»^^mTf *!\''^'S-$S$^^ t'^^'^'i" ^'^^ Class ^^^^> ri" ()opyright]^°. ''^/^ CflPyRlGHT DEPOSIT. Pioneer and Other Poems By Wellman L. Wolcott ^^ Columbus The Fornshell Printing Company 1912 0^ Copyright. 1912 By Wellman L. Wolcott All rights reserved ©CI.A330497 ^ TO A FRIEND. On yon majestic mountain peak, the rising sun First sheds a flood of his effulgent light, And illumes its lofty brow until the day is done. Still loath to bid his favorite good-night. When in the magic presence of some lofty mind, I, too, would linger long just like the sun. For those grand souls, above the level of mankind, Stand out like mountain peaks, — and yours is one ! Pithout excuse or apology, but merely a word of explanation, this little waif is launched upon that literary sea where many a frail craft has been wrecked on account of its unseaworthiness, or submerged by adverse criticism. Several years ago, Colonel William A. Taylor paid the writer a high compliment by requesting the privi- lege of incorporating one of his poems in a comprehen- sive history of Ohio, which the Colonel was writing at that time. He also claimed that, as the poem was a tribute to the Pioneers of Ohio, it should be placed among the permanent archives of the state. On ac- count of the Colonel's death, however, the history was never completed. Therefore, through respect for his memory, and, also, in order to show his appreciation of the many favorable comments, and kind words of en- couragement of numerous friends, the author has finally yielded to their solicitation to publish this little volume. He cares not for the strictures emanating from self- appointed critics, who, at the expense of others, seek to impress the public with their own (imaginary) genius ; while, on the other hand, he is aware of the fact that one's friends are ofttimes apt to "temper justice with mercy" to a greater extent than the facts justify, and, in consequence, render a more favorable verdict than could be expected from a disinterested public. However, if he has succeeded in approaching any- [Page Hvel where near the standard set for him by those friends, and if the reading of these lines afforded them as much pleasure as the writing of them has the author, then this little volume will have succeeded in accom- plishing the purpose for which it was intended by THE AUTHOR. [Page six] CONTENTS. Page Morning -------------- " Tribute to An Old Pioneer --------- 10 Pat's Retreat - ------------ 12 America's Appeal ------------ 1j Ohio --------------- 16 The Home of My Childhood, Ohio ------- 20 The Old Pioneer ------------ 21 O, That Parody! ------------ 24 The Poet and His Moods --------- 26 Paul Lawrence Dunbar ----------28 Sunbeam --------------29 In Reply to Mrs. Browning's "How I Love Thee" - - - 31 Abram Konaos or The Hero of the Potter's Field - - - 2,2 The Rock of Ages - - - ------ 36 Friendship ------------- o/ Have You Thought? ----------- 38 Peruna --------------40 I've Been Retrospectin', Mandy --------43 Our Fathers -------------50 "If A Body Meet a Body" --------- 51 "Home, Sweet Home," on the Rappahannock - - - - 52 The Belle of Long Ago ---------- 55 Sonnet to Cleveland, Ohio ---------58 Lines on Reading "Joyous June in New York" - - - - 59 Athens -------------- 61 The Passing of the "Hello Girl" -------- 65 Take the Flags ------------ 68 Human Vultures ------------69 The Queen of Frenzied Finance -------- 7\ Civic Ungodliness ----------- 7A Lines on Reading Mrs. Clark's "Winter Lingers in the Lap of Spring" _.---80 We're Comin', Father Abraham --------81 The Auto Girl ------------ 84 Dean Bond -------------86 Tom and Jerry ------------89 The Auto Scorcher ----------- 94 Turnin' Pictures to the Wall -------- 96 'Taint Tainted Any Longer ---------99 Skippers — A Romance ---------- 102 MORNING. As the shadows fade away And the golden sunbeams play 'Mong the bright and shimmering dew-drops at the dawning of the day ; And a flood of orient light Dissipates the gloom of night, Then the grandeur of the moment thrills the soul with fond delight. Then each feathered songster wings Through the azure blue, and sings Till the air, with vibrant echoes of the merry chorus, rings With a tribute to the morn, And each slumberer is warned That his Majesty has risen, and another day is born. When the Monarch of the day Starts upon his heavenly way, With his bright and radiant splendor gleaming from each dazzling ray ; Nature then, with charming grace, Greets him with a smiling face, Flushed and crimsoned by the ardor of his rapturous embrace. [Page nine] While, with gladness, we behold All her lovely charms unfold, As her rare and matchless beauty sparkles 'neath a sheen of gold. And, forgetting every care. We, with gracious Nature, share In the blessings fair Aurora sheds about us everywhere. TRIBUTE TO AN OLD PIONEER. On yonder cliff, the Armstrong villa stands, And casts it's shadow o'er the near-by glen, Where dwells the owner of surrounding lands, A man revered by all his fellow-men. A king is he, of nature's fair domain, Crowned by her hand, and also by her blest ; At yon fair villa he delights to reign. The place of all the earth he loves the best. There he has lived for more than eighty years, Where first his eyes beheld the light of day. And where in turn, they oft shed bitter tears For those — his loved ones — who have passed away. There, with his only daughter good and kind. He lives "The Simple Life" of glad content, With naught to worry or perplex the mind. While rounding out the life thus nobly spent. [Page ten] How well he loves that splendid rural home, Where every act, and thought with nature blends ; He seldom does — nor ever cares to roam, But is content there always with his friends. In selfish strife, he never has engaged. Nor sought the conquest of his fellow-man, For all the battles that he ever waged. Have all been fought upon a peaceful plan. But life's fierce battle he has fought and won. He never yielded — never knew defeat ; And never halted, till the work was done, That made his triumph sure and quite complete. The sturdy oak bowed humbly to his will ; The forest yielded to his honest toil ; The virgin soil he loves so well to till. Has rendered up to him, her richest spoil. And now in honored age he is endowed. With peace and plenty, all that he desired ; For those false baubles of the rich and proud. Are things to which he never has aspired. Nor has he sought vain glory, pomp, or power — All useless toys, for which he did not care. Nor craved to be "the lion of the hour," Nor was he caught in fame's delusive snare ; [Page eleven] Yet, stately monarch ne'er felt greater pride, For victories won on bloody fields of strife, Than does this Hero of the Hamlet Side, For those achieved in honest, peaceful life. PAT'S RETREAT. With deafening shout, that fatal day. They rushed pell-mell into the fray, Where many a hero fighting fell — Where war, as Sherman said, was — well They charged the foe who bravely stand And struggle with them hand to hand And, rooted firmly as a rock. With dauntless courage, brave the shock Of battle as it rages round, Till distant hills and vales resound With deaf 'ning echoes of the crash. As cannon roar and sabers clash, Until the field is drenched with blood — The living scattered by the flood Of carnage as it ebbs and flows Alike engulfing friends and foes. Now Pat, alone, with might and main, Like brave Achilles sweeps the plain, His comrades scattered — some have fled, While some are wounded, others dead ; [Page twelve] While he, with each Titanic thrust, Is stretching foemen in the dust. And earning meeds of praise and glory — But hark ! he halts and shouts "begorry, And here is Mike! Why are ye here?" Mike answers : '"Take me to the rear." Stretched out full length upon the ground With battle wreckage scattered round — With dead and dying everywhere, Pat found his comrade lying there. He said to him : "Why to the rear When we are sorely needed here? You may retrate but I shall stay And help our brave bies win the day." "Oh Pat, don't lave me to me fate. Me leg's shot off, I can't retrate !" Thus pleaded Mike : then, with a bound, Pat reached his side and, from the ground, He raised and, o'er his shoulder flung His wounded comrade, where he hung While, swiftly, like a startled deer. Our hero bounded toward the rear. And through a storm of leaden hail He bore his burden o'er the trail That war had blazed. But as he fled A cannon-ball tore off Mike's head. [Page thirteen] Still on Pat speeds unmindful, quite, Of what had happened in his flight. Until an ofificer appears. And with his sprinting interferes, By halting him, and asking why He's moving toward the rear so spry. "It's to a place of safety that I'm after carrying Mike," said Pat. "His head's shot off," the captain said, "Why all this haste since he is dead?" Then, like a flash, Pat whirled around And flinging Mike upon the ground, Gazed mutely at him in surprise With anger flashing from his eyes. Then with an air of injured pride He said : "Your honor, Michael lied. Sure his head's shot off, sir, but indade The schpalpeen told me 'twas his leg." [Page fourteen] AMERICA'S APPEAL. (Written in behalf of Mrs. Angelina Napolitano, the Canadian woman, who killed her husband for trying to force her into a life of shame.) The world into a great tribunal has Resolved itself, and, sitting in review, Has weighed the evidence impartially, And. in a spirit of humanity, Condones the act of that poor friendless one Whose doom is fixed, and by the law's decree Must suffer death. But hark ! From every land And home, that honors virtuous womanhood, The verdict thunders forth. A thousand times Ten thousand voices shout : "For shame ! For shame !" While myriad sisters plead on bended knees, And supplicate the throne of grace to stay This martyrdom in virtue's holy cause. The blow that laid a monster low was struck In self-defense ! An anguished mother struck To shield her young ! A woman, frenzied by A perjured wretch, who solemnly had sworn To cherish and protect, was forced to strike And save a virtuous woman's sceptre of Sovereignty from wanton sacrilege And loathsome barter. And now, with one accord. The great and good — the poor and lowly ones Of earth all earnestly believe, that while [Page Sfteenl The majesty of law must be upheld — The bulwarks of society preserved, Yet Justice should not be perverted thus, Nor Mercy thrust aside by arrogance. O, Canada! Just Canada! Our friend And honored neighbor of the North, aye, more Than friend, our kindred of a common race. Bound by ancestral ties and lineage, To thee America, In Mercy's name. Respectfully appeals for clemency. OHIO. Among "Old Glory's" radiant stars Which, in their luster gleam afar. And dazzle with their heaven-born light. There beams a bright