst, to my notion, ' s a fault-finding man ; He was born finding fault, and so he will die, Finding fault as his soul to hades shall fly. He found fault when little, and found it when big ; He found fault with the cow, and fault with the pig ; He found fault with the clock, and likewise the shelf - Was not at all satisfied e' en with himself. When he got married, he found fault with his wife, And made his fault-finding the plague of her life. He found fault with her children, calling them brats ; He swore at the dogs, and he kicked at the cats ; PRAIRIE FLOWER 8. 29 He found fault with her cooking, and what she cooked ; He found fault with her clothing, and how she looked ; With her he found fault when she bought a new hat ; When wearing her old one, he found fault with that. He found fault because she had worn her shoes out, Then with her found fault for going without : He found fault with her for wanting a new dress ; And when she wished none, why, he found ne'er the less. He found fault with the butter, fault with the cream, And kept the house crazy from cellar to beam ; If he had nothing else he could find fault at, He would find fault with lard, because it wsLsfaf. He found fault with politics, county and state ; And fault with his neighbors from early to late ; The church did n' t suit him, and he found fault with it ; Till grim death stop him, will he fault-finding quit. He found fault with his house, his bed and his board, And certain it is, he found fault with the Lord ; 'Tis rather a question but on the last morn, He will try to find fault with Gabriel's horn! A MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. (a pastoral monologue.) In the country by the wayside. In the woods, or by the stream. Where the view by nature ' s bounded. Where her children live and dream, 30 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. How I love the morning breezes, Skipping o ' er earth' s dewy bed ; How a thousand charms do please ns - Love and beauty 'round us spread. Hear the songster in the treetop. Hear the cricket in the grass. See the cattle in the meadow, Feeding slowly as we pass. Smell the odor of wild roses, Growing yonder in the dell. See, the bee is on its journey Where the clover blossoms swell. Yonder plowman turns his furrow. Whistling as he drives along, While the milk-maid's "so-so. Cherry, Mixes with her scraps of song. See the smoke from yonder chimney. As it curls its upward way. Hear the crows a-cawing — cawing — They are building nests to-day. See the mountain in the distance, ' Round its top the hazy blue ; On its slopes the pine trees waving, "Lend enchantment to the view." Now I reach the rushing river. Gazing in its cool, clear tide ; See the fishlet, in the sunshine, ' Dart about from side to side. 5) PRAIRIE FLOWER 8, 31 On its banks the bramble groweth, Just below the little bridge, Where the streamlet, through the meadow, Fioweth from the distant ridge. Oh ! the bliss, the joy of dreaming. Far from city din and strife ; Stretched at length within the shadow — Here 's a lengthened lease of life. Here 's a joy that 's worth possessing ; Nature's child at last gives way To a mother's own caressing. To a mother's loving sway. She hath shown me all her pictures, Hung where wisdom taught her best ; Mountain, pine trees, smoke, and river. Even to the crow's rough nest. Shown me where her flower garden. Growing, breathes its sweet perfume, O 'er the parched and wasting places. Going with us to the tomb. Here is life and here is gladness, Tho' the world hath much of pain ; Know, thou must, the bow of promise Cometh not till after rain. Free the mind is, like the pigeon Fluttering over yonder cote ; Reason cowers in the lowlands. Durst not set its wings afloat. 32 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Faith mounts up on wings of eagle, Halts not on its upward way, Piercing, passing clouds of sorrow, To the realm of brightest day. But we ' re bound in earthen vessels. Fear and pain our heritage ; Tho' the book of life ' s before us. Stop we at its foremost page. Why not read in all this beauty That 's before, around us spread, How that God, our Father, loveth? — He, the Holy, Living Head. Can we, dare we say that chance is All there is ; there is no God ? Ends all human aspiration When we ' re laid beneath the clod ? JSTay, oh, nay ! I will not have it ; For our human needs are such. Human hopes and human longings, They ask more than human touch. And the soul, forever seeking, If, perchance, it may not find Something grander, the Omniscience - Will not always be so blind. The wheel of time, forever turning. Turns not backward in its flight ; Fly we swiftly on our journey. Turning not to left nor right. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 33 Let us take the golden chalice, Tendered us by God' s own hand ; Drink the wine of joy forever, Live the life he for us planned. SEVEN PICTURES. Two CHILDREN playing in the sand — A boy, 'a girl — their laughter floats Across the hedge ; out o' er the land Echo doth bear the childish notes. Lo ! school is out, a lad and lass Go tripping homeward, side by side ; Her hand in his, they onward pass ; Her cheeks are red, he happy-eyed. A youth, and maiden debonnair. Are seated in an arbor' s shade ; They plight their troth, nor dream of care O joyous youth, thrice happy maid ! A church decked out for holiday ; A crowd of friends and pastor wait ; The pair are wed, and go their way Along life' s road to meet their fate. A year rolls round, a matron' s tread Goes softly round the darkened room ; The husband sits with bowed head, For grief has come upon their home. 34 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. ' T is twenty years, and lo ! again They ' re called to part with one they love ; The same old tale — two shall be twain One flesh, along through life to move. ' T is forty years, a stooping frame, In grief is bending o' er a bed : A life goes oiit : ' t is e' er the same — We leave the living with the dead. AN HONEST MAN. Give me an independent man, Whom money cannot buy ; A man, whose heart is in his hand, Wkose honor ' s in his eye. Give me the man who can withstand Temptation' s wily throng ; Whose sword of might 's in his right hand. With which to subdue wrong. Give me the man whose honest breast Doth never cringe, nor kneels — Who owns the part that he likes best, And speaks just what he feels. Give me the man who, when he knows That he ' s wronged another, To seek his pardon straightway goes. And reconciles his brother. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 35 Give me the man who, when opprest By wrong and mortal foes, That ever has within his breast A thought for other' s woes. Give me the man who loves his wife, His children, and his home ; Who ever guards them with his life From evils that may come. Give me that man, and such a man I '11 trust with all my might ; You '11 find him doing all he can, And foremost in the right. TO MY NATIVE STATE. Oh, home of my childhood ! Oh, land of my youth ! How thy memories cling to me round ; There first I saw light, and always, forsooth, Will thy ground be hallowed ground. Smallest but one in th' bright constellation That lights up the world with its flame. Thou boldest thine own i' the ranks of th' Nation — Then why should I blush at thy name? Tho' far away from thee so long do I roam — Viewed many new faces since then — Yet still do I long for the faces at home, How I long to see them again ! 