o ♦ /o^ Songs and Satires 3477-174-^ 80 ^^/ 1/ ' ^. I'/f I »^^ /Q^ Songs and Satires SONGS and SATIRES A Chronology of Youthful Rhymes and Verse WILLARD ROUSE JILLSON State Geologist of Kentucky Author of OILAND GAS RESOURCES OF KENTUCKY contributions TO KENTUCKY GEOLOGY ECONOMIC PAPERS ON KENTUCKY GEOLOGY The C. T. Dearing Company Press INCOhPOKATtD LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY 1920 \'\ -j^O Copyright 1920 WILLARD ROUSE JILLSON Frankfort, Ky. DEC -9 1921 \^ g)Cl.A653048 To My Brothers Edward and Frederick Who Were Haply My Partners In Many of These Youthful Frolics, Adventures and Romances This Little Book IS Dedicated By the Bye Whe7i as a hoy I first hegan to rhyme, It never then occurred to me That there would come in later years a time When I woidd print that wretched poetry. I scribbled couplets then in boyish play The idle pranks of schoolmates to rehearse, Though older folks, their patience tried, ivoidd say, ^'Your breeches are much shorter than your verse/^ It was in vain they spoke to me of style, My literary sins I cotdd not see. Those jingles drove didl care away awhile, I asked what other good coidd poets be. Years slipped away, I wandered fancy free 'er land and sea far from the sheltered nook. Leaving a trail of printed verse to he Gathered, uncJianged, to make this little book. For in their orbits through eternal space The stars had fortunately sealed my fate. As stoneman I ivas hurled into my place. And left my poor rhymes on the garden gate. O'er hill and vale where derricks raise the head. Through mine and shaft by flaring candle light, 1 now plod on m.y way in quest of bread BY THE BYE To fill three hungry little mouths at night. When snipper's done, and close they gather round The hig wood fire in their childish glee, What care I if their mother finds me hound Captive, with little brigands on each knee. Their honest pratt 'lings and their hig blue eyes Are royal bond, I kiss their little heads Finding the sandman caught them' by surprise, Then tuck them in their little trundle beds. Again the cheery blaze I seek and find Their mother, she who comes before each one. Mending a little dress — the baby kind That brings up tales of all the things they've done; And sometimes as the wintry tempest Wound Siveeps up the fire- figures in a dance She tells me tales of days when first she found Her happiness, and I my real romance. Thus runs the story, and I am content^ Rhymster I am no more, yet for the while I hope those not of literary bent May find these pages worth a laugh and smile. Frankfort, Ky., 1920. The Author. CONTENTS By the Bye vii May Woods 3 Whippoorwill 3 Street Gamin 4 Brittons Woods 5 The Old Medicine Chest 6 "Shep" - 7 Tit for Tat 8 The Dreamer 9 Old Letters 10 Chimes of Crouse 11 Fortune Tellers 12 Shadow Ships 13 Farewell 13 Orange Drinking Cup 14 The Dinkey-Bird 15 Hans Keppenger 16 Spanish Castles 18 Evening Song 19 To Helen 20 A Fireside Reverie 21 Over The Hills 22 The Making of The Gown 23 October 24 Song : 25 Mary Marie 26 Song of The Bob-0-Link 27 Coin Of A Kind 28 The Auld Hame 28 X CONTENTS Wings Of The Night 29 Delancy Street 30 Bermuda 31 The Little Vagabond 32 Apple Mary 33 Epigrammatic 34 Song Of The Lost Sons 36 Cape Flattery 38 In Explanation 39 Lent 40 An Old Friend Of Mine 42 Mother 43 The Fair Co-Ed 44 A Tryin' To Be Happy 45 A Valentine P'antasy 46 Invocation 47 November Eighth 48 Spirit O' Youth 48 R. S. V. P 48 May Day 49 Regimental Mary Ann 49 Changing Seasons 51 A Wish 52 Yule-Tide 52 The Magic Land 53 Mother Carey and Saint Nick 54 Reflections 55 Kentucky 56 Gargoyles Three 57 Two Little Shoes 58 Songs and Satires MAY WOODS On a sunny wooded hillside By a moss rose old and dead, In the springtime once a flower sprang to view, And the Heavens dropped their color Down on its tiny head. That the forest-folk might know that it was true. But there came a lusty warbler To the moss rose old and dead, And he sang most sadly , sweetly of his lot, Till the flower mutely, surely His inmost thoughts had read. And as he flew away — ' ' Forget-me-not. ' ' Onondaga Hill — 1905. WHIPPOORWILL The purple shades of night are gently falling, All nature seems quieted and still, But one small