effulgent star. And by its rare transcendent light That pierces through the gloom of night, We search the glorious page of fame And find inscribed the magic name — OHIO. The Goddess of sweet liberty Who chose Columbia as her home. Unfurled her standard to the breeze From freedom's bright and lofty dome. [Page sixteen] And early on the following morn The Child of Destiny was born, And then her eye with rapture lit, And she beheld them christen it, OHIO. The Child has grown in strength and power Until her grandeur and renown Have won for her a nobler meed Then scepter, throne, or queenly crown ; While countless millions far and near Have marveled at her grand career, And, warmed by her celestial fire, Have learned to honor, and admire OHIO. The imperial diadem of state That rests upon her regal brow, Is equaled by her natural charms Before which all beholders bow ; For, when the kind and gracious Fates Sought, from among our sovereign states, To favor one with faultless pose. Without dissenting voice, they chose OHIO. And now with rapture, we behold A stately Matron, young and fair, Whose children are the nation's pride, Revered and honored everywhere ; [Page seventeen] Her valiant sons on land and sea Have borne the banner of the free, And stood, where only heroes stand, And fought for country, freedom and OHIO. And when her sisters of the South From virtue's path had blindly strolled. The sorrowing nation sought in vain To bring them back into the fold ; The eagle's wings dropped in despair Until at last he rose in air With hope renewed, and heavenward soared And then in triumph beckoned toward OHIO. Then glancing o'er her fair domain, The Nation sought and quickly chose Her chieftains from Ohio's sons. Who vanquished all her deadly foes ; And, as the smoke of battle clears, And strife and hatred disappears. With joy, we see each sister state Strive with her might, to emulate OHIO. Not only on the field of strife. But every place, where duty claims The service of a master hand. Her sons have won illustrious names, [Page eighteen] And fixed them high on honor's roll, And all who pause to read the scroll, Extol their deeds in peace and war While winning fame and glory for OHIO. Blest mother of a mighty race, Nor intervening years, nor space. Nor joy, nor sorrow can efface The memory of thee and thine! If, on some dark and distant day, Thy majesty shall pass away — Thy grandeur crumble to decay, And all thy might and power decline, Thy glory, like a beacon light That warns the mariner at night. Will guide the wanderer aright. And lead him to a sacred shrine ! Inspired by dreams of other days, He'll read the names of Grant and Hayes, McKinley, Garfield, and the rest. Engraved beneath the name of blest OHIO. [Page nineteen] THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD, OHIO. There's a sweetheart of my childhood That I long to see once more, And I'm going back to see her Ere my wandering is o'er, For the flame of love she kindled Early in my youthful breast, Will remain forever burning 'Till I'm laid away to rest. Chorus. I'm going back to meet her, For I long for nothing sweeter Than to meet her, and to greet her As in those happy childhood days of long ago ; Ohio ! Ohio ! 'tis thee I'm wishing and longing to see, For there's no other place in this wide world for me, Like the home of my childhood, Ohio ! Through her fairy dells I've wandered — Waded in her crystal brooks ; With the fond delight of childhood I have sought her shady nooks, O'er her wooded slopes I've rambled. Searching for the flowers of May, And I've sported in her meadows. Scented by the new mown hay. [Page twenty] Sweet the memory of those moments When the world to me was new, Fair and beautiful as Eden, Everybody just and true, And when wearied by the labor Of the strife for wealth and fame, I am longing for those moments Of my childhood days again. THE OLD PIONEER. (As read at the annual reunion of the Franklin County Pioneer Association at Westerville, August 13, 1908.) Who is it in every great contest in life. Marching on in advance, bears the brunt of the strife, With the stride of a hero, undaunted and brave, Who never has quailed like a coward or slave, Who never retreats till the battle is won, But works with a will till the work is all done, And sweeps all before him, and leaves the track clear For those who come after? 'Tis the Old Pioneer! Who was it that came from his home in the East, And braved every peril of savage and beast, As he trailed through the wilderness long weary miles, And planting our flag in the far western wilds. Established an Empire, great, glorious and free. That insures every comfort for you and for me? Around his rude hut on the lonely frontier, That Empire was rearer by the Old Pioneer. [Page twenty-one] Who cleared up the forest and then tilled the farm, And toughened his sinews, and strengthen his arm, And joined in each conflict, and led in the fight, In battling for country, for honor and right ? Who was it whose industry, courage and brains. Had conquered our mountains, our valleys and plains And caused them to blossom before we were here? I think you'll admit 'twas the Old Pioneer ! Whenever in office he's honest and just, He's true to his country, and true to his trust. He's not in the habit, by cunning and craft. Of filling his pockets with boodle and graft, But you always will find him obeying the laws, And contenting himself with the stipend he draws. His conscience is clear — he has nothing to fear, This noble old veteran — this Old Pioneer ! His mind is not filled with remorse nor regret ; He never has smoked the accursed cigaret. Nor posed as a masher, nor practiced his wiles, And disgusted good people with soft silly smiles ; Throughout his long life, he has made it a rule To live like a man and not act like a fool ; And if you want to know, of all men who's the peer, I'll tell you right now, he's the Old Pioneer ! [Page twenty-two] He never has cared about style or great wealth, But was thankful for plenty, for comfort and health. In the middle, he never has parted his hair, Nor bothered his brains about what he should wear, But whatever he wears, if it's not extra slick. You can bet your last cent, 'twas not purchased on tick, And his clothes whether cheap ones or whether they're dear, Have been paid for in cash, by the Old Pioneer. Be patient a moment for I want to show A woman whose cake is never all dough. Whose bread never burns, and whose biscuits will rise And who knows what to do when she wants to make pies. Who can manage the dairy and make decent butter, And do all the work while the young women splutter, Who ne'er powders nor paints, drinks champagne nor beer — I think you have guessed, it's the Old Pioneer. She's up in the morning ahead of the sun, And as soon as she's up, her day's work is begun ; She does not indorse the "new woman" ideas. Nor spend all her time in attending pink teas ; She's modest in dress, and she thinks it cjuite wrong To wear bathing skirts less than twelve inches long ; She's a woman of honor and holds virtue dear. She's the pride of our nation, this Old Pioneer! [Page twenty-three] When rebellion arose like a huge tidal wave And swept o'er the land, she also was brave ; She said to her husband — she said to her sons : "Go fight for your country — go shoulder your guns, And join in the conflict, let this be your cry, I'll save our blest Union, I'll conquer or die." She was willing to sacrifice all that's most dear — This noblest of matrons — this Old Pioneer. She watched o'er her children, from the day of their birth. And made of our homes the best homes upon earth ; She's wonderful proud, like Cornelia of Rome, Of her most precious jewels — her children and home. She has reared noble sons and fine daughters as well, But I have a secret I now wish to tell To the younger ones present, who chance to be here. We owe a great debt to the Old Pioneer. O, THAT PARODY! One evening last week while the paper perusing, I happened to notice some lines that were queer ; I said to my wife — here is something amusing. Just listen a moment — I'll read it, my dear; It seems that a talented Westerville poet, A genius unknown and undreamed of before, [Page twenty-lour] Quite lately decided to let the world know it By kicking the bucket with a mighty uproar — A tumultous uproar about an old strap — His father's old strap, that hangs by the door. He claims from that strap he has gained all his knowledge, His wisdom, his manhood, and such things as those; 'Twas neither from books, from a tutor nor college, But from that old strap his great genius arose, And often when young with his father's assistance ; He rose with his genius some two feet or more, Whenever the old gent, with dogged persistence. Was wielding that old strap that hangs by the door. That uplifting old strap, that swish-swashing old strap — His father's old strap, that hangs by the door. He wrote a great parody — yes, it was great, and The like of it neer was heard of nor seen; He called it "The Old Oaken Bucket to Date," and It told of that wonderful spanking machine ; And when I had read it, she said, "What a pity The strap wasn't used by his father much more ; The old oaken bucket — that time-honored ditty — Might then have escaped that terrific uproar — That tumultous uproar about the old strap. His father's old strap that hangs by the door." [Page twenty-Hve] THE POET AND HIS MOODS. Far up the mountain side he often chmbs, There, from afar, to view the landscape o'er. And gather inspiration for his rhymes. So that, in song, he may his soul outpour. There, with a poet's thirst for nature's charms. He feasts his eyes from early morn till eve. And ceases not until, in Morpheus' arms. He finds, at last, a respite or reprieve From joys that glad the heart, or woes that make us grieve. Great is his joy whenever joy he feels, 'Tis then his spirit steals away from earth, — The heavenly Muse, to him, the page reveals On which she keeps a record of the birth Of every soul-inspiring thought or theme That elevates the mind, or fills the heart With gratitude, and makes creation seem A paradise, reserved and set apart. Wherein the gods abide, and exercise their art. On such occasions he is most sublime. Oblivious, quite, to all but happiness ; As, in a trance, he takes no note of time, But grasps the present with a fond caress. [Page twenty-six] ^ His thoughts go soaring to the reahns above — His soul aflame with its poetic fire, And, animated by fraternal love. He cherishes, meanwhile, a great desire To benefit mankind, and all with love inspire. But mark the change when, from that blissful dream, He wakes to find that he is mortal still, And sees things as they are, not as they seem Beneath a dreamer's gaze, and magic skill To metamorphose and completely change All things within imagination's grasp. Or that perchance may come within the range Of his keen vision, and which he has clasped Within his fond embrace till stung as by an asp. 