36 PBAIRIE FLOWERS. There to wander about in the pine trees' shade, And to hear the old-time birds sing ; To gather sweet flowers that never will fade While memory shall unto me cling. To catch the bright sun-fish in some shadj nook, In the mill-pond near to mj home ; Or else I would read in some old thumb-worn book. And dream of the times that should come. Or else, when the cherries, with their cheeks all red, Were ripe, and so sweet and so free, I ' ye climbed up and ate, while over my head Some bird sweetly sang in the tree. Or when ' t was the time of the blushing peach, Rich flavored, and covered with down. Which gave up its treasures the lesson to teach. That use was its beauty and crown. And often have I, in the warm summer-time. With companions all young and free. Gone down to the bay for a scent of the brine. And lave in the blue rolling sea. And oft with bare feet, on the sun-warmed sand. We ran and we shouted so glad. While the light, cool breeze drove the waves up the We never once thought to be sad ! [strand — We gathered the pebbles along the fair shore. And the shells so pretty to see ; Sometimes I am sorry those days are all o'er. Their memories do cling so to me. PBAIBIE FLOWEBS. 37 But alas, oh, alas ! My childhood is past ! The days of my youth are no more ; But to me, so long as these memories last. Their joys are the same as of yore. Tho' far I have left thee, O land of my birth ! Delaware ! land of peach and pine ! No spot is more cherished by me on the earth Than thy shores, all washed with the brine. Hurrah for that land where the chestnut and gum Are fanned by the winds from the sea ! Can e' er I forget thee ? Not till death shall benumb, Shalt thou be forgotten by me ! SPARROW GRAY. Chirping sparrow. Sparrow gray, Think' st thou not of want to-day ? Little sparrow, Of to-morrow Never think you once, I pray? Chit' ring sparrow, Sparrow gray. Tell me why thou ' rt in my way ? Sparrow, teasing, Ever pleasing. Out of reach you ever stay.'' 38 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Happy sparrow, Sparrow blest, Trouble dwells not in thy breast On thee blessings, And caressings — ' T is thy lover' s own behest. Hopping sparrow, Sparrow gray, I am glad thou' rt here to-day ; Welcome, sparrow ! Come to-morrow ! Come a-hopping in my way. Chirp, my sparrow. Sparrow gray, As I pass along my way ; Harmless ever. Safe forever, Chirrup to me every day. OLD AGE. Speak to them gently, Treat them with care ; Give them the fireside's Easiest chair. They wept for you once. Parental tears ; Do n't let them weep now Smooth the gray hairs. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. . 39 Age has its childhood, Weakness, and ills ; Oh, how a kind word Grandmother thrills. Grandfather totters By on his crutch ; How warms his old heart At friendly touch. Speak to them kindly. Banish their fears ; Their eyes, though dim, are Quick to shed tears. Make their life easy Down the incline ; So shall thy children Make for thee thine. THE NOBLER WAY. Come, thou man of drooping eyelid. Come, thou one of mournful song, Lift your wan face towards the heavens You have wept by far too long. Life is far too short to use it Altogether as your own ; Scripture bids us not abuse it — At the best ' t is but a loan. We are stopping but a moment On these busy shores of time ; We should be alert and moving In the very van of prime. 40 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Lift your voice and let thejiations Know your whereabouts, and be Eeady e'er to lift the fallen, • Lend a smile to misery. 'T is no place for selfish mortals To sit down to weep, and say They have missed their avocation — They can nothing do but pray. Pray we ought ; but we ' re commanded E ' en to watch and pray as well ; For the moment the thief cometh We may never guess nor tell. There is much we might be doing, For we much to others owe ; Want and woe are all around us — Dare we hence a debtor go ? You can ne' er bring back the water Which a-past the wheel hath run ; V Neither can you claim to-morrow — You may never see its sun ! This to-day is your possession ; Wonderful its wealth and worth ; Sit not idly with digression. Shaming her who gave you birth. Take your place in line of progress, JSTor think long on past misdeed ; • Make this world your field of action — Love and duty make your creed. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 41 Men will saj, who come hereafter, "He was one who sought to take . His own burdens, make the pathway Clearer, better, for our sake. ' ' Men will love you, and revere you, And will say you were a man They can safely follow after : You have fulfilled life's great plan. THEY TELL ME LOVE IS ALL A MYTH. They tell me love is all a myth. And marriage but a notion ; That freemen never should embark On matrimony' s ocean : There 's rocks ahead, and breakers, too. And many a coral reef there ; And horrid wails and dismal tales — The nights are full of grief there. If that is so, pray let me know. These volunteers, whence come they? They look so brave, why then not save Them certain ruin, some day? O sirs, beware ! these maidens are Like sirens of the ocean : Their laugh but serves to drown the storm And still the heart's commotion. —4 42 PBAIRIE FLOWERS. In ancient times, those sirens sang To the mar' ners on the sea ; Then laughed in glee, as they beheld Their death-laden victory. Away ! away ! with such old tales. From out the Grecian fable ; Old Homer was too blind to write — His pictures are too sable. For men will love, and maidens too, And hearts will yet be broken ; Because that some have failed to give Full answer to this token. The queen will love upon the throne, And peasant maid in cottage ; The high and low its thralldom seek, From youth 'till tot' ring dotage. Then wherefore cast its bonds aside. And lightly speak of marriage ? — The fairest scope of human aim. The acme of this fair age. More wars were fought, and ruin wrought For love, than any passion That ever swayed the human heart, Since love's divine creation. For maids will love, and men will do For aye, love's gentle leading. From poorest hut to castled hall, In spite of all forbidding. PRAIBIE FLOWERS. 43 Woe is the day, and dark the hour-^ Yes, midnight would be pale there — When love has lost its magic power. And marriage is a failure. ONLY A BIT OF MOSS. * ' Only a bit of moss, ' ' jou say ; And do you think 't is naught ? 'T is just as wondrous in its way As aught that God has wrought. Wilt thou behold its glist'ning spires? Just bow upon your knee ! The grand old oak that lights your fires Can no more wondrous be. 'T is true it reaches not the height The giant oak has done ; And yet to me no grander sight Is 'neath the shining sun. How beautiful is its bright green ; What painter can compete? Have you more beautiful e'er seen. Or color more complete? And then ' t is here in winter-time. When flowers all are dead ; It bursts forth in its beauty prime, As at our feet ' t is spread. A mighty power is here unfurled : It doth of wisdom take To teach, the power that made the world, This bit of moss did make. 4:4: PRAIRIE FLOWERS. It took as much creative power To cause this moss to grow, As made to bloom the rarest flower That e' er on earth did blow ; Creative power reached as far In this one act alone, As when it reached to make a star, Or e'en to make the sun ! Thou shouldst naught therefore despise, Though small perchance it be ; God placed His work before our eyes* — He placed it there to see ; The mountain and the grain of sand. The ocean and the spring, Each is the labor of His hand. Each equal praises sing. AMBITION. A CROWN of might I would not wear ; Sufficient care is to the poor : Who power has, must trouble bear, And I would have no more. He who seeks to rise beyond The common level of mankind, Must suffer pain and with' ring scorn From those he leaves behind. Ambition is a dangerous thing ; It leads to dizzy heights above. Where one meets storms and buffeting I ' d rather dwell below with love. PBAIBIE FL0WEB8. 