voice in yonder woodlawn calling, 'Tis the note of a lonely whippoorwill. * * Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill. ' ' Faster and deeper the shadows black are growing. Dark outlined 'gainst the sky stands the mill, The little stream seems sleepy in its flowing, Faintly I hear the echo, "Whippoorwill." *' Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill." Onondaga Hill — 1906* STREET GAMIN STREET GAMIN Three little dirty ragamuffins Scampering on together, "With never a thought in their childish minds Of rain or storm or weather, With never a thought of home or friends Or any kindred relation. Afloat on a sea that never ends — The gallantry of the nation. Three little daring buccaneers Pirating on together, The ash can many a fortune holds, A shoe, or a cap with a feather, A musty crust or a rind of cheese Prized from this conglomeration Offers a kingdom's wealth in fees To the freebooters of the nation. Three little wandering errant knights Trooping on together, A' swearing by their lady loves, Or by their spurs and leather; A noisy, cheerful, merry band, Sharing a strange elation. Recking neither law nor land. The gallantry of the nation. Syracuse — 1907. BRITTONS WOODS BRITTONS WOODS I know a cool, sequestered glen That deep in the hills doth lie ; Its guardians are the squirrel and wren, And the sentinel crow that wings on by. A tiny brook winds down along Its shallow, stony way; It sings the sweetest woodland song At the closing of the day. There May flowers in profusion grow, And lilies by the stream; 'Tis there the softest breezes blow, 'Tis there I love to dream. Each clifted rock and giant tree. Each crystal pool and bar of sand Bring back in mellow memory Lost scenes of childhood's fairy land. Onondaga Hill — 1908, THE OLD MEDICINE CHEST THE OLD MEDICINE CHEST. My mother's old rickety medicine chest Stood just inside the door Of the sitting room, on three creaky legs Knee high above the floor. With some sky blue plush hung about it for best I'll bet nobody ever guessed *Twas just an old relic medicine chest. Wherever it came from I never made out — 'Twas such a peculiar old thing, All studded and inlaid and locked up with brass Just like the strong box of a king. With its round little rivets all shiny and dressed ; I'll bet nobody ever guessed 'Twas just our family's medicine chest. It was kept there on purpose for us three boys — Young Jim and Tom and I — Mother said we were always skinnin' our shins Or gettin' a black eye. "For bumps and bruises the arnica's best." I'll bet nobody ever guessed Of the hundreds of cures in that medicine chest. In the dusk of the garret we laid a bold plan. Then painted our faces with soot, For a robber is always a bad looking man With a gun and sword to his boot. A pin in the lock proved to be quite the test We thought nobody would have guessed Who opened mother's old medicine chest. "SHEP" Like burglars we raised up the cover a bit, When everyone else was out, And kneeling close gazed down in Then felt in 'round about. Alas! We were with misfortune blest For mother came in and quickly guessed That we had opened her medicine chest. Then out came the rhubarb and thick castor oil, For mother could doctor some, too. And three little brigands were placed in disgrace; The thought makes me shiver anew. That rued combination put an end to the quest, I'll bet nobody need to have guessed We tampered no more with that medicine chest. Onondaga Hill — 1909. My good old friend, that old black dog. Has gone off o'er the hill; Beside some mossy woodland log He's lying cold and still. For him no sorrowing bells were tolled. No drapes of crepe were hung; But the south wind came and the dry leaves rolled, And I heard his requiem sung. TIT FOR TAT My boyhood's happiest hours were passed With him in wdod and glen; For us were sifty shadows cast, For us sweet sang the wren. The squirrel high in his leafy tower His threats and protests made Until the great sun sinking lower Left wood and field in shade. Poor, dear old ^'Shep," my good old friend; From the land where the chipmunk plays The god of dogs to you shall send Sweet dreams of olden days. For you no funeral bells were tolled. No drapes of crepe