'Tis now the flood-gates of despair swing wide, His pent-up fury like a demon's rage, Goes floating forth upon the seething tide Of bitter grief that nothing can assuage. The raging hurricane when at its height, — The tempest's blast, the thunderbolt's hoarse blare, Are insignificant and calm as night Compared to what he feels when forced to bear The storm within his soul, that wreaks its vengeance there. Thus constituted as few mortals are. He suffers anguish to the last degree ; When in this mood he is more wretched, far, Than those less sensitive can ever be ; [Page twenty-seven'i But when the fury of the storm is spent, And hope once more illumes the lurid sky, His bosom heaves again with glad content, While gratitude and love beams from his eye That kindles now with joy inspired by One on high. PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR. "He sang of life, serenely sweet. With, now and then, a deeper note From some high peak, night yet remote. He voiced the world's absorbing beat." — From Dunbar's "The Poet." And thus has he, himself portrayed While musing o'er the poet's art, The secrets deep down in his heart And soul, by him were thus betrayed. His soul aflame with heavenly fire, He sang as poets only sing. With heart attuned to every string, Of his melodious lyre. He sang of joyous, mirthful days, Of happy homes, and happy hours. Of landscapes fair, of field, and flowers, And cheered us with his gladsome lays. [Page twenty-eight] But when he passed from gay to grave, And touched a sadder, sweeter note. Our spirits with him seemed to float Upon a sympathetic wave. But now, alas ! no more we'll hear His songs of joy, nor sorrowing cry, But grieve, that he so young, should die, And lay a wreath upon his bier. SUNBEAM. The sky was o'er-cast and most threatening, My spirit was mantled in gloom. While hope from my heart was departing. And all was as drear as the tomb ; 'Twas then that a ray of bright sunlight Burst forth o'er the path that I tread. And O ! how I welcomed its presence As 'round me its glories were shed. I love thee, O beautiful sunbeam ! Thy rays are so pure and so bright. You flashed on my life in its darkness, And flooded my soul with your light ; To a life that is darkened and gloomy. To a heart that is lonely and sad. There's naught like thy glorious presence Will make the despairing heart glad. [Page twenty-nine] May I bask ever more in your splendor? I ventured to ask w^ith a sigh, But the sentence had scarcely been uttered, When a shadow passed over the sky ; Then fearing that I had offended By asking for more than my share, With many regrets for my rashness, I fled from its bright presence there. But quickly regaining my courage. And seeking its presence once more, I found it was still brightly gleaming, With a brilliance as great as before ; But the earth as it turned on its axis Was chasing it swiftly away, And I knew that it shortly would vanish, And night would succeed the bright day. I watched you depart precious sunbeam. As you drifted far out of my sight. And I knew that for others, your presence Would cause day to succeed the drear night. Yes, other dark days will be brightened, And others will welcome your glow, For surely it is your blest mission. To brighten wherever you go. [Page thirty] Yes, beautiful, beautiful sunbeam ! You gladdened my heart and my home, But I made a mistake in supposing That for me you were glowing alone ; For now do I know that your mission Is to gladden the hearts of all men, So I'll patiently wait your returning. To brighten and cheer me again. IN REPLY TO MRS. BROWNING'S "HOW I LOVE THEE." Well lack-a-day ! Gewhiz ! Oh my ! Ah me ! I'm much surprised and very grateful, when I find that I, among all other men, Am your ideal, my dear, dear Mrs. B. — , And that in all the world no other he Can claim thy loving thoughts e'en now and then ; That every morn you wake to think again Of me, of me alone my dear. Oh gee! You love me in the sun and candle light. That is, before as well as after dark ; You love me all day long and through the night ; You cling to me like glue, or like the bark Of some green saplin. You thrill me with delight, And make me feel as happy as a lark. [Page thirty-one] ABRAM KONAOS or THE HERO OF THE POTTER'S FIELD. Ye proud and haughty ones ! come here and weep, Here by this potter's field, where paupers sleep ! Shed if you can, one sympathetic tear, For those poor creatures who lie buried here ! The poor forsaken, wretched ones of earth — Some never knew a moment's joy from birth, While others prospered, till by Fortune's wave. They were swept downward to a pauper's grave. Their lives so full of bitter woe and grief. From sorrow's blight, had never found relief, Until at last, delivered by their God, Their bodies here were placed beneath the sod. Did you e'er stop to think that Fate's decree Might fix the same sad doom for you and me? And at the close of life, when forced to yield, Our resting place may be the potter's field ? We cannot tell what changes may occur. How many are today what once they were ? And in the future, as time glides away, How many will be what they are today ? [Page thirty-two] There are those here whose souls, though great and grand, Had suffered blight from Fate's relentless hand, Till they, discouraged, yielding to despair, Found in their graves relief from want and care. On yonder side, beneath that mound of earth, There rests a hero, great as e'er had birth ; Most humble was his lot, and brief his days. Yet has he merited eternal praise. Two months ago his father died and left His wife and only child alone, bereft Of every friend ; he had no means to leave For those he left behind to mourn and grieve. Soon after death its hand on him had laid. Into that humble home there came a babe — Poor little lamb ! How wretched and forlorn Are those to whom you came ! Why were you born ? What joy you brought, and also sorrow, too. For those so unprepared to welcome you ! Their path was rough and strewed with thorns before, But now the wolf stands knocking at the door! The mother now, with infant at her breast. Seeks work from those who are with plenty blest, But from her sad appeal they turn away — "They wanted someone who could earn her pay." [Page thirty-three] Then little Abram, with a firm resolve, Decides — though very young — that he will solve The bitter problem of obtaining bread — "Dear mother, I'll take care of you!" he said. Out in the cold and on the wintry street, Where want and sorrow, thieves and beggars meet With wealth and luxury, with hope and joy. Went this young hero, as a "paper boy." But he was doomed to meet with poor success, And when he saw his mother's sad distress, He ate but little — much less than before In order that his mother might have more. She reasoned with him, but to no avail, Say what she would, she never could prevail On him to eat a morsel more ; yet still he strove To furnish food for those he so much loved. One day upon the street the passers-by At Abram's corner missed the childish cry Of "Paper, mister? Won't you buy one, please?" The "paper boy" was stricken with disease. He had been taken ill the night before. His poor sad mother, weary, sick and sore In mind, now clasped him in her arms, and said, "You're sick, my child ! I'll carry you to bed !" [Page thirty-four] And as he felt her tears drop on his cheek, He said to her (his voice was low and weak) : "We're very poor since father died, 'tis true, But please don't weep, for I'll take care of you." When morning dawned around that humble hearth, The spirit of her boy had fled from earth ; His lifeless little form lay on the bed — "Died of starvation !" so the doctor said. There lies the hero, in that unmarked grave, Who starved, while here on earth, that he might save For those poor helpless ones who claimed his love — Did martyr great as he e'er dwell above ? Yes, there he lies, in his eternal sleep. And o'er him there the angels sure must weep. Why, then, should you his lowly life despise When he is honored thus beyond the skies ? In yon mausoleum repose the great. The rich and haughty, who were blest by Fate, But to our love their lives have ne'er appealed As does this "Hero of the Potter's field." [Page thirty-Gve'i THE ROCK OF AGES. (Written in reference to a large tenement building that was never completed.) An oriental traveler, who is quite a connoisseur In matters of antiquity, more knowledge to procure. Had wandered forth on High street in search of ancient lore. And was rewarded for his troubles a thousand fold or more. Just north of Hubbard avenue he stopped and raised his eyes. And o'er his classic features swept a look of mute surprise ; He stood there gazing speechless, for quite a little while. Then stammered to a passerby: "What is this ancient pile? I've visited the Vatican and Coliseum at Rome ! I've traveled much in foreign lands, and also much at home! I've seen the Tower of London, the churches of Dundee, And Leaning Tower of Pisa on the Mediterranean sea ! I've seen the Topes of Hindustan — ruined castles on the Rhine, Embattled towers of Scotland — I've been in every clime ! Explored the Sphinx and Pyramids along the river Nile, But I never saw the equal of this massive grey-stone pile ! "What is this mighty ruin, sir?" he asked the passer-by. Who studied for a moment, then hastened to reply : "My father used to tell me, my childish whims to please. About an ancient people, called Aborigines. [Page thirty -six] According to tradition, before Montezuma's day, Some of those ancient people thought tenements might pay ; So on this site was started this building by those sages, And you'll find in ancient history, 'twas called The Rock of Asfes." FRIENDSHIP. How blest are they who love. And also are beloved ! How bright the sun ! How fragrant are the flowers ! How sweet the strains Of music to the ear, if we but feel The joyous thrill of friendly sympathy, And know fond hearts doth beat in unison With ours. 