45 REST, MY BROTHER. [Ode recited at the grave of a dead comrade of the Select Knights, A. O, U. W., on Decoration Day.] Rest, my brother, comrade, rest. While we stand to-day, thy guest ; Sleep beneath this arch of steel, Sleep in quiet, while we kneel — While we deck thy grave with flowers, Rest, my comrade, rest. Rest, my brother, comrade, rest, ' JSTeath the green prairie' s breast ; Where the spring-time flowers blow, Where the breezes come and go — While we deck thy grave with flowers, Rest, my comrade, rest. Rest, my brother, comrade, rest. By no cares of earth opprest ; By this token know our love. May we ever brothers prove — While we deck thy grave with flowers, Rest, my comrade, rest. Rest, my brother, comrade, rest ; We must each one prove this test j Rise we, stand we, ever so, To protect against each foe — While we deck thy grave with flowers, Rest, my comrade, rest. 46 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Kest, my brother, comrade, rest, In the domain of the blest ; Kest assured that we will care Well for those thou ' st left us here — While we deck thy grave with flowers, Kest, my comrade, rest. Kest, my brother, comrade, rest Thy tired head on nature's breast ; All the toils of this life o'er, Thou wilt meet with us no more — While we deck thy grave with florwers, Hest, my comrade, rest. EARTH'S UNATTAINABLE. There ' s imagery I cannot paint, And songs that stay unsung ; I cannot tell the tales so quainjb That quiver on my tongue. The heart's best songs are often like The meteor in the night : They full upon the vision strike. Then vanish from our sight. The soul's best music often seems To come when all alone ; We strain our ear — but as our dreams, It fainter grows — 'tis gone. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 47 The pictures that we seem to see Are not the ones in view ; The soul looks out bejond the lea, And far beyond the blue. We are not checked by time nor space — The mind brooks no control ; The body may be bound by space — That cannot bind the soul. The chimes thereof are tuned betimes To sing no earth-born psalm ; There comes a breeze from distant climes That brings a holy calm. The tales of earth are fraught with pain^ — Love 's not without alloy ; Discord lurks in each music strain, And sorrow walks with joy. We pluck the rose, but feel its thorn — We breathe its sweet perfume ; Tho' bright the sunrise in the morn, The night may bring its gloom. Shine on, bright images to me. Blow fresh, thou heaven-born breeze ; Come, soul-inspiring melody, And give the worn heart ease. Tho' dark the night, the morn will break — Full light will come to me ; And all eternity shall make My soul sweet melody. 48 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. TO A SPIDER. [seen oist a lady's bonnet at church, a fact.] What are jou doing there, jou fright ? Faith ! jou present a ghastly sight, Devouring flies in broad daylight, And right in meeting ; You ugly thing ! you must delight In what you ' re eating. Grizzly beast ! you hungry scorner I Why not go to some far corner. Spread your net, and play reformer. All on the sly ? ( Stay, you brute ; I '11 not inform her — So eat your fly.) But what possest you, woman's pest, To crawl upon this lady's best New Sunday bonnet, for a feast, Before a houseful ? For shame ! for shame ! you horrid beast, To eat a mouthful ! How she would bang you with a broom, If she should find you in her room. And quick consign you to your tomb. And show no pity ; But now you help adorn her plume — I think you 're gritty. PBAIBIE FLOWER 8. 49 I feel that you deserve some credit — I think so, yes, and now I 've said it, Tho' I have light, 1 fail to shed it Now and here ; But let you on that bonnet tread it, And back hair. Stop ! there you go behind that flower, You hairy thief ! if I ' d the power I 'd throttle you — but tear, devour, Thus while you may ; Yet hold yourself not so secure Another day. THOSE YESTERDAYS. Ah ! they are gone, those yesterdays ! Taken each their several ways ; Gone to return no more to me — I wonder now where they can be ? They came to us in th' long ago. And like the tides that ebb and flow, They came with measured steps, the while. And stayed with us thro' frown and smile. Those yesterdays ! with hope so bright, They came and went away by night ; We found them here when we awoke. Disguised as new "to-days." They spoke Of happy days and visions fair. And joy and gladness everywhere ; But each hath ta'en the various ways. That plainly proved them yesterdays. 50 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Those yesterdays ! with them came grief, And promises to give relief ; The summer's heat, the winter's snow. With them did come, with them did go. The bridal morn, the day of death, Were borne upon the self-same breath ; How many joys and sorrows, say. Were born upon a yesterday ? Those yesterdays I pray, can you tell Where they have gone? Where now they dwell? And are they freighted with the ways They bore from us, those yesterdays ? They heard many an idle tale, Saw tears that flowed without avail ; Heard lovers' sighs in bower hid. And sounds of clods on coffin-lid. Those yesterdays ! what joys they brought To those who used them as they ought ! Those yesterdays, when bright "to-days," How cheering were their winsome ways ! They brought the flowers in the spring. And leafy trees, where birds could sing ; Broad fields of grass, and rip'ning grain. The cooling breeze, and growing rain. Those yesterdays, with harvest smells Mixed with the roses from the dells, And waving corn upon the lea In vista rolls — a summer sea. -- The reaper's clang, the bell's sharp ring, That makes the hungry farm lad sing ; No thousand harps could sound the lays That I might sing of yesterdays. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 51 Those yesterdays ! they ' re gone away ; To-day will soon be yesterday ! To-morrow rushes on our sight, And hope lives on some new delight. Tho' time and tide do never wait, Man's life goes out, and soon or late We hither go : as mist and haze We pass into the yesterdays. THAT BOY! [four years old.] That boy ! what anxious mother does not say — And say it twenty times or more a day — That boy ! that boy ! from early morn till night, In mischief is, and troubles me a sight. That boy ! what is it he is doing now? He ' s clambering on the fence to tease the cow. There ! there he goes ! now he ' s a pretty mess ! Hurt himself too, and that's a bran-new dress. There, hush, my son, (the freckled-faced fellow, What a voice he 's got, how he can bellow ! ) Now go and play — don't tease your sister, dear. (Well, I never! he's run afoul the chair.) That boy! but how would mother do without That boy, to do the little things about? (Bless my soul ! if it do n't beat the dickens ! He 's gone and killed my two Leghorn chickens.) 