were hung, But o'er my heart a sadness rolled When I heard your requiem sung. Onondaga Hill — 1910. TIT FOR TAT I sent her back her photographs, Her pictures and her books; Now that he knows, how Jimmy laughs. Puts on such funny looks; First dons a smile, then grins awhile, Then says such dry, droll things, ^'You're lucky. Bill," he's saying still, ''They can't come back on wings." THE DREAMER Now have I been an easy mark, A point for girlish jabs? I couldn't keep them in the dark, Those candies, shows, and cabs. How oft I fell, Jim knew full well, He pictured horrors black, A letter came, she said the same: *' Please take your photos back." Syracuse — 1910, THE DREAMER Just a dreamer of idle old dreams am I, Of things that can never come true. Of the strangest and weirdest impossible things ; My thoughts are the thoughts of the night winds that clings 'Round the uppermost branch of the forest and sings A soft sad melody. Just a weaver of shadowy legends am I, Out of old-time forgotten romance, Of a golden haired maid and a chivalrous knight; My story's a tale of a glorious fight Fought for honor alone, with sharp steel gleaming bright Into eternity. 10 OLD LETTERS Just a builder of filmy castles am I, Of an ancient and splendid design, With high-crested towers and gray-bearded walls; My forts are the crypts of a thousand black palls, For the guard lies there slain and the murdered king calls Ghost-like and silently. Syracuse — 1910. OLD LETTERS. The letters that you've sent to me I prize more dear than hoards of gold; They are a priceless treasury, The sesame of days of old. They breathe a fragrance of the past, Of things you used to do and say; Sweet memory links with them are cast Into a chain of yesterday. I like to read them o'er and o'er, Each yellowed page so old yet new; I like to think you're here once more And do the things you used to do. I like to dream again those dreams And listen as you talk to me ; Oh, do not say ''Farewell," it seems The echo of eternity. Syracuse — 1910. CHIMES OF GROUSE 11 CHIMES OF GROUSE Old Chimes of Crouse, how sweet and clear Your silvery notes are swelling, swelling; Through all the valley far and near O'er woodland brown and meadow sear Good tidings each is telling, telling. How glad to greet the reddening sun Your joyous bells are ringing, ringing ; How pliant when the day is done I hear them softly singing, singing. Their mystic spirits singing, singing. Old Chimes of Crouse, how faint and sweet Your echoes still are coming, coming Out of the years, my heart to greet, Oh! Listen, Syracuse replete In melody your humming, humming. Dark shadows round your tower cast, And all your notes seem sighing, sighing; The night wind whispers and is past Your echoes faint are dying, dying. Last lingering tones are dying, dying. Syracuse — 1910, 12 FORTUNE TELLERS FORTUNE TELLERS *'Give me your hand," she slyly said; The sparks from the hearth danced brightly; * ' Oh, many a man has his fortune read, Now this is your life, and this your head," Then the storm grew dim, for her cheeks were red; June roses I thought, and rightly. ''Now this line's for love, true love, I see, And here's just a slight illusion — " She stopped and looked up so prettily. Her deep brown eyes filled with mystery; ''Is that to be all of my history?" I stammered in confusion. "Would you have more — ?" She looked away, And then my wits went flying; I can't remember to this day Whether I turned palmist in truth or play, But she gave me her hand with a wholesome, "Nay," And suggested I keep on — trying. Syracuse — 1911. FAREWELL! 13 SHADOW SHIPS Shadow ships at anchor lay, 'Tis the breaking of the day, And o'er the blue Venetian bay Comes the light of morning. From the east and up the skies Golden mists unwafted rise, And from each gilded mast head flies Bright colors each adorning. A hundred sails far out at sea Silhouetted stand and call to me. As from a land of mystery They come in silent glory. Oh, break! my soul this blue-gray shore. Unfettered float for evermore Out midst yon rosy sails and o'er The sea and learn its story. Syracuse — 1911. FAREWELL! To one sweet, truly generous heart, That can forgive, forget, and yet remain Unchanged, I cannot