'Tis then the earth a paradise Appears, as we go forth in peace, content. Our souls inspired with hope and gratitude, And feel within ourselves 'tis good to live. But he who is not loved, nor loves in turn, Is but a human derelict, adrift. Upon life's turbid sea, a hopeless wreck That menaces all other craft afloat. [Page thirty-seven] HAVE YOU THOUGHT? (Written after the birth of the heir to the largest fortune on earth.) Have you thought about the baby that was born the other day? He is richer far than Croesus — richest babe on earth, they say : Heir to many hundred milHons — wealth so vast that it would make E'en a nation very wealthy that could win so rich a stake. Give the matter your attention; think a moment if you will ; If in many parts divided, each would be a fortune still. It would make a hundred thousand rich enough for you or me, And a thousand babies richer, far, than any one should be. Have you thought about the fortune that this baby will possess? Of the misery and sorrow ; of the want and wretchedness ; Of the poverty and suffering; of the sad and sickly smile Of the other hundred thousand, paupered by that princely pile? [Page thirty-eight] Desolation — gaunt Starvation stalk where e'er its shadows fall, For, that vast accumulation makes them wretched, one and all. Hear you not the cry of hunger — see you not the mothers weep, Knowing that their bal)ies' portions help to swell that monster heap? Have you thought about the methods that its builder has employed. As he crushed all competition — how his victims he destroyed? How he ruined many people ; driving them to want and need, As he forced them out of business, just to sate his loathsome greed? All those cruel, ruthless methods, with that tainted heap of gold, That young baby will inherit, from that tyrant, I am told. All his life that little baby will be chained to specters grim — Specters of those ruined victims. Tell me, do you envy him ? [Page thirty-nine] Have you thought about the Baby that was born on Christmas Day, In the shadow of Mount Moab, where the Jordan wends its way? Nor in palace, nor in mansion, came that precious Little Lamb, But the manger of a stable, far away in Bethlehem. Poor was He as any baby that the world has ever seen, But with love for man inspired, was that lowly Nazarene. Brightened by the passing ages, is the luster of His fame, As the countless millions worship, and revere His blessed name. PERUNA. Great clouds of dust were rising fast. As up through Shadesville quickly passed A youth who, like an auctioneer. Cried to the people far and near — Peruna. [Page forty] His step was firm, his aspect glad ; (He was a merry-looking lad) While, like a peanut-roaster, rung The accents of his chattering tongue — Peruna. The villagers, in dire alarm Glanced out toward the Hartman farm, And saw him stop and turn about And wildly wave his hands and shout Peruna. "Behold this monument," said he, "To that gigantic industry, That gave Columbus world-wide fame By coupling hers with that great name — Peruna. That great elixir if you please. That makes immune from all disease, And cures all the pains and aches Of every one who buys and takes Peruna. Look in the papers if you will, And note the millions who were ill. But now have fully convalesced, And gained their health, by using blest Peruna." [Page forty-one] A stranger murmured with a sigh, "My county, sir, has voted dry ; My beverage Hke Dead-sea fruit — " The youth here shouts : "Just substitute Peruna." The stranger smiled and grasped his hand, And asked : "Am I to understand Those joyous days will come again?" When lo ! there answered that refrain — Peruna. "Come with me stranger," cried the boy, "I'll lead you to the fount of joy Where we can sing and dance and laugh, As, at the fountain head, we quaff Peruna." With hands still clasped, they quickly sped Far out of sight, while overhead Like tempests raging in the air, Echoed the chorus of that pair — Peruna. [Page forty-two] I'VE BEEN RETROSPECTIN', MANDY. I've been retrospectin' Mandy, and thinkin' 'bout the days When people were more social like and friendly in their ways ; When there was much more fellowship, and not so much of greed, And each one lent a helpin' hand to them that was in need. Men didn't follow cheatin' then and livin' by their wits, And the women didn't gossip and give each other fits, But all were kind and neighborly, and tried their level best To make things sort o' cheerful like, and pleasant for the rest. Yes, all the folks were willin' then to do the best they could And, like a lovin' family, work for each others good. And if we didn't have the luxuries that the people have today, We had jest as much enjoyment but in a different way. There was quiltins for the women-folks, and huskin'- bees for men, And then we had our apple-cuts and dances now and then, And talk abot our dances, — how we did toe and heel When the band struck up the "Moneymusk" or the "Ole Virginey Reel." [Page forty-three] The other night at Rader's Hall, I watched them dance awhile, And of all fool doins Mandy! I couldn't help but smile As I watched the youngsters waltzin', and I don't blame Dekin White For sayin' its jest huggin' set to music, for I seed that he is right. When we used to go joy-ridin' we hitched up Buck and Bright, And we had lots of time to aurevoir afore we were out o' sight ; For we moved off sort o' moderate like, as our chauffeur hawed and geed. But we never got arrested for our excessive speed. Our touring cars were firm and strong, built specially for loads, And gee! how they did jiggle us as they bumped along the road ; But there wasn't any 'splodin or puncturin' of tires. Nor was there any slippin' of trolleys off the wires. Them autos didn't turn turtle, or skid around the turns. And they wasn't forever climbin' poles like these new style concerns. And whether out on business trips, or simply ridin' round, If we didn't go so tearin' fast, we got back safe and sound. [Page forty-four] Of course we are willin' to admit our schedules were slow, But we didn't let a thing like that discourage us you know, But kept a movin' right along, if not so very fast, And we generally succeeded in gettin' there at last. But now the folks are so all-fired smart they are flirtin' with the stars, And tryin' their best to gossip with the people up in Mars, They're racin' 'round among the clouds, and I wouldn't be surprised If they'd soon be making flyin' trips to the Mansions in the Skies. Then if Saint Peter don't look out, and watch that gate of his The Interests will rush right in and form monopolies, And since they've been doin' as they please, they've got so dogon bold. They might corner all them pearly gates, and the angel's harps of gold. And if they'd get to runin' things as they do down here below. Poor folks would have to try and find some other place to go, [Page forty-£ve'\ For they would charge them to get in, and keep a-boostin' up the rates, Till none exceptin' them that's rich could get inside the gates. Today I seed a blamed machine they call a phonograph. And as true as I am tellin' you, the thing can talk and laugh. And make a speech 'bout politics, and it sounds so natural too. For it hollers "thief" and "robber" jest like stump speakers do ; And as I listened to it, it seemed so very strange That I asked them if the thing had sense, and intellect and brains, They said "they reckoned that it had, leastwise about as much As the average politician and the party boss and such." Some college chaps was tellin' me that I don't talk very well. But that I'm "shy" on grammar, and "phonetic" when I spell. They also say my diction's "punk," whatever that may be, But whether Greek or Hottentot its all the same to me. [Page forty-six] I told them that I wasn't educated to do as they are doin' When they go 'round night-shirt paradin,' and a rah, rip, zip, bazooin', But if I wasn't ppsted in syntax, mood and tense, That I always ti^d to talk and act with a leetle c, - - common sense. If a woman felt like talkin' (which frequently occurs), She jest went out a-callin among some friends of hers, Then with knittin'-needles flyin' them woman-folks would sit And visit mighty social like, and talk, and talk, and knit. And there was jest as much enjoyment in them old-time knittin' bees As there is in modern pow-wows, sich as afternoons and teas. Where knittin' 'pears to be out of date, but goodness gracious knows They keep right on a-talkin', and alers will I 'spose. They even use 'lectricity for talkin' purposes. For Dekin White was tellin' 'bout two wider friends of his That had wires run in their houses, where each one lives alone, And now they're talkin' half the time, he says, by telephone. [Page forty-sevenl I said, when women get to talkin', they keep up such a rapid fire I should think so many ideas would crowd one another off the wire ; And he said he reconed if they did, it wouldn't be many months Till they'd double-track the talkin' route so both could talk at once. One day, at Olentangy park, I found I was turned about ; I walked up to a youngster to ask about the route. He was a dandy little chap with a talcum-powdered face, And he seemed so high-falutin', that I thought he owned the place. I nodded to him, timid like, and says, "how are ye, sir?" He looked at me, then at his girl, and then he winked at her, And told her I was "dippy" with "wheels a-buzzin' in my head." And when I told him I was lost, he looked at me and said : "Oh! ain't it awful, Mable?" "My name's Josiah," says I. He says : "Jest hear him warble, kiddo," and "how is that for high" ? And then to me he said : "Old Scout, if you're wishin' to skidoo. Jest trim your lamps, and hit the trail, so-long, its up to you!" [Page forty-eight] When Patrick Henry thundred in the House of Burgesses, He didn't use slang phrases to harangue the members with, And when Daniel Webster's eloquence was the wonder of the land. He used the kind of language that the folks could understand. But, if I should tell this to the youngsters, I s'pose that they would smile, And say, them "guys" were "on the blink," and never up in style. Well ! style hasn't kept Old Glory wavin' from the time t'was first unfurled. And made this mighty nation the grandest in the world ! It didn't free the colonists from the thralldom of King George, And sustain the starvin' patriots encamped at Valley Forge ! It wasn't style that kept our boys a-marchin' from Atlanta to the sea, And spurred Grant's loyal legions on to glorious victory ! But is was earnest elTort of plain heroic men. And jest such women, Mandy, as you have always been. And when Gabriel sounds his trumpet, and the gathering host appears He'll assign the place of honor to the good Old Pioneers ! [Page forty-nine] OUR FATHERS. Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri, — Hor. Epis. 1. Lib. 1. Not wont to swear in the words of any master. (The above line from Horace was used as the motto on the author's ancestral coat of arms.) All honor to our sires, whose names appear In brilliant lettering on history's page, Whose lamps of life — bright beacons of their age - Gleamed with a splendor rich and pure and clear ! Inspired by love and gratitude sincere, We venerate each patriot and sage Who left, unsullied, as a heritage, A name their children ever must revere. Through fear or favor never did they swerve, But battled for the right with courage rare ; Where duty called, they led without reserve. And left the impress of their valor there ; Yet, for no master were they wont to serve, Or in the words of any master swear. [Page Hfty] "IF A BODY MEET A BODY." While walking down the street one day A fair young maiden came my way, I stepped aside to pass her by But she side-stepped the same as I, Then back I dodged from whence I came Just as the maiden did the same, And then, a sea-saw game was played Between myself and this fair maid. From right to left, from left to right, We hopped and skipped with all our might. We hawed and geed, and shied and veered, But neither of our paths were cleared. Until at last I stopped and said. While I stand still you go ahead ! She smiled and answered : "Good for you." Then passing added : "Now skidoo" ! [Page Hfty-one] "HOME, SWEET HOME," ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK. 'Tis night ; a cold December night In Eighteen Sixty-three, The bleak north wind, in fitful gusts. Moans through each leafless tree ; The wintry night is dark and drear — A howling storm is rife ; The elements, in furious rage, Clash in a maddening strife. A hundred thousand men are camped On Rappahannock's banks, Where they are waiting for the morn To form their martial ranks ; The boys in blue are on the left. And those in gray the right. Where, face to face, those deadly foes Are camping for the night. When hark ! above the raging storm. Upon the midnight air, The strains of "Dixie" float across The Rappahannock there ; And when they hear that favorite song The one they love so well, Those Southerners rise to their feet And give the rebel yell. [Page iifty-two] The yell sweeps up and down the lines, Repeated o'er and o'er In hellish hate, until it ends In one tumultuous roar. Then "Yankee Doodle" echoes back Defiance to the host. Who, o'er the Rappahannock there. Have yelled their spiteful boast. The deafening cheers from Yankee throats Have scarcely died away, 'Till "Maryland, my Maryland," Comes from the band in gray ; While in reply, the boys in blue. With patriotic pride, Hurl "Hail Columbia" at their foes There on the other side. In deadly hate they shout and jeer At one another there. Until a din of hideous rage Disturbs the midnight air. For, on the morrow, they will meet Upon the field of strife, And in the battle's furious clash. Each seek the others life. [Page £{ty-three1 And ere the setting of the sun, Full many a one will lie, A bruised and mangled corpse, beneath The cold December sky; With all their strife and hatred past. And all their troubles o'er. They'll wake no more at bugle call. But sleep forever more. Sad thoughts like these are passing through A youthful soldier's mind, And causing him to think of friends Whom he has left behind ; He thinks of father, mother dear, Of brothers, sisters, too. Up in that blest Ohio home Where all are kind and true. With quavering voice he sings of home, The place on earth most dear. And joining with him one by one These soldiers, far and near. Both blue and gray, take up the theme In accents sad and grave. Until the melody sweeps forth Like some huge crested wave. [Page fi/ty-four] No more those taunts of bitter hate Are hurled from blue to gray — The echoes of that rebel yell Once more have died away ; One thought prevails that's ever dear To all where e'er they roam, And a hundred thousand voices join In singing "Home, Sweet Home." THE BELLE OF LONG AGO. 'Tis not of stately Gibson girl with storied form and grace, Nor yet of dainty Trillbies I would sing: But a belle of other days with a natural form and face, Is the subject of the message I would bring. She was not versed in coquetry, and those deceptive arts Which always keep admirers guessing so : She was not queen of (social) clubs but she was queen of hearts. And she reigned with moderation long ago. [Page £fty-6ve] She was lady-like and modest, while her face was wreathed in smiles, And she always knew exactly where she was at: Her dress, while neat and simple, was not spoiled by latest styles. And she never wore a Merry-widow hat. Unencmiibered by the trappings that adorn the modern belle, This girl was lithe and graceful as a doe, While the eyes of lustrous beauty of the famous wild gazelle Were no brighter than the belles' of long ago. She had a charming disposition, and her voice was low and sweet, As she gently spoke to everyone she met : She did not raise disturbances upon the public street. For she never was a noisy suffragete. She did not seek a marriage with a Marquis, Duke nor Earl, Nor buy a titled husband just for show, But the sacred title "wife" was sufficient for the girl Who used to be the belle of long ago. [Page Hfty-six] She had exalted notions of her duty as a wife, And one that still is held by just a few. She believed that marriage was a tie that binds for life, And she always was devoted, kind and true. And when poet or romancer makes his most exalted flights, And the lustre of his genius sheds a glow. That lustre will be focused on the page whereon he writes The story of the belle of long ago. [Page Sfty-seven'i SONNET TO CLEVELAND OHIO. All hail to thee ! Queen City of the lakes, Thou modern Tyre, magnificent and grand, Thy face set to the sea, thy back to land. Thy beauteous scenery of each partakes ; While Erie's murmuring wave forever breaks There, at thy feet, upon the pebbly strand, And thy fair brow by cooling zephyrs fanned Is thus refreshed, as one who just awakes. Not only fair art thou, but also great — Great in the marts of commerce and finance ; 'Twixt land and sea, thou art an open gate Through which commercial traffic must advance. And well thou knew that thou wert blest by fate, For, well indeed, hast thou improved thy chance. [Page Hfty-eight] LINES ON READING "JOYOUS JUNE IN NEW YORK." We have heard from old Manhattan, Through the poet's plaintive wail ; How they're longing for a blizzard, Glacier, iceberg, snow or hail ; How they're sweating, stewing, grumbling — Finding fault with old King Sol — Harping on the hot air subject. As they sit around and loll. Loll around in shady places, Mopping sweat from florid faces With an enervating languor — Every voice attuned to anger, Mumbling, grumbling, howling, growling. Every minute growing hotter. That they're hot beneath the collar Any one can plainly see. This, together with the weather Makes them hot as hot can be ; Then they long to chew old icebergs. With a glacier for a seat. Claiming at the present writing. It would be a splendid treat. [Page £ity-nine'\ Avalanches are the candy, If they only had some handy They would very quickly seize them, For their temperature would please them And they'd stop their foolish grumbling, For they'd quickly get much cooler. Drinks they claim are liquid fuel, (Old "firewater," I suppose). I would think it quite improper To indulge in drinks like those. If they leave Manhattan Island, Wriggling from that fiery drink, It might cause a fierce sirocco That would scorch us — don't you think ? We much rather they would swelter. Than rush on us helter-skelter With their fiery air and water. For we wish for nothing hotter That the weather we've been having Through this sultry month of June. [Page sixty] ATHENS. (The following poem is descriptive of the village of Athens, Pa., and the neighboring boroughs of Sayre and South Waverly, both of which are located between the Susquehanna and Chemung rivers, which form a junction below Athens.) Fair Athens ! Lovely village of the plains, Where peace abides and sweet contentment reigns, Where nature in her happier moods bestows Her choicest gifts — where Susquehanna flows ; And in her onward course on passing thee. Stops to admire, then hastens to the sea. Back from thy plains, majestic hills arise And rear their lofty crests toward the skies ; Gigantic sentries that for ages past, Have stood on guard, and will while time shall last; On every morn while yet the day is young. Their shadows will be cast o'er the Chemung ; And from their rugged cliffs with mocking glee, Thy murmuring voice will echo back to thee ; And by that echoing voice, each stately hill. Will warn thee, Athens, that they're guarding still. Thy glorious rivers, one on either side, Go sweeping past in their majestic pride — Drawn by thy charms, until at last they meet, And flow united to the Chesapeake ; And as their waters mingle with the sea. Thy praises still, they murmur back to thee. [Page sixty-one] Athens, I hear that thy young neighbor Sayre, Is longing to unite with thee — beware ! Consider well, altho a worthy swain, Thou might desire thy liberty again — I say, thou might — I do not say thou will. But would rejoice to see thee happy still; And if thou'rt sure that you can all agree, Join hands with Sayre, and with South Waverly - Wed if thou must — enjoy a greater fame, But, I beseech thee, do not change thy name. How much, fair Athens, does that name imply, No greater city flourished, 'neath the sky. Than ancient Athens, capital of Greece, First in the arts of war and arts of peace. How great ! How grand ! Magnificent and free Supreme on land, and mistress of the sea Since Miltiades, her illustrious son, Crushed Darius' hordes at glorious Marathon; And Themistocles to make the rout complete, At Salamis destroyed the Persian fleet. 