52 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. If ever mother worried, I ' m the one ; To think how much I ' ve talked to you, my son ; Bad boy, why do you treat your mother so? You love mamma? Well, let the chickens go. It comforts me to think that after all, (Be careful, son, or you may get a fall,) In these days strange things have come to pass. (Now you've done it — you've broke the looking-glass!) There ' s knocks enou2;h in this wide world to make The hearts of more than one bright boy to ache ; . (Get out of that! come 'way from there, my love. O, dear, dear, dear ! he ' s run against the stove ! ) You've done it now, my boy : you make me sad. To think — yes think — that I ' ve a child so bad He will not mind — you 've got an awful cough — (You '11 catch it now : you ' ve torn the blister off ! ) I never saw your match ; hush your cry up ! Papa is coming, mother will tie up The sore hand, and rock you gently to sleep ; Now let mother see how still you can keep. [ Sings:} Mother's boy, mother's joy. Freckle-faced, sun-burnt and tan ; He ' 11 soon be mother' s big man, Mother's own darling boy. Go to sleep, angels keep My child far away from sin ; Make him good and pure within. Mother's own darling boy. PBAIRIE FLOWERS. 53 THE TARDY RAIN HAS COME AGAIN. The tardy rain has come again, Which stayed so long away ; Reviving drooping flowers, The sylvan shades and bowers. Where doth recline the sons of men With their beauteous daughters, when The sun grows low a summer's day. Falling, falling, on hill and lea. Nectar of the gods, falling fast ! Gathering in pools and little rills, That 'mong the pebbles, purling trills, Running towards the river in glee ; The river runs on to the sea. To be swallowed out o' sight at last. THE CRYSTAL CITY. I SING of a city, A rock-crystal city, Kingman, the city of worth ; She sits in her splendor. The crystal-salt vendor — Her mines can supply the earth. I sing of her beauty ; A theme and a duty I e' er feel called to obey ; Her wealth is unbounded, And by it surrounded. She sits, the queen of my lay. 54 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. I sing of the river, The bountiful Giver Of all that ' s good has bestowed ; Oh, that is a treasure That flows without measure — To bless, she ever has flowed. I sing of her people ; From cellar to steeple Thej ' ve shown both goodness and pride ; Her kind-hearted ladies. To her a great aid is ; They ' re standing up side by side. 1 sing you a ditty Of a rock-salt city — Kingman, the queen of the vale : The crystal-salt vendor. She sits in her splendor. Inviting the world to her sale. MY BABY! MY BEAUTIFUL BABY When first I beheld the bright sunlight That beamed from heaven above, Drew life from the lacteal fountain That flowed from a motherhood's love, I looked in the eyes of an angel Enshrined in a body of clay ; She clasped me in rapturous wonder. And sweet were the words she did say PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 55 ' ' My baby ! my beautiful baby ! God bless you for coming to me ; But how did you pass through the mazes That enwrap th' ethereal sea ? And what do they do in that heaven, You left when you came down below ? And how do the angels look, darling. You are smiling at now, I know ? ^ ' My baby ! my beautiful baby ! You ' ve come to a world full of pain ; I fear you will be disappointed. And will long to return again. You ' ve come to a world full of sorrow, In which you are likely to share ; Where fair truth is opposed by falsehood. And happiness clouded with care. ^ ' My baby ! my beautiful baby ! You 've traveled a long way to me ; God bless you, for coming, my dearest — Make me a good mother to thee ! There ' s many a tear for thy shedding. And many a sigh for your breast ; But mother will pray the good Father, And He will take care of the rest. ^'My baby ! my beautiful baby" That baby ' s a baby no more ; That mother, so loving and tender. Has passed to the ever-green shore ; But her prayers, thro' sorrow and sunshine. Like benisons, fall on her child ; And I see, in visions of heaven. Her smile as once she smiled. 56 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. MY BOATS. I builded a boat And set it afloat^ On Childhood ' s boundless sea ; I mated it, I freighted it With goods all dear to me. My boat, Afloat, Where can its haven be ? I built me a boat And set it afloat. Afloat on Youth ' s broad sea ; With Love laden ; Guide, a maiden : What was her destiny ? My boat. Afloat, Did not return to me. I builded again. In fear and in pain, A boat, but bound with brass ; I sought for wood I knew was good, To stand this sea of glass. A boat. Afloat, Through many storms must pass. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 57 I builded with care, And everywhere Made fast each joint and seam ; The mast and sails To stand the gales ; Of oak was made the beam. My boat, Afloat, " Of loss I did not dream. The seashore is bleak, For those who are j^eak — A storm doth rage the sea ; I fear me so, Tho' sailor row, My boat a wreck will be. JSTo boat, Afloat, Has yet come back to me. THE BEAVER HOLE. —5 I REMEMBER ' s if ' t Were yesterday, A certain place we used to play — A place that was to me more sweet Than any spot we boys could meet. Many a day when school was out, We started for it with a shout ; We ate our dinner as we run. Discarding everything but fun. 58 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 'Twas down behind my father's lot — A rather uninviting spot — The elbow of a little stream That ran thro' town. This is no dream, But just the coldest kind of facts, Made up of unrecorded acts That really happened, bless your soul, Around and in the Beaver Hole. Across this hole there lay a log. From which we boys would play the frog — We naked boys, a rabble rout — And heaven help the last boy out ! Might be half dressed, when ' ' spat ! " " ker-thud ! ' ' He got it — dirt and sand and mud; And then he ' d have to strip and go And wash again from top to toe ! Then, just about that time, suppose Some rascal ran off with his clothes : He ' d have to sing, or dance, or beg. Or hop around upon one leg. As that young tyrant mob decreed, The most mischievous in the lead — And that was just as like to be As anyone, my friend, Jim P. Oh, how we used to flounce and dive, Make that old hole seem ' most alive ! If one had looked, they might have seen The water was not over-clean. But what was that to lads like we? We did not come for that, you see ! 'T would do me good to see that crowd. An' hear the old laugh, lo^g and loud. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 59 Full many a licking I have got For being there when I should not ; And many a one I missed, no doubt — Tho' I was there, it wa'n't found out. Of all that crowd, there was no hest^ And I was just as bad's the rest: They ' re all grown up, and gone, or dead : And my ! oh my ! how time has fled ! There's Will., and Fred., and Eb., and Jack, I call to mind, as I look back ; Then there was Frank, and there was Jim, (They've made a lawyer out of him.) — It ' s been so many years ago. There ' s some that I ' ve forgot, I know ! But tho' gray hairs are on my poll, I '11 ne'er forget the Beaver Hole ! I call to mind my teachers then — They were, no doubt, most learned men : There was old Fritz, a cripple he ; A jollier one I never did see. Then there was Bick, both stout and strong. An' tall Bill S. — he lived too long — Alex. F. and Professor Tarr ; They're gone where all the good folks are. Then Alfred R. — a judge out west — I remember well among the rest ; Such men as these did what they could To make us learned, wise and good. And yet, in spite of all they said, They never quite controlled our head ; For then, as now, our thoughts would roll Us round and in the Beaver Hole. 60 PBAIRIE FLOWERS. Now men are only grown-up boys ; 'T aint what one has, but what he 'njoys ; We did not stop to wish for wealth, As long as we were blessed with health ; We took our blessings as they came, And swam or fought, ' t was all the same ; We went right in, with heart and soul, As we went in the Beaver Hole. [NoTB.