say, ''Goodbye," though we do part. But, just ''Farewell" till we shall meet again. Syracuse — 1911, 14 ORANGE DRINKING CUP ORANGE DRINKING CUP I. Come, jolly lads, come gather 'round. Let's give a rousing cheer; Make every echo far resound For Alma Mater dear. Sing once again, ''Bill Orange," Sing the old, ''Gridiron Song," The morning's light Will soon be bright Upon our merry throng. Chorus Then raise each cup, high up, my boys, A toast "To care a truce." Drink deep to-night to college joys, Pledge dear old Syracuse. II. Come, jolly lads, our college days Are fleeting, nearly spent; Sing once again those old time lays In gleeful merriment. Red is the wine we're drinking; Red blood burns in each heart; With voices strong We'll sing a song Of Orange ere we part. THE DINKEY-BIRD 15 Chorus Then raise each cup, high up, my boys, A toast '*To care a truce." Drink deep to-night to college joys. Pledge dear old Syracuse. Binghampton — 1911. THE DINKEY-BIRD ''The Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amf alula tree." — Field. Oh ! See the Dinkey -Bird up there, He's swinging, swinging, swinging; I hear his voice through the rainbow air. He's singing, singing, singing; And as he swings back, to and fro The green boughs bend and the boy swings low All pinky-white in the golden glow. Just a Dinkey-Bird. What thinks my Dinkey-Bird so free? He's dreaming, dreaming, dreaming; Alone in a land of mystery. All's gleaming, gleaming, gleaming. His heart is light and his song is gay. Through his wind blown curls the sunbeams play. And he sits and swings the livelong day — Pretty Dinkey-Bird. 16 HANS KEPPENGER Swing on my Dinkey-Bird, swing high, Your little soul is yearning; The fire-cloud against the sky Is burning, burning, burning. Out of the blue your castles rise All bathed in bright celestial dyes — Swing on — in happy Paradise — Little Dinlvcy-Bird. Syracuse — 1911. HANS KEPPENGER. On a quaint side street of a dear old town, Where the carts go rumbling up and down, And the housewives wear a wrinkled frown Like a sneeze; There lived not many years ago A funny old man with hair of snow, A funny old fellow he was, I trow — At his knees. Oh, it seems I can hear the children shout, * * Here 's bowlegged Hans. Look out ! Look out ! ' ^ Then hibbelty, hobbelty, down the lane Comes old Hans Keppenger, basket and cane. Of foreign extraction he was, I think, For his nose resembled a sausage link, All seasoned with schnapps to a ruddy pink, And he knew HANS KEPPENGER 17 How to barber his whiskers close to his chin So it seemed as though he'd been looking in The top of a dusty old flour bin — But too true. And it seems I can still hear those children shout, As they stop in their play, and look about, *' There hibbelty, hobbelty, down the lane. Comes old Hans Keppenger, basket and cane." A felt hat he wore that sat down on his ears, A blue Holland coat that he'd treasured for years, And his 'kerchief had dried up a thousand tears Long ago; His trousers were faded through seasons of wear. Cross clieckered with many a patch and a tear, And his round little stomach had pretty rough fare When he'd blow. Oh, it seems I can hear those children shout As he frights them at play, and they scurry about, For hibbelty, hobbelty, down the lane Comes old Hans Keppenger, basket and cane. But the oddest thing 'bout old Hans-John, And the neighbors joked of it pro and con, Were the bow-legged boots which he always pulled on To his knees. 18 SPANISH CASTLES Though years have passed, he still hobbles along, Now scolding as though the whole world were wrong, Now humming the tune of an old-time song. Hard to please. And I know I can hear those children shout, ''Here's bowlegged Hans. Look out! Look out!" Then hibbelty, hobbelty, down through the rain, Comes old Hans Keppenger, basket and cane. Syracuse — 1911. SPANISH CASTLES ,, A hundred thousand castles have I there In sunny Spain, With massive walls and towers fair, And colors flung out in the air Yf ithout a stain. Sweet breezes from the southland blow — The mountain trees Sigh softly and far down below The gulls go sailing to and fro Out on the seas. There I am king of all that I survey; My lands extend Beyond each misty, tinted