'Twas there the classic banner was unfurled, And Homer's Epics given to the world ; Altho three thousand years have past away, As they were greatest then, they are today ; And lovely Sappho's sweet melodious lyre There, too, was tuned to catch the heavenly fire, [Page sixty-two] That with such raptures thrilled the listener's breast, And made her Lyrics grander than the rest. The sculptor Phidias, foremost of all time. Whose genius made the Parthenon sublime, Left to the world, to Athens and to Greece Olympian Zeus, that wondrous masterpiece — That grand conception, in ivory and gold, To represent a Deity of old — A special object of Athenian pride — Classed with the wonders of the world beside. While next in grandeur, and but little less. Was Venus DeMedici by Cleomenes. That priceless gem of art, filched from its home, For centuries was lost, until, near Rome, At Hadrian's villa, it at last was found. Where it lay hid so long beneath the ground. Then Praxiteles, with a master hand. Gave Aphrodite Knidos to that land Of literature, philosophy and art — That land so dear to every scholar's heart. What great results her painters, too, achieved, Zeuxis' grapes, the very birds deceived. While Apelles' Venus rising from the Sea, As it was then, forever more will be Par excellence of every painter's dreams — The masterpiece of mythologic themes. [Page sixty-three] What grand designs her architects conceived ! What great results her artisans achieved ! Her AcropoHs, Hke some bright fairy-land, Teemed with magnificence on every hand, There had her temples risen one by one, The Jupiter Olympus, and the Parthenon, And all the rest of which her history speaks — Those famous structures of the famous Greeks. Athens, canst thou look backward and behold That great Hellenic capital of old. With her magnificence on every side — With all her grandeur — all her honest pride — And on beholding, canst thou then demur In feeling pride that thou wert named for her? No queen was e'er with greater beauty crowned — Thy sweeping plains in loveliness abound, Fair nature kindly did her part for thee. Thou must decide what the result will be, Shalt thou be satisfied with slothful ease. Or shalt thou rear another Pericles? Among thy daughters at some future day, Shall one arise like fair Aspasia, And to the world with solemn truth proclaim That thou art worthy thy illustrious name? [Page sixty-iour'] THE PASSING OF THE "HELLO GIRL." Well, there, at last the change is made, so I have learned today ; They have dismissed the "hello" girls while I have been away, And put an automatic switch-board there in their place I've heard, That makes the right connections, but never says a word. I knew it was a-comin — I knew they'd have to go, But still it all upsets me, for I shall miss them so ; And I'm not the least bit backward in sayin' that its mean, For there's a sight o' difference, 'twixt a girl and that machine. The machine is so uncivil, and so unsocial, too ; When you ask the thing a question, it never answers you ; When we asked the girls a question, we were always sure to hear A soft low answer murmured back in our listenin' ear. It always was so handy, and such a little task, When you wanted information, to call "Central" up and ask ; [Page sixty-Gve] But now, suppose we want to know the score or time o' day ; I'd like to know who'll tell us, since "Central's" gone away. When I came home this mornin' I hurried to the 'phone, To notify some friends of mine, that I had got back home ; I took down the receiver, and listened for a while, And as I thought of "Central," it kind o' made me smile. I thought she would be anxious, to hear my voice once more. And I meant to talk more pleasant, than I ever had before ; But that familiar "Number, please!" that I always used to hear. Was somehow strangely missin' in my impatient ear. I shouted: 'Ha there, Central! Halloo! Halloo! Susie dear ! What the dickens is the matter? Say, Susie, can't you hear? Halloo there ! Wake up, Central ! Ha Susie, sakes alive ! I'm in a dreadful hurry, give me fourteen seventy-five ! [Page sixty-six] Then someone burst out laughin' and in 'bout half a second more, I found my wife was standin' behind me in the door ; It made me feel so foolish, for I knew that she had heard The entire conversation, and hadn't missed a word. And when she got through laughin,' she looked at me and said : "Don't stand there lookin' like a fool, but just go right ahead And turn the dial 'round to one, to four, to seven, then five — Then tell the folks, though feelin' sick, you're glad you're still alive. "And bear in mind hereafter, when you want to use the 'phone. That all the extra talkin', must be done by you alone; For Susie will not answer, nor speak to you I fear, For it's an automaton, that you're callin' Susie dear." [Page sixty-seven] TAKE THE FLAGS. (Written when the order was issued to return the rebel flags.) Hail to thee ! fair, sunny Southland, From the North we greet thee now, Take the flags you long have wanted, Drive that shadow from thy brow ; Well we know 'tis not a shadow. Caused by malice, hate or fear, But concern for precious emblems, That by you are held most dear. Yes, you prize them for the mem'ries, That to you are dear as life, Not for what they represented In those days of deadly strife ; Let the past then be forgotten. Take the flags that once were thine, "For to err is only human, To forgive, is most divine." Take the flags, we will not keep them. Though we took them once from you. You have since then served most nobly, In the uniform of blue. We remember Santiago, Where you bravely fought and bled, And the field of San Juan also. Hallowed by your southern dead. [Page sixty-eight] Take the flags, yes, take them, keep them; We relinquish every claim ; Cherish them, we will not blame you, We would prize them just the- same; And we know that in the future, Should we hear the bugle call. North and South will be united, With "Old Glory" leading all. HUMAN VULTURES. He that's slandered by his neighbors. May be better far than they ; For the best of folks are harassed, By the stupid jackass' bray. Mongrel curs are always snarling. At the noble mastiff's heels ; But how little does he heed them. For contempt is all he feels. Carrion-kites and human vultures Must observe a common law — Each one fattens on the offal, That he gathers in his craw. Good and bad are uncongenial — (There's a maxim you should learn) And who e'er condemns the vicious. Are abused by them in turn. [Page sixty-nine'] Birds of prey in flocks are gathered, Stripping putrid flesh from bone ; While the king of birds — the eagle, Soars majestically alone. Place a lamb with wolves or tigers And its chance for life is slim — Leave it to their tender mercy, And they'll tear it limb from limb. When I hear the vile and vulgar, Venting forth their vicious spleen ; I at once get interested In the man they swear is mean. And I find with few exceptions, 'Tis a falsehood — every word ; And the one who thus is slandered, Is above the vulgar herd. [Page seventy] THE QUEEN OF FRENZIED FINANCE. I stood one day by a lonely bier where the corpse of a woman lay, And I gazed with awe on the stricken one, whose spirit had passed away. They had called her the "Queen of Frenzied Finance," and well had she earned the name. For, in playing her hand for princely stakes, she had won in many a game. She had climbed the ladder of earthly fame till she reached the topmost rung, And her name had become a household word, and the theme of every tongue ; And the wondering world had been amazed by the woman's brilliant schemes, Which were unsurpassed in the realms of romance by fancy's wildest dreams. And at the height of her queenly career, with millions at her command. She was flattered and sought, on every side, by the proudest of the land. In cottage, in mansion and palace of wealth, she was ever a welcome guest ; In city or hamlet, wherever she went, she was honored by all the rest. [Page seventy-one] Her legion of friends were loyal and true as long as she reigned a queen, And at any time she needed their aid they were ready to intervene. With a bountiful hand she lavished her wealth, without the least restraint, And her beneficiaries never complained about the unholy taint. But she gambled with Fate, and she gambled with men at the hazardous game of chance. Till the gamblers were frenzied because they had lost to the "Queen of Frenzied Finance." Then the bubble burst one dismal day, and her reign of queen was o'er, And the fickle goddess of fortune smiled on the luckless queen no more. She had tempted Fate till the worm had turned, and fortune and luck had fled, While in their place the clouds of despair, had settled around her head ; And then her fall was a terrible one from her former high estate, For she was compelled to relinquish her throne to become the sport of fate. I Page seventy-two] From her mansion grand to a prison grim, they dragged her down one day, And they left her there in a felon's cell, to pine her life away ; While her former friends who had flattered and fawned, deserted her one and all. With never a word of friendly cheer from the day of her fatal fall. And when at last her spirit escaped, from its prison and torment here. And took its flight from that dreary cell, not a single friend came near ; \\4iile a lonely wreath from a little chlid, who had met her once by chance. Was the only token of love bestowed on the "Queen of Frenzied Finance." [Page seventy-three] CIVIC UNGODLINESS. (Written during the administration of a former mayor who enforced the Sunday-closing law in the front portion of bar-rooms only; while business was conducted as usual behind a portable screen which was used to separate the dry from the wet section of the room. Turn not away, but pause awhile and read The shameful record of licentious greed That holds your city in its cursed grip, While vice and averice, in partnership, Spurns all control, and with a brazen blare, Their right to rule, in mockery declare, While Decency, despairing, humbly pleads Her right to seek redress for lawless deeds That humble her, and flush her cheek wnth shame By tarnishing, like hers, the city's name. And when you hear her warning cry, beware The tigress' wrath when driven to her lair ! For suffering Patience when aroused at last. Is like the hurricane's tempestuous blast That wreaks destruction where it holds full sway. Destroying all that comes within its way. And if you longer fail to heed her call You soon may read the writing on the wall. The majesty of law! O, hollow sound! In legal lore one need not be profound That he may know, as every novice knows, Its majesty has long since been deposed; [Page seventy-four] And sacred temples where it erstwhile reigned. We find today polluted and profaned, While petty rulers, at the mob's behest, Pervert and change it into low burlesque, Then chuckle to themselves, in fiendish glee, At the success of their vile perfidy. No one who thirsts, on Sunday need to think That he must suffer for the want of drink. Although the fronts of all saloons appear Closed as the law requires, just watch the rear And note the ebb and flow as in and out, That human tide pursues its devious rout, Till none (except your officers) can fail To mark the course of that well-beaten trail. But, standing there in front, you fail to see Aught to explain so deep a mystery, For there is naught in view except a screen Back from the door, and vacancy between ; But look behind the screen and you will find A vast amount of difference behind. Naught but a screen 'twixt license and the law ? Is that the kind of line our rulers draw ? And that the barrier they interpose 'Twixt law and order, and law and order's foes ? [Page seventy-five] When gay officials wish to flirt with both, They should consider the official oath Which they have taken to enforce the laws, And not vile graft to glut rapacious maws. But what is graft ? and why so madly sought By those officials willing to be bought ? 