— This sketch is from life. Located at Greenwood, Del., where the writer spent seven years of his early life. The characters are real ; some of them have achieved a State reputation since. Some of them have passed the dark river ; and some have left the scenes of their childhood, to try their fortunes among strangers in a strange land. The wheel of Fortune turns many times in twenty-five years, and the writer found himself thinking, thinking, thinking, of other days and places. From that evolved the ahove. May it reach some of the " old hoys." ] DON'T BE IN A HURRY. Do n' t be in a hurry. Do n' t get in a stew ; For all of the worry Won't benefit you. The good sun still rises On regular time ; The moon makes her changes With order sublime. Don't be in a hurry — It agitates you y Instead of its helping. Prevents what you ' d do ; Increases pulsation. And makes the head ache ; Do n' t go so headlong, for Humanity' s sake ! PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 61 Do n' t be in a hurr j, Tho' it make you rich ; It keeps the nerves strung up At too high a pitch ; - It robs you of sleep, and It gives you gray hair, And many a wrinkle On a face once fair. Do n't be in a hurry : The world is so large. There is still room enough. Do n' t go on a charge ! For other folks' rights are Quite equal to yours ; When life's stream is narrow, Just draw in the oars. Do n't be in a hurry. Except to do right ; For life at its longest, Will soon take its flight ; And all of the riches You ' ve worked so to save, You ' 11 never find room for, With you in the grave. Do n' t be in a hurry. But just take your time. If it be at noonday. At eve, or at prime. You'll live to grow older. Enjoy life the more. And leave earth rejoicing All hurry is o'er. 62 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. A CAMEO. I STAND beside the flowing stream Where childhood's merry days were spent Those happy days, that came and went Like one long-continued dream. There is my likeness in the flood ; Also little fishes swimming Near the edge, and for a trimming, Was a small stretch of waving wood : In this wood the birds were singing — ■ Filled was the air with melody — Nature's music, choice remedy For weary souls, always bringing Peace, refreshing peace, aye, the best. It e'en affords the mem'ry rest. THE GOSSIP. PART I. Quoth Mrs. Smith, ' ' Good morning, Mrs. Brown ; Have you heard th' news that ' s goin' round the town ? They say that old Green's daughter Sue Is going to marry young Dick Drew ! ''Oh, well, well, well, upon my life ! And what will he do with a wife ? He ' s no more use for one, I feel, Than wagons have with a fifth wheel. PBAIBIE FLOWERS. 63 "He '11 not support her ; he 's too lazy ; Then his mother ' s about half crazy ; His father is good for nothing, too — What is it some folks will not do ? ' ' Then Sue ' s untidy as she can be ; She could n ' t keep house at all for me ! But then she takes it from her mother ; An' what a man she has for a father. "But, by the way, where is your James? I think he has such noble aims ; If I had such a son as him, I ' d humor him in every whim. "An' Sally 's gone to school, you say? She ' s such a good girl, anyway. La me ! now there ' s old Green ' s son John, Takes all he can lay his hands on ! • "He seems devoid of every feeling. Except drunkenness and stealing ; If he ' s allowed to have his way. He'll go to prison, sure, some day. I ' m in a hurry ; I must go — When are you coming over to sew ? I've got the best machine in town. Good bye!" "Good day," quoth Mrs. Brown. 1 PART II. ' ' Good e' ening, Mrs. Green ; how do you do ? I 've tho't o' coming for this day or two ; It seems like an age since I was here ; I ' ve no neighbor with you I'd compare. 64 PRAIRIE FLOWERS, ' ' An' Susie ' s going to marry Dick ! How is Susie ? — I heard she ' s sick. I think Dick 's such a nice young man ! I guess you '11 help 'em all you can? ' ' I think you ' re such a sensible mother ; Susie looks just like her father ! How neat she goes — such a good housekeeper! • They say beauty's 'skin deep' — hers is deeper. ' ' Where ' s Johnny to-day ? Gone up street ! Well, he ' s a boy that ' s hard to beat ? He won't compare with old Brown's Jim — Jim ' s so far, far down, beneath him. ' ' Why, if I ' d such a son, I ' d go crazy ; He 's good for nothing, sneaking, lazy ; I've watched him so much, I often feel That he 's not a bit too good to steal ! ''And their Sal! Oh, my, what a slouch! Her dress as dirty ' s a tobacco pouch ; But I don't blame her — tho' I deplore 'er — Her mother was that way long before her. V "I had some bus' n ess to-day over there, An' even before I ' d taken a chair. They began to talk about you, an' go on From this thing to that, until I was gone. "If there is anything I do hate, ' T is to hear one' s everlasting prate About their neighbors ; say, do n' t you ? And it ' s something I will not do. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 65 ' ' When are you coming over, Mrs. Green ? You ought to come of ner — I think it 's right mean. I 've my new machine, but I must confess I've nothing to do — I'll help on Sue's dress. "I almost forgot — have you any yeast? Of all my neighbors, you make the best. I want to get some — a cupful ' 11 do ; Now I must go — good morning to you." PART III. Solomon Smith, I do declare I ' d rather live most anywhere, Than for to live here in this place — It seems to me a real disgrace ! The Greens on one side. Browns on t' other, And always an everlasting bother ! Such neighbors as they are, I do hate ; I wish we were clean out o' the State ! I went this morning to see Mrs. Brown, (I'd rather go anywhere else in town. An' go there I would n't — you 'd not catch me Going there, if I could help it — you ' d see ! ) I was there a few minutes, perhaps fifteen : The whole time 't was nothing but Green, Green, Green ! And when she found my machine had come. She talked like she ' d make my house her home. She do that ! why, it ' s nonsense complete ! I ' d throw my machine right out in the street, Before I 'd have such a woman about ! Such folks do worry mj life nearly out. 66 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. And then there ' s Greens, the low-down trash ! (Smith, I do n't want to say anything rash,) This e' ening I went there to get some yeast, (I'd no wish to go there, none in the least ! ) Dick Drew ' s going to marry their Sue ; The Lord pity them, for what they ' 11 do Is more 'n I can tell — but I was going T' say, they want t' come here to do her sewing ! I wish we ' d never bought that machine : Brown on one side, on the other Green ; Each thinks I bought it for their ' special use — Just to think o' it even, gives me the blues ! There is one thing, Smith, I want to know : Ho-Q^ long you expect things to go on so? For if you think always, upon my life. It won't be long till you '11 have no wife. Perhaps, t' the reader, 't would be of interest. To know that long since, Smith had undressed ; An' while Mrs. Smith her neighbors was scoring. For th' last half-hour Smith had been snoring. BLUING. Th' wind doth whistle through the keyhole, And the sky ' s a gloomy gray ; Everything appears to cross me, Evil feelings seem to toss me. Things go wrong the live-long day. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 67 Heavy-hearted, why should I be ? Tho' the weather make me glum, Why should I be filled with sadness? Why not full of joy and gladness — Take the world as it may come? There are many days in winter. Whereon the sun refuse to shine ; But because of clouds above us, God does not refuse to love us : We are still his care divine. Hope bears up. The sun to-morrow May in all his splendor rise ; Showing earth in all its beauty. Showing me my simple duty — T' do and love, not criticise. Every day that cometh to us Hath its sorrow and its joy ; They are golden jewels lent us ; Let detraction not prevent us, Nor our faith in Qod destroy. THE FIRST FROST. The frost has come, and autumn reigns The crowning time 's October ; The wailing wind and dropping leaves Beget a feeling sober. When ice is found within the tubs Left out behind the kitchen. The green tomato drops its head — Ditto the climbing liclien. 68 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. The pumpkins now to market come, And fowls, both dead and living ; The husking bees begin to hum. And people talk Thanksgiving. The bearded turkeys roost up high — If any tree there groweth — The time will come when thej must die, And go as turkey goeth. The sweet potato shrinks away. For fear of Jack Frost' s fingers ; The tinge of winter ' s in the air. Reminding him who lingers. The busy housewife hunts the hose, And undergarments woolen ; The skunks forego their night' s repose, 'Round poultry houses foolin'. The ripe, red apple droppeth down. The russet and the golden ; ■ The printer maketh his demand. The same as times "ye olden." The hunter hunts the hidden quail. The pheasant and the chicken ; The law with him doth not prevail. Unless his steps to quicken. And everything, as I have said. Makes one feel mighty sober ; And doubly so in Kansas, when First frost comes in October. The withered grass, and leaves all sear. Bid farewell to the summer, And we must dress and glad appear. To welcome the new comer. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 69 Come on, je frosts and icy hosts, Unfold your cooling banners ; We '11 show you how we welcome you. And show you no ill manners. Come, pinch our nose, and bite our toes. Just come and be one of us ; We '11 make you feel at hom^ just so You cannot help but love us. ADVICE FREE: TAKE ONE. I NEVER like to hear folks say That times ain't like they were one day ; An' settin' round in sad suspense, A-blamin' all on Providence. This \yorld will turn on just the same As it was turnin' when you came ; 'T will never know it when you leave, An' mighty few will stop to grieve. Most men do n' t like to know how small They really are on this dirt ball ; Their first gf-eat day is when they see How insignificant they be. Go stick your finger in the creek. An' try to find the hole next week ; You ' 11 get an idee of a fact. An' learn to better think an' act. 70 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. You '11 never make a worse mistake, Than when you think the earth will shake Each time you tramp around on it, Like a fly upon a bonnet ; The face beneath it may be fair. An' never know the insect ' s there. So do n' t you try to win a crown, By tryin' to turn things upside-down. Many a man has lost his grip, By lettin' his occasion slip ; Lookin' for great things, let the small Go by him, so got nothin' at all. Don' fool yourself ; take what you can. As others do, and be a man ; Do n't blame no one for what you do. But pull right on, an' you ' 11 get through. SOME HORNED CATTLE. If I see a ma^ strutting along the street. And glancing with scorn at the ones he may meet ; With a mien that is haughty, a high silk hat. And clothes that are faultless — I do not fault that — An ancient adage will quickly come ; My father would say. In his homely way, ' ' Cows wear long horns a good way from home. ' ' PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 71 If I hear a man telling a doubtful tale Of something that happened to him on the trail, While he was a hunter, I b'lieve what I please, Tho' he tell it so earnest, with ap' rent ease ; The old-time adage will quickly come : My father would say, In his homely way, ' ' Cows wear long horns a good way from home. ' ' When I hear a man telling how much he 's worth — You ' d think to b' lieve him, that he owned the whole earth ; He has houses and lands, and cattle and sheep ; Do n' t b' lieve all he tells you ; such stories will keep. Father's old proverb will quickly come. And as he would say. In his homely way, ''Cows wear long horns a good way from home. When I hear a fop boast o' er hearts he has broke. O'er vict'ries he won at one masterful stroke; O' er fortunes he made, and o' er fortunes he lost ; I lay this to one side, nor look at the cost ; Do what I will, the adage will come : As father would say. In his homely way, "Cows wear long horns a good way from home. When I hear a man boast what he gives the church, (He leaves out the friend that he left in the lurch,) He tells the amount to the heathen he sent, (He may have come by it by charging high rent,) I set him down there in one small sum. Like father would say, In his homely way, "Cows wear long horns a good way from home.' ?? ?5 72 PRAIRIE S^LOWERS. The habit ' s grown on me, and where, how, or when, I oft apply it to the study of men ; Tho' sometimes mistaken, 't is not a bad plan To carry a measure to measure each man. You ' 11 find this true wherever you roam : As father would say, In his homely way, "Cows wear long horns a good way from home." WHEN COYOTES FLEE. When coyotes flee, and wild-cats hide, And wind blows cold by th' river-side ; When stars look down on th' world below, On frost almost as white as snow ; And th' comet points the milky-way, I love to rise betimes and read — Ponder and read, till comes the day — This hour to me is sweet, indeed ! When cows and sheep begin to shake, And look for daylight soon to break ; When th' rumbling wheel at th' mill is heard Go round and round, no whit deterred By roaming beast nor night-wind cold ; The miller attends his measure In mill alone — I read of bold. Bold knight,^ and his lady's pleasure. ♦Tennyson's King Arthur. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 73 EVENING. The sun sinketh low, The evening winds blow, The sweet waters flow ; The night-hawk doth scour O ' er the plain, where the flower Blooms sweet by the hour ; The dark clouds gather. Denoting bad weather Ere long. On heather The dew is fast falling, The cows are all bawling. While th' milkmaid is calling Them home. Night is coming. The insects are humming — In my ears they 're drumming E'en now. Homeward going, The breeze is still blowing. The waters still flowing ; The night-hawk goes swooping O ' er flowers not drooping. As t' pluck them I ' m stooping ; The clouds rising higher ; Like a ball of red fire Sinks the sun in his ire. Fast receding the light, And the mantle of night Throws a shade o'er the sight Of day — as though 't were a pall That was spread over all • The wide earth like a caul. —6 74 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. WORK vs. HOPE. "Work on, work ou, Work wears the world away ; Hope when to-morrow comes, But work to-day. "Work on, work on, Work brings its own relief ; He who most idle is Hath most of grief." — Ironquill. WoKK on, hope on, To-day as well ' s to-morrow ; Work without hope Bringeth naught but sorrow. Work on, hope on, Life is no sinecure ; Who works hopeless Hath the most to endure. ' THE OLD MILL-PON'. The warrior sings about his fights, The statesman of his speeches ; The women prate about their rights. The minister, he preaches ! Each one, they put their toggin' on. With its peculiar trimmin' : So I will sing ' ' the old mill-pon' , ' ' I used to go in swimmin' ! PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 75 I oft hear people talk of joys, -' Of happiness supernal ; Compared with which, I think we boys Could fairly overturn all. For what cared we, if we could be Upon its shores by wishin' ; A-rollin' in its sand, you see — A swimmin' go, or fishin'? There was one spot, more favored far Than any on its borders. We lads could meet, sans peace or war, To wait for strippin' "orders. Just hear the plug ! the plash ! ker-chug ! The random fits of chaffin' : See water spurting from yon "mug," What hollerin' and laughin' ! A motley crowd, as you could get In all th^t land together : They seemed to like it, dry or wet, Or any kind o' weather. They ' d seize upon some old batteau. There moored among the bushes : One catches up the oars, jus' so, Another swims an' pushes : And such another time they have ! All from it jumpin', divin' ; Except, perhaps, some quiet knave, Who mischief is connivin' : Perchance, some fellow' s- clothes to steal, Or else to throw some dirt on : He ' s just as slip' ry as an eel, Before he gets his shirt on. 76 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. There was a stately growth of pines, That grew about the Ian din' ; The ground was thickly strewn with spines — A carpet prone or standin' . And many a Sunday I have stole, Instead of goin' to meetin' , Out there to that old bathin' - hole, An' done without my eatin'. The L — d forgi' me for the sin — If sin you want to call it — I hardly think it ' s counted in : ' T aint fair to overhaul it. If no account was kept up there, Most surely I ' m* not kickin' ; To be o'erpunished is not fair — Already got one lickin' ! Close by this place, there ^tood a dam, By it a grist- and saw-mill; Of beauty naked as a clam. An' humped up like a camel. A waste-gate stood between the two, Which was forever leakin' ; And when both mills were goin' , whew ! What rumblin' , roarin, creakin' ! I tell -you this, so you may know The beginnin' and end on 't : ■ Tho' this was twenty years ago, It's true, you may depend on't. But now those mills have rotted, gone ; The waste-gate ' s in the dark hole : They've long since cut the pine-trees down, And burned them into charcoal. PRAIRIE FLOWER 8. 77 That swimmin' - spot ' s no longer seen, The water's ta'en the channel; And corn-fields now are growing green, Where once we shed our flannel. And all those lads! oh! where are they. Who went on those excursions ? — In fishing, swimming, or in play. Had part in those diversions ? I 've just a mind to call the roll, An' see how many 's livin'. That used to meet around that hole We used to swim and dive in. There 's Jo, the short, an' Pete, the tall; An' Bert, an' Bill — the sinner; (With him, I mostly, if at all. Went home an' got my dinner.) And then I had a brother, G., Who went, without my wishin' ; Then there was Ab., and Peter C. — No better boys for fishin'. And several others I 've forgot, Tho' knew them well on one day, That used to gather on that spot On Saturday or Sunday. They 've scattered far — and some, maybe — Have passed beyond earth' s limit ; Some linger still, new sights to see, Tho' age somewhat may dim it. But for all this, I find a joy, Exceedingly amazin' In that old mill-pon', while a boy, I spent so many days in. 78 PRAIBIE FLOWERS. And while I sing its memories, The fact is not surprisin', That old-time scenes before my eyes Are constantly uprisin'. Tho' some may scoff, and say my time Is worse than wasted, rhymin' ; To praise a mill-pond, is no crime, Nor going in a-swimmin' . [Note.— The above sketch is true in the main. The place referred to is located in Sussex county, Delaware, and known as "Rest's Old Mill." The characters are real, and all of them are living, so far as I know. — J. w. b.] I ONCE DID KNOW A LASS. I ONCE did know a lass, When I was in my teens ; For beauty and for grace, Oh, she was queen of queens ! I once did court a lass, I loved her like a slave ; But when her hand I asked. My hand she would not have ! I once did vow, a lass No more I ' d ever love ; But time has brought to pass That vows do falsely prove! I now think on a lass, But not that one of yore ; That boy-love all did pass — 'T is gone to come no more ! PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 79 I wedded a kind lass Who pity took on me ; And now 't is come to pass I ' ve a big f am-i-1 j ! SPRING. Spring, gentle Spring ! what a misnomer ! We haste to greet the tardy comer ; And slyly mark she is a " hummer, ' ' Since she is here ; And note she 's just prior to summer, The fussy dear ! In spring, there 's mud and slush and '' sich" ; And water flows in every ditch : God helps the poor as well ' s the rich, Who help themselves ; But has no favors for them, which Take to the shelves. In spring, no ice of winter 's seen ; The grass puts on her velvet green. And trees burst out in leafy sheen, To greet the eye ; And all the earth looks neat and clean To passers-by. In spring, the brooklets faster run ; The river meets them, half in fun. To think their task, so well begun. May end so soon ; Together mix, and sing the sun A merry croon. 80 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 'Tis Spring, who brings with her the flowers, The gusty winds, and dashing showers ; An' whiles, the westling storm-cloud lowers, Wi' threatening mien, 'Tis then the boldest-hearted cowers At such a scene. In spring, the farmer plows his field, And plants, if haply it may yield A bounteous crop, his home to shield From woe and want ; He knows the breast of avarice ' s steeled, And mercy ' s scant. In spring, the crows, in glossy black, Are cawing forth from tree to stack, And waiting, when the farmer's back Is turned, to steal ; Alas for them ! the shot-gun's crack Makes them to reel. In spring, the birds build nests again. To shield their young from want and pain ; They bide the bitter, pelting rain. And storms that come. To raise young birdlets, maybe slain To deck a home ! In spring, the poor much happier look ; The minnows happier swim the brook ; The shepherd happier swings his crook Among the sheep ; And flowers bloom in every nook. And grassy steep. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 81 Spring, thou art a fickle dame ! No two days, scarce, art thou the same ; Yet poets pet and praise thy name. And always will ; That race are much like thee, I claim. More changing still ! But, Spring, thou art a friend of mine ; Tho' thou art decked in flowers fine, 1 like to have companions shine, And so propone To here invite you out to dine With me alone ! So, Spring, you come, and you and me Will have a time ; and you shall see You have a friend who '11 stick to thee Thro' thin and thick : Spring and her poet on a spree — Or I ' m a brick ! PATTY CANNON'S MONUMENT. They 've razed an ancient monument. They ' ve torn it all away ; •Georgetown's own relic, pointing back To Patty Cannon's day. They 've razed this ancient monument, /Unique in Delaware, Tradition placed o'er Patty's bones They say are lying there. 