peak away Into the shadowy realm where night and day Forever blend. EVENING SONG ' 19 How strange that I should be this king of kings, In dreamy reign! Building my castles, pondering over things, While youth flits by on noiseless wings In sunny Spain. Syracuse — 1911. EVENING SONG The toilsome day is over — Across the evening sky The darkening shadows are weaving The cloak of night on high; And with the dusk the murmurs Of countless drowsy things Are hushed to sleep by the whispery song That the wandering night wind sings. Blow, summer breezes, softly blow, Beneath the starlit sky, Across the waters come and go. Out of the night blow, softly blow. Bring back a voice I used to know In olden days gone by. Thus when life's day is closing. All tranquil and serene, May the night coming down with the twilight Find the year's broad valley green. 20 TO HELEN Then fresli from tlie hills of memory May the gentlest breezes blow And bring with the scent of the woodland Sweet dreams of long ago. Blow, summer breezes, so^ftly blow, Beneath the starlit sky. Across dark waters come and go. Out of the past, blow, softly blow, Bring back those dreams in tinted glow Of olden days gone by. Syracuse — 1912, TO HELEN. Sweet Helen, when the night wind sighs, At my window lightly. And in the starry summer skies Thy pretty moon shines brightly. When drowsy birds have gone to rest — Then, sweetheart dear, I love thee best. What says the southwind to the trees, So whispery and sadly? Come, tell me now thou brigand breeze, I'll pay thy ransom gladly. What heardst thou in the southland there. As thou passed by, of Helen fair? A FIRESIDE REVERIE 21 ^ears on the night. The crystal moon In bright nocturnal glory Floats high — a dream voice seems to croon An old, old-fashioned story, Faintly I hear that sweet voice call, "Dear heart, I love thee best of all." Bridgeport — 1912, A FIRESIDE REVERIE The storm king rages fierce without 'Round each unfastened shutter, He blows a breath both cold and stout. With whistling sigh and angry shout Goes racing down the gutter. He sweeps with hollow, mocking cry Each cornice peak and gable; His hoary beard goes whisking by The frosted window, and his eye Gleams icy cold as sable. Blow on, old storm king, rage at will, What care I for your furor? The fire in the grate burns still, The back log is a blazing mill Of scampering sparks and splendor. 22 OVER THE HILLS In silhouette the andirons stand Like guardsmen grim and loyal; The golden flame's a fairy land Where brilliant figures in a band Troop through a palace royal. Syracuse — 1912, OVER THE HILLS "When we go riding, Kate and I, Then all the world is rosy; Across the blue October sky The silky clouds go sailing by, And on Kate's cheeks bright blushes lie That mock each autumn posy. When we go riding, Kate and I, Kate leads the way, I follow. She knows the path that most pass by Down 'cross the brook, then up on high To where the tall dark pine trees sigh From each dark, covered hollow. There at the closing of the day, Kate stops full half designing. And climbs the fence, like sunny May She sits, and hums a roundelay, While I just stand and gaze away — And know the sun is shining. Syracuse — 1912, THE MAKING OF THE GOWN 23 THE MAKING OF THE GOWN Though the sky is bright and cherry, And the 'wakening day bids merry, Though the clover scented air Calls to May fields fresh and fair, Susan's up, her shuttle's going, Clic-clic-clic ; she's sewing, sewing. Gleams the sun high in the heaven, Creeps the minute hand toward 'leven. Now the postman comes along By the window with a song; Still is Susan busy sewing. Stitch, stitch, stitch; she's sewing, sewing. Quiet shadows deep are falling, And a robin's sweetly calling From the peach tree pink and white, * * Chic-chic-cherry, night-good-night, ' ' South wind sets the candle blowing, Susan keeps on with her sewing. Here a ribbon, there a basting. Tucks and pleatings, nothing wasting; 'Long the casement 'neath the walk Are the crickets all a-talk. Bright cheeks, brighter, tired growing, Fain would Sue put by her sewing. 