'Tis that which gratifies the greedy lust For gain or power, — the price of bartered trust, Or bribery in any form or guise, As money, votes, campaign or other lies That tend to gain an end, or help to fill The filthy coffers of the grafter, till The ship of state is riddled fore and aft By the bombardment of this hellish graft. The sneaking varlet who purloins your purse Is bad enough indeed, but ten times worse The man you trust, who swears he will be true, Then, to the devil, sells himself, — and you? O, where are you ? and how do you like the way Your Judas kisses only to betray ? To gain your vote, he'll promise this and that, He'll grasp your hand, politely tip his hat, Kiss all your babies, pat you on the back, And make you think that he's a Cracker-Jack. [Page seventy-six] O vile hypocrisy ! and foul deceit ! Thy devotees who worship at thy feet Have learned thy craft, and ply it well, indeed. To gather votes whene'er they stand in need. Nor do they shirk, but follow any plan To steal or purchase every vote they can, Till Honor shrieks, and Satan wildly gloats To see them barter principle for votes. No wonder then when they have gained the prize, To square themselves, they seek a compromise ! So many different promises were made — Conflicting obligations to be paid — Opposing interests of each extreme — All must be reconciled ! and hence, the screen Through which we catch a transitory glimpse Of Satan and his coterie of imps, As, round the Bacchanalian board, they dance, While human satellites about them prance, Intent on gratifying each desire With none to interpose, nor check the fire Whose withering blast, fresh from the sulph'rous lake, Leaves desolation in its horrid wake. While, for the plunder, every grafter yearns, And Nero fiddles while the city burns. [Page seventy-seven] "What crimes have been committed in thy name Oh Liberty !" quoth Madam Roland ; and the same Regarding loyalty I'm loth to say Is also equally as true today, For ranting demagogues, on every hand, Pretend to be the saviors of the land And on the eagle fawn, that they may strip Him of his plumage for their benefit. And then your party boss — some former clerk, . Or graceless idler who should be at work — Some egotist, and often rogue or knave, Such is your master ; you, his dupe and slave. Whom he selects, whoever he may be. You must support to prove your loyalty To party and to principle. To what ? Why, graft and boodlers and official rot. It matters not which side you're on, a boss Controls the game ; the score is "hoss and boss" Twixt parties ; and you'll find by any name The stench of carrion is just the same. Should your good nature sometimes take offense, And you decide to act with common sense, Throw oft' the yoke, — renounce the bosses then, Emancipate yourself and vote for men. [Page seventy-eight] Brave men to battle with the people's foes, Men who, in their behalf, will interpose To right their wrongs and champion their cause, And execute, not compromise, the laws. Ambitious men, of high ideals, who aim To reach the higher altitudes of fame By honor's route, o'er which the pure and just Have ever traveled, and forever must. Proud men, — men who possess a civic pride. And wish to see their city glorified And honored by mankind both far and near, — Men who consider reputation dear. True men of lofty principle and thought. Men who are honest and cannot be bought. Men who expect no more, and are content With legal fees as their emolument. Pure men of moral worth who will not swerve From duties path, nor for corruption serve Nor compromise with vice, nor interpose Official power to favor virtues foes. [Page seventy-nine] LINES ON READING MRS. CLARK'S "WINTER LINGERS IN THE LAP OF SPRING." O yes ! the poet, like the lark, Now sings of love, but, Mrs. Clark, Were you in earnest ? Do you think Those lyrics are a waste of ink ? And tell me honest ; is it true That you are chilly through and through ? (Wait till I sneeze — ker-chee ! ker-chew !) A pity 'tis that you're so cool. Unsympathetic, heartless, cruel : When vernal poets seek the aid Of Pegasus, to serenade And sing the praises of their queens. Why thus confound them with "spring greens ?" (Will you please tell me what it means?) Why censure Winter — poor old chap ! For lingering in Miss Spring's lap ? You say that he's "the mean old thing" While that coquette you call "Sweet Spring" Bestows her smiles on us today. Then slyly whispers : "Winter, stay !" (Is it any wonder he acts gay?) [Page eighty] no ! the tears refuse to flow Because "Old Winter" does not go, It would be foolish if I cried As long as she is satisfied. And as for him, I must admit, 1 rather glory in his grit. (Their joy is mutual — let him sit!) WE'RE COMIN', FATHER ABRAHAM. Well Mandy, I've been marchin' with the boys in blue once more ; Tho' I'm gettin' old and feeble, tho' I'm gettin' lame and sore, When I heard the bugle callin' for the men to fall in line, I didn't wait a minute, but joined those friends of mine. We didn't carry muskets in that parade of ours. We didn't carry bayonets, but each one carried flowers ; And when we reached the cemetery where rest our fallen brave. We strewed the flowers with tremblin' hands upon each comrade's grave. [Page eighty-one] You should have seen us marchin', as we slowly tramped along — It was a very curious sight — that old gray-headed throng ; But each one felt that duty had called to him once more, To pay a lovin' tribute to comrades gone before. How well do I remember when the war was first begun, And how we flew from Beauregard at the battle of Bull Run ! It showed us that rebellion must be crushed at any cost. Or else our glorious Union forever would be lost. 'Twas then our noble President called for more volunteers. Yes, called out to the nation, and when the nation hears, You ought to heard us singin' before the week was o'er, "We're comin' Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more." You remember, don't you, Mandy, 'bout them sad and lonely days ; How you told me in your letters, that you prayed for me always — [Page eighty-two] Prayed the Lord would keep me from all danger and all harm, And would grant the sure protection of His mighty, lovin' arm? You remember Nelly, also, how she loved poor Johnny Brown? I think they were the happiest pair in all the country 'round. Poor John, you know, was wounded, and just before he died. He murmured, "Darling, Nelly ; I'll wait on the other side." Today, out at the cemetery, I saw Nell strewin' flowers And tears upon her hero's grave ; and 'tis said that many hours Are spent by her there waitin' to cross to yonder shore. Where Johnny waits to join her when her troubles here are o'er. She needn't wait much longer, for her hair is white as snow ; Soon the signal will be sounded, tellin' her 'tis time to go; And I couldn't keep from thinkin', as I looked at her today. That none of us old veterans has much more time to stay. rr, ... . , •' VPcige eighty-three] Yes, the time is fast approachin', when the last of us must go ; And even now we're listenin' to hear the last tattoo. We're pretty near thro' marchin', and it won't be long before We'll be comin' Father Abraham, to join with you once more. THE AUTO GIRL. While passing along a crowded street Of the busy town, I chanced to meet A fair young girl in an auto-car, Who passed me by like a shooting-star. I turned to look as she flew apace, And thought how tame was the chariot race. Had Wallace dreamed of the auto's whir He ne'er had written about Ben Hur ! Like a beam of light, Flashed from afar At the dead of night. Shot the auto-car. With careering swirl Or forward bound, The machine and girl Flew o'er the ground. [Page eighty-{our] The small white hand of the fair young girl, With a gentle touch made the monster whirl, And turning away in her headlong flight. Like a meteor she flashed from sight. And when I thought of the wonderful age In which we live, — of histories page Recording our deeds for future days. The reading of which will cause amaze. Arabian Nights, How commonplace When, in fancy's flights, We follow the race. At the present day, Twixt time and space As they speed away At head-long pace. [Page eighty-five} DEAN BOND. (The following lines were written in memory of a brave young brakeman, who was killed November 24, 1905, in a wreck on the Susquehanna and New York railroad, near Towanda, Pa.) Up among the Alleghenies, Far from din of city strife, Dwelt a youth of noble bearing, Genial, jovial, full of life, Much beloved by all who knew him, Ever held in high esteem, Life, so full of joyous sunshine, Was to him a pleasant dream. He had seen but eighteen summers. Yet a manly youth wthal, Frank and kind in deed and manner. Large and handsome, straight and tall. But of all these winsome graces. He appeared to take no heed. Never showing vain ambition By an act, or word, or deed. Daily past his mother's cottage. With a rumble and a roar, Trains went rushing o'er the railroad, Opposite the cottage door ; On the road young Dean was working, And he passed his home each day. Always waving loving signals Every time he came that way. [Page eighty-six] Tuesday, in the bleak November, When the days grow cold and drear, He had visited his mother, At the home he loved so dear ; There he spent the happy moments, Till from her he had to part, Then v^ithin his arms he clasped her, Kissed her. pressed her to his heart. "Dean," she said, "be very careful, For with danger you're beset ; Please be cautions every moment. Good-bye, son! Now, don't forget!" "In the Lord I'd trust, dear mother, And I'll not forget to pray." Thus he answered on departing From his home and friends that day. Then on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Came the signal as before. To the loved ones standing, waiting, Watching by the cottage door ; But alas ! that son and brother Here on earth no more will wave. For beneath the sod he's sleeping. In the cold and silent grave. [Page eighty-seven] From that form all crushed and mangled, In a wreck that Friday night, His grand spirit fled forever. And to heaven it took its flight. Ah, dear mother ! cease thy weeping, Lift thine eyes and thou may see, From his place up there in heaven He is beckoning still to thee. I Page eighty-eight] TOM AND JERRY. Two very jolly revellers were filled with sad regret, By reflecting on the fearful pace they foolishly had set ; Quoth one unto the other, "it's a melancholy shame. That we should squander money so and injure health and name." So each upon his birthday, his habits must forswear. And bid adieu to Bacchus and shun his tempting lair, And also old companions too with whom we long have met, Then when we're safely weaned from them we never will regret That on the fatal brink, At last we stopped to think, And reckon up the fearful cost In honor, health and chink. And other things beside. Our wealth and health and pride — Things that cannot long abide With those who yield to drink. One of them is quite versatile — a Genius and a Sage ; Has learned a lot of Rhetoric and acted on the stage ; [Page eighty-ninel He also is a legal light of very high degree, And some day will be branded with a double L and D. Conveyances and champagne corks he with equal skill can draw, And has handled many a case of beer as well as those of law. In matters histrionic, he is rated as a star. But shows poor discrimination in his practice at the Bar. But on the fatal brink. At last he stops to think, And reckon up the fearful cost In honor, health and chink. And other things beside, His health, and wealth and pride — Things that cannot long abide With those who yield to drink. The other one is college bred, and knows an awful lot; An expert in Anatomy : speaks Russ and Hottentot A famous Veterinarian of intelligence and skill, Who never fails to make a cure, in case he does not kill ; [Page ninety] As inspector of the markets, he keeps them clean and neat — Prevents the nasty parasites from contaminating meat — Compels the bloody butcher to slaughter healthy kine And keeps the deadly trichina from poisoning the swine. There on the fatal brink, He also stopped to think. And reckon up the fearful cost In honor, health and chink, And other things besides. His health, and wealth and pride — Things that cannot long abide With those who yield to drink. But after months of abstinence, (for which the Lord be praised) They held another seance that lasted several days. And during the performance, they both got good and mellow. One thot he was a Vanderbilt, the other, Rockefeller. They started out to forming trusts, monopolies, combines. To corner all the fancy drinks, like cocktails, ale and wines. [Page ninety-one] And in this brilliant scheme of theirs, included breweries too, Combining with the other drinks, the beer of every brew. This time they failed to think, And tumbled o'er the brink, And as they grovelled in the slums Stirred up a fearful stink, A nauseating smell. Surcharged with fumes of hell — As everyone with truth can tell. Who yields too much to drink. And when they looked for dividends, they found to their dismay, That while they stood and held the sack, the game had slipped away, And then the Actor acted sad, most penitent and meek. Remorse was getting in its work as he raised his head to speak — "I'll write," said he, "an expose of our convivial class. And the title of the work shall be, 'The Braying of an Ass', In it our own experience and other facts I'll blend. And I'll dedicate the book to you, my assininic friend." [Page ninety-two] "I'll make the final plea, To save both you and me, And I believe, without a doubt, You readily can see, Whene'er we take a look Into this famous book. Each one of us will cry 'Gazook', 'What fools we mortals be'." [Page ninety-three] THE AUTO SCORCHER. On rushed the auto, swiftly, swiftly; swiftly as the wind, Leaving consternation in its pathway far behind, Until on crossing Town street, as it swept along down High, Something startling happened, in the twinkling of an eye. For when it reached the corner, it seems Patrolman Murray Decided that the chauffeur, was in too great a hurry; His clarion voice rang sharply out on the startled air — "Hold, there! for you are scorching, and I warn you, sir. beware!" And Murray kept on calling, calling; calling long and loud, But the chauffeur failed to hear him. or else he was too proud To acknowledge Murray, or any other copper, For he let the auto scoot ahead, and didn't try to stop 'er. [Page ninety-four] And then a mace was hurtled, and went whizzing through the air, But when it reached the ground again, the chauffeur wasn't there, Nor has he since been heard from, and it is safe to bet, Unless he stopped the auto, that he is scorching yet. Then Murray stood there gazing, gazing ; gazing straight ahead, 'Twas only for a moment, then looking up he said : "The scorchers soon will catch it, yes they'll get it in the neck, A bounty will be offered, for every one we wreck." Hur-rah ! Hur-rah ! Max Murray ; here's a double health to thee ! You aid the old and feeble, you help the blind to see, They look for your protection, and we'd glory in your spunk. If you'd seize all scorching autos, and break them up for junk. [Page ninety-five] TURNIN' PICTURES TO THE WALL. I hardly was expectin' to come back home so cjuick, But I'll jest tell you, Mandy, it almost makes me sick To think I went down to the club to met the boys once more, And didn't find things just the same as I always had before; They didn't grasp and shake my hand as they had always done, But, with a cold and distant nod, they passed me one by one, And when I sat down all alone and looked around the hall, I saw they had been turnin' some pictures to the wall. Some are portraits of our leaders whom we've honored many years, And when I saw what had been done, I gazed at them through tears ; I thought of many battles, the brunt of which they've borne — Of "Man's inhumanity to man that makes countless millions mourn," And when I thought of their offense of votin' as they chose, Thereby offendin' the "machine," I quietly arose, [Page ninety-six] And, as I softly left the hall the light broke by degrees, And I could see I, too, had sinned by votin' as I pleased. My portrait isn't hangin' there among those in that hall — My influence isn't very great — jest one vote, that is all. But I always thought, dear Mandy, that my little vote was worth Jest about the same amount as any man's on earth. I also thought I had a right to cast it as I please, Without consent of any man or any club's decrees. But I suppose the members think I haven't got that right, Because they acted pesky mean there at the club tonight. While I was marchin' with Tecumseh from Atlanta to the sea. The club's president was campin' upon his mother's knee. He was a little shaver then — a wee, small tiny thing. And just began to cut his teeth on a little ivory ring. While nearly all the members are younger still than he, With only jest a few old scouts like Brother Jones and me, [Page ninety-seven] But what they know 'bout pohtics is plenty it appears, For they want to give us pointers after votin' all these years. I voted for Abe Lincoln and always thought 'twas right, But I guess I made a great mistake, from what I've seen tonight. For he appointed Stanton and Sheridan and Grant, And made the politicians of his party cuss and rant ; It set them all to ravin', and you could hear them tell About that "old fool Lincoln" lettin' the country go to — well, "With malice toward none, but with charity for all," He never got the habit of turnin' pictures to the wall. Each leadin' party of today is too much of a trust For monopolizin' politics, but when they try to thrust Bad men and measures on us, I think that they will find When they come to count our votes, we're for a different kind. Yes, we believe in equal rights and also righteous laws. And the kind of government that helps the people's cause, One, "of the people, by the people and for the people all," And not merely for those little chaps that turn pictures to the wall. [Page ninety-eight"] 'TAINT TAINTED ANY LONGER. I've jest been readin', Mandy, about an awful row, That accordin' to the paper, is goin' on just now ; It's all about some money that a rich man wants to give. To educate the heathen, and teach them how to live. I cannot quite discover just where the trouble lies. But 'pears to me some people, are much more nice than wise, They say the money's tainted, and 'twont look very well, To spend it on the heathen, to save his soul from hell. Regardin' tainted money — it's a point that's dreadful fine, And must bother them like sixty, to fix the dividin' line ; The field is broad and lengthy, and I think it will be found, 'Twill keep them movin' lively to cover all the ground. They may get awful tired, before the job is done, And then they'll be so sorry, it ever was begun ; And then again the engineer in establishin' the grade May find the money tainted, with which his salary's paid. [Page ninety-nine] I'm growin' old and feeble and perhaps don't understand, The proper way of savin' that dark benighted land, But seems to me these people — I may be wrong 'tis true — Are hinderin' most mightily the work they're hired to do. Of course I don't pretend to say that I'm exactly right, But still I cannot see it in any other light ; And from my way of thinkin', it's a very wicked plan To let the heathen suffer, to spite some other man. There 'pears to be some people who always hate the rich, I think they are called terrorists and anarchists and sich ; At every one who prospers, and is better off than they, They holler "Thief!" and "'Robber!" and the dickens is to pay. But still they're always tryin' their very level best. To get a lot of money, the same as all the rest ; And when they have succeeded in rakin' in the spoil, 'Taint tainted any longer, but came from honest toil. [Page one-hundred] And then they have no mercy for any luckless one, But say "Go earn your money, the same as I have done," And now instead hol'rin' 'bout plutocrat and trust. You'll find them busy trampin' poor people in the dust. As long as 'tis the fashion for nearly every man. To try and fill his pockets, and take all he safely can, I think it is quite lucky, and a noble thing beside, If some one who succeeded, is willin' to divide. [Page one-hundred one] SKIPPERS — A ROMANCE. John J. Josiah Johnston, a poet, grand and great, Starts rhyming in the morning and keeps it up till late. He rhymes while he is sleeping — he's rhyming all the time. And even if he makes a speech, that also is in rhyme. Miss Jen Jerusha Jackson, one day came up to town. She also is a poet of very great renown ; Josiah fell in love with her, fell like a chunk of lead, And then he wrote a letter and this is what he said : "Miss Jen Jerusha Jackson : My darling ducky dear : I take my pen this morning down from behind my ear, To write this lovin' missive to the woman I adore, And ask you, dear Jerusha, to be mine forevermore. Then we'll set sail together, upon life's troubled sea ; I'll be your loving husband if you will marry me ; And when our ship begins to sail before the gentle breeze. We'll skip away together, just like two lovin' fleas, "Josiah." [Page one-bundred two] Her Answer. "Dear John J. Josiah Johnston : I take my pen in hand To tell you 'tis so sudden I scarce can understand. Your very clever letter shows there's something in your noodle ; It also shows your heart's as big or bigger than my poodle ; And when you speak of sailin', that suits me mighty well, For I just love the water, far more than I can tell. Your offer, Si, is lovely — I cannot let it slip ; So we'll skip out together, joint skippers of the ship. "JErusha." [Page one hundred three] OEC 28 1912 ^^