82 PBAIBIE FLOWERS. This ancient landmark long hath stood ; 'Twas Georgetown's boast and pride Her jail once held this wicked dame — ' T was here that Patt j died. "Who was this Pattj Cannon, pray?" Methinks I hear one ask. To tell of all her wickedness Would be an awful task. Suffice to say, that Patty dealt In human flesh and blood ; And many crimes were laid to her That ne'er '11 be understood. She lived in times when human life Was counted merchandise ; If Afric blood but tinged the vein — Enough in Patty' s eyes ! This Patty kidnapped many blacks And shipped them, bound, away To slave and die in southern fields — In Patty Cannon's day. She lived — and died in wickedness In Georgetown jail, alone ; And then they built a monument, And now they 've torn it down ! Her grave unknown, her memory lives - She hath undying fame ; For men still shudder when they think Of Patty Cannon's name. PRAIRIE FLOWERS, 83 Her grave unknown : in after-times, A theme for future lays, The unborn poet yet may sing Of Patty Cannon's days. [ Note.— Patty Cannon was a famous kidnapper, who lived in the earlier part of this century. "Gath" (George Alfred Townsend) has written a book, The Entailed Hat, in which she is the central figure. The mention of her name, fifty years ago, to a Delaware child, would cause a shudder.] RESTLESSNESS. Alone sitting, With thoughts flitting, And none fitting My mind. Former striving. With naught thriving, Present living — Poverty. Unfortunate ! Importunate ! World obstinate ; I endure. Life is wearing. Love endearing, Labor clearing Duty's path. But, time curing, Not alluring. Age immuring — Bearing pain. Folly raideth, Pleasure fadeth, Mem'ry aideth My shame. Yet, truth growing. The past knowing. Future showing — Parallel. Tho' oft grieving, Aid receiving, Well believing Gives strength. And no pleasure Affords leisure ; A great treasure Is work. 84 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. ' WINTER. Old Winter, thou art here ! December Introduces thee, and I am told Thou wearest a long beard, and art old And gray, if rightly I remember. They say thy locks are full of ice. And blue and peaked is thy nose ; And on thy cheeks are pearls froze. That ' scaped down from thine eyes. Wrapped in a cloak, close to thy chin, Thou comest prepar' d for sleet and snow ; And fearest not tho' Boreas blow — Forcing himself unwelcomed within Poor-warmed dwellings of poverty : But didst thou cause their misery? TO IRONQUILL. Ho ! Ironquill ! friend Ironquill, Why do n' t you start your rhyming mill ? How can you keep the old thing still, I ' d like to know ? ^ And, if the water ran up hill, I ' d make her go. I have not seen a strain of rhyme Fresh from your pen for this long time ; I '11 wage a nickel 'gainst a dime. You ' re thinkin' strong ; And ere we think, you '11 make us climb, To hear your song. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 85 As Burns once said, we 're stringin' verse : That 's bad enough, but might be worse ; Though 't puts no penny in our purse, We scribble on ; We '11 ne'er abuse so kind a nurse — And be alone. You ' re, maybe, overhead in law, (For other folks,) a dull old saw You 're used to drawing — yea, you draw ^Quite well, I s'pose; (But flattery is not worth a straw. As one well knows.) I like your ' ' Washerwoman' s Song ' ' ; •Kriterion's" measures glide along With cadence sweet — with thought so strong. It shows the will ; I think, my friend, you do us wrongs Py keeping still. I trust you will Pegasus stride. And, cut the rope wherewith he 's tied. Give the old nag a lick, and ride To win new bays. Away up steep Parnassus' side These latter days ! The wildest flowers oft may bring The sweetest scent at christening ; The shooting star sometimes may fling A radiant light ; The bird, untaught, may often wing The grandest flight ! 86 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Friend Ironquill, ring out jour lay, And help us sing of later day ; Tune up your harp and give it sway, And strike it soon ; Give us your merriest roundelay — A Kansas rune ! A JAIL-BIRD'S STORY. »Mr. Jailee, if you ' 11 listen, I ' d like for you to know I was not always this way, sir — I could bring proofs to show ; I never used to smoke nor drink, nor play a game o' cards — ]S^ot one of these, while mother lived — I learned them aft- erwards. I had a mother — she was good, and proud of me, her son ; I loved her better 'n all the world 'n' everything else in one. My father, he was cold to us, a close and silent man ; . He did not seem to comprehend the children-loving plan. I really was afraid of him ; he did not seem to know That children need caressing some, to make them loving grow. His bus'ness may have pressed him, true, but that should ne'er prevent The father loving his own child, that Heaven to him has sent. But, bye and bye, my mother died — it seemed my light went out ; The saddest blow of all my life, it ' s proved to me, no doubt. My life was all wrapped up in her, when she was laid away ; Tho' I ' d my father left to me, I did not care to stay. PRAIRIE FLOWERS. 87 But when the frenzy of my grief had burned its fuel out, I had n' t a single aim in life to set myself about. I walked the streets from day to day, I cared not where or when ; And night was same as day to me — I had no choice of men. My father may have loved me, yes, but could not sympathize With my torn heart ; he did not know the hunger in my eyes. I tried to get away from grief ; it followed me alway. Haunting my sleepless couch at night, and walked with me by day. I was not poor, as money goes — I did not lack for means ; I thought to leave my place of grief, and look on other scenes. My father did not seem to care if I should go or stay ; He let me go and come at will, in good or evil way. 1 fear that is the way, too oft, that many fathers do : The home should be the happiest spot the children can come to. I do not think they should be left like cattle in a wood ; They 're more than like to browse the bad, and never touch the good. I left the town — I wandered far, to a city o' the west. Where life is lived in all its forms — the worst as well as best ; Where all is bustle and hurrah ; where men and women live. Professing all in life that 's good, and wickedness can give. 88 PRAIRIE FLOWERS. Where vice and virtue, side by side, by circumstances brought, Are often seen ; I do not b'lieve that virtue's better taught. I do not b'lieve great cities are the better place to go To get a start ; young folks will learn much they should never know. I know that to my sorrow. I soon found the ways of sin ; The doors were open, temptingly, to lure a fellow in. 'T is not so hard to go down hill, as it is to go up, If one shuns no temptation, still helped by the damning cup. The gilded palaces of hell put on aspects to please ; And much goes for appearances, for sin would have her ease. How much, we know not, till we've plucked the Dead-Sea fruit of gall ; Then its full bitterness is felt, and we have risked our all. I drifted on, and on, and on ; and down, and down, and down ; I sought the hardest forms of sin, the lowest dens in town. I chose companions for no good that they might do to me ; I did not care for morals, nor for right or equity. I had no use for Church nor State, except to hate their laws ; My finer qualities grew coarse, I swore without a cause. My conscience seared, I deeper drank, and smoked till rea- son reeled. 'Tween alcohol and nicotine, it seemed my doom was sealed. PBAIBIE FLO WEBS. 89 It was not l