24 OCTOBER Faster fly her nimble fingers, 'Eonncl lier lips a faint smile lingers, And her brown hair, wind-blown down Curls about the new-made gown. Does she know, her face all glowing, There's a heart stitched in her sewing? Syracuse — 1912. OCTOBER The first red leaves of autumn have appeared. They hang in streamers from the maple bough, And all the elm's summer green is seared — The great trees know 'twill soon be winter now. The bird folk all have left their summer haunts, And down the forest path no more the jay Displays his showy plumage, flings his taunts. But silence reigns supreme throughout the day. The pretty tender flowers have gone to sleep. Snug in their beds they lie beneath the trees. But on the open hillside bare and steep The golden rod still bends beneath the breeze. Down through the hazy air there falls a hush. A few bright days and then against the pane The tinted leaves descend in whirling rush, And in the night time comes the chilling rain. Skaneateles — 1912. SONG 25 SONG. There's a maiden sweet and fair, Katheleen, Who hath witchery and to spare, Katheleen ; With her roguish little smiles And her gay, coquettish wiles— Every move my heart beguiles, Katheleen. There's a language in her eyes, Katheleen ; They're as soft as summer skies, Katheleen ; And beneath her hazel hair Are the roses God put there, And the lips — but none may dare — Katheleen. She's my dream girl as of old, Katheleen ; When the sad night winds blow cold, Katheleen ; Oft' she steals up silently In my dreamy reverie, Sits, and talks, and croons to me, Katheleen. Syracuse — 1912. 26 MARY MARIE MARY MARIE Now Mary Marie and I you see, Had met at the Wilkes's ball; And Mary Marie was twenty-three, As winsome and wise as a maid might be, But the coy little thing never told me you see That she was engaged at all. Ha, ha ! Too bad she's engaged at all. With ]\Iary Marie I quite agree, 'Tis stupid to dance at a ball; And Mary Marie at half past three Was out for a lark in gay company. 'Twas a jolly old crowd, just the moon and me — Lot she cared for the moon at all. Ha, ha ! Not a bit for the moon at all. Now, Mary Marie, blush prettily, There's gossip agog in the hall; And twixt we three, let the secret be. For cherry red lips tease at seventy. Small matter if they be engaged or free — On the night of a fancy ball. Ha, ha ! On the night of the Wilkes's ball. Cortland— 1913. SONG OF THE BOB-0-LINK 27 SONG OF THE BOB-0-LINK. Sue and I were gathering lilies, White and yellow water lilies, Where the rushes gleam and glisten In the drowsy summer sun, And old Bob-o-link was singing As the breezes set him swinging, ^'Cherup, cherup," he was singing, *'Come and take them every one." Bob's a bright and sprightly fellow In his coat of black and yellow. But the willow shadows hide him, He's forgotten in the sun, Susan's big blue eyes are gleaming And her cheery smile is beaming — Flash of gold — and Bob is screaming, ''Come and take them every one." So it happened — Sue bent near me, And old Bob made not to hear me, Just kept swinging sort o' careless like And singing in the sun, P'rhaps beneath those very branches He's seen other blushing glances. And he knows his song entrances, For they take them — every one. TulUj—1913. 28 THE AULD HAME COIN OF A KIND. *'Conie, pretty maid," he slyly said, ''Don't pout but tell me this: Do you aver, that all men were Just made for you to kiss ? ' ' Her dark eyes fell, he guessed right well "What her reply might be — ''In part I do, and yet a few Were made for kissing me." Syracuse — 1913, THE AULD HAME There's a thought in m' heart when th' lang day is 'er. An' the red rosy shadows clim' lang up the sky, 0' me father's old hame, an' the bees an' the clo'er, An' a' the guid things that I luved as a boy. There's a thought o' the winter, its cauld an' its dribble. An' ag'in o' the sweet singin' springtime s' bright, I'm feelin' m' feet on the simmer's hard stibble. An' hearin' the fiddlin' th' October night. There's a thought o' the meadow, the stream running through it, Wi' the kine doon knee deep where the wee fishies play, WINGS OF THE NIGHT > 29 An' beyon' the great wood on the hill high aboo' it, Oh ! th' times we had then through a' the lang day ! There's a thought o' the sma' whiten house an' the mither Toilin' aye for her bairnies, her locks like the snaw, Syne lang she 's gane now f rae this warl ' to anither, Where the heart's achin' tribble is washit awa'. S ' come now the night, when the lang day is o 'er. An' life's purplin' shadows dim' lang up the sky, There's a thought o' the old hame ye wearyin' ro'er, Where the guid, kind auld mither croons o'er the sma' boy. Onondaga Hill — 1913, WINGS OF THE NIGHT. Musing, I sit alone After the day is done. In sad contemplation; Thoughts of the days that were Rush through my mind and stir No exultation. Akin to the weary night. Streaked with its ghastly light. Sodden with sorrow; Cringing ere break of day, Despair comes and breathes away All hope for the morrow. DELANCY STREET TemiDts now the murky dark, Smolders that awful spark Of execration. Wings of the night none see, ''Bear thou thy cross with me, I'm thy salvation." New York City— 1914. DELANCY STREET. Ten thousand wretched roof-tops near and far, All done in brick and stone and mortar gray; While here and there, like some colossal scar, Dark shadowed 'gainst a sky of murky black. Stands out some giant bridge or outpost stack. All 'round about, the wretched, squalid quay. And stifling fetid breath of modern day. A million cheated souls in worse than chains. In blind delusion struggling down a road. Upon their aching backs the one that reigns Rides on unconscious of their gasping breath. Their prayers, their curses, or their silent death. The sky is blue for him who wisely sowed — But, oh, 'tis black for them who bear the load! New York City— 1914. BERMUDA , 31 BERMUDA. Goodnight, my love, goodnight, goodnight! The fading moon, her lantern high Goes threading softly down the sky With nodding opalescent light. How fair she treads the silvered sea Down through your palms where coral bars And lilied isles embrace the stars With magic and with mystery. At last she lights the phantom ships That stand at anchor down the bay With outstretched ghostly arms of gray, Then calls the watch with silent lips. And noAv the moon is lost to sight. Past violet waters and the brake Some bird is singing for your sake, Goodnight, my love, goodnight, goodnight. Bermuda Islands — 1914. 32 THE LITTLE VAGABOND THE LITTLE VAGABOND. Made in His image, there he stands; Poor little vagabond, for all he knows The Devil owns him head and hands. And he goes the way the Devil goes ; In blackened shirt and grimy pants — God knows he never had a chance. A boy, you say? He's 'most a man. All hunched up, sick and old; He eats and sleeps where'er he can. Nor grumbles when it's wet and cold. In filthy shirt and ragged pants — God knows he hasn't half a chance. Kicked out, he has? It's foT the best. A vagabond's no earthly good; You talked of uplift plans nor guessed He died for want of clothes and food. Shrouded in reeking shirt and pants — God has him. Now he has a chance. Hohoken — 1914. APPLE MARY 33 ''APPLE MARY." ''Apples, apples! Please buy apples" — 'Twas many years ago, And no one here remembers now In Broadway or Park Row, For everything has changed about And nothing's quite the same; New York was just a little town When Apple Mary came. "Apples, apples! Please buy apples!" Oh, the sunshine in the song; All up and down the wharf they knew When Mary passed along, Swingin' her basket on her arm So m^odest like and shy, 'Twas, "Laddies, get your pennies out, Apple Mary's passin' by." "Apples, apples! Please buy apples!" North River, Bowling Green; But when the ships came into dock, 'Twas there she would be seen. "She's lookin' for her Sailor Jack," They said when eight bells rang, And when 'twas frosty 'long the wharf — Then Apple Mary sang. 34 EPIGRAMMATIC "Apples, apples! Please buy apples!" And then passed many a day ; Still Jack's good ship was out at sea, And Mary's locks were gray; So poor, so old; can it be true, Through streets which had no end — Where millions passed would no one be Poor Apple Mary's friend? "Apples, apples! Buy my apples!" No more we hear the cry; A dear old face has vanished; We miss a mild blue eye. No more about the dangerous streets Her faltering footsteps roam. For a voice down through the skies has called- Poor Apple Mary home. New York City — 1914. EPIGRAMMATIC Dottie-Dimple-Dorothy, Not like other girls was she. Hair of burnished gold and eyes Like the fairest summer skies. Cheeks that mocked the new-plucked rose Voice as when the south wind blows. "Freshman Co-Ed," rumor ran; Then a merry race began. EPIGRAMMATIC ^ 35 College men were quite surprised; Dorothy was idolized. Senior, junior, sophomore; Dances, theatres, galore. Mixers, rushes, college fair; The popular maid was always there. While the ghostly ''Flunker's Con." Watched the social whirl go on. Dick was but a passing craze, John soon numbered all his days. Harry made himiself a pal With a splutt'ring National. Then each big sorority Sent a bid to Dorothy. Homely college sisters said, ''Wait, 'twill surely turn her head." College Profs allowed they knew — Maids could break a heart or two. And for such as stole the tarts, There's no harm in breaking hearts. Now the moral can you see ? Dottie-Dimple-Dorothy. Seattle— 1915. 36 SONG OF THE LOST SONS SONG OF THE LOST SONS Ours was the sorrow great, Born to a cruel Fate — Anguish upon her, Homes that our fathers wrought — • For which they toiled and fought — Lost in dishonor. Played we the losing fight, Flamed with the will of right, "When death was spoken Hands were in silence prest, Turned we into the West Spirits unbroken. Say not we had to flee Far over land and sea, Deep into hiding; But that we heard the call Answered it one and all — Time we were biding. Sons of a goodly race, Who says we lost our place ? Say we have found it. In a new world and wide, Here is no shame to hide, Nor sorrow to drown it. SONG OF TH E LOST SONS 37 Mountain and valley free, Lakeland and flashing sea, On and forever; Here the uneonquered ones, Here the forgotten sons, Naught now can sever. Bound here by common ties Labor and sacrifice, Shoulder to shoulder; Shall we a new land make That shall grow up and take Place by the older. This then the gift shall be To you and posterity, Come now and claim it ; Hear 'neath blue sunlit skies Shall a New Freedom rise — Come you and name it! Forget then the weary years. Forget all the toil and tears We spent till we won her; Remember the cruel fate — Ours was the sorrow great — Name us with honor ! Seattle— 1915^ 38 CAPE FLATTERY CAPE FLATTERY Gray dawn and graying sea — Salt mists blown to beckon me, Sea birds crying out of sight Where the morning meets the night. Mystery waves of white and green Sing of all the things they've seen; Out beyond the windswept white Oriental stars shine bright, Paper lanterns swing and glow In cherry-blossom Tokyo, Far down Honolulu bay Ukeleles softly play. Harbor winds bring up the noise, Anchor chains and rattling buoys. Giant ships and steaming quay Poppy-scented Port-Bombay ; And from desert shores afar. Land of Crescent and the Star, Comes a chanted melody — Caravans of Araby. Sea birds wandering out of sight. Memories of my thousandth night; Love, adventure, mystery. Past the dawn and graying sea. Port Discovery — 1915. IN EXPLANATION 39 IN EXPLANATION Explanations is hard to make, An' specially when a feller's shy, But folks is talkin' 'bout it so I'm just a 'goin' to try To s 'plain the hull darned thing, An' get it clear again, So you'll know just the reason why — I didn't marry Jane. You know — Secrets and things is hard to tell About a feller's steady girl. Folks said Jane wasn't so much on looks, But she seemed like a pearl To me. She never said A woTd against the grain. But maw said they was reasons why — I couldn't marry Jane. You know — Mothers is sometimes hard on boys. An' often blights their love and things. Maw said Jane didn't have no style. Nor no estates, nor rings; She said she weighed two hundred pounds, She caused me such a lot of pain. An' then paw tol' his reasons why — I couldn't marry Jane. 40 LENT You know — Perhaps you've had a paw yourself "Who always acted like a bear, and swore He 'd cut you off without a cent. Well, I tol' Jane, an' she got sore At me, an' screamed an' cried I was a brute, an' 'fore I could explain She 'd up an ' died ; an ' that 's just why I never married Jane. Seattle— 1915, LENT Oh, I know it's bein' done. An' they say it's lots of fun. But I 'm a little curious, An' I hope you won't resent. For I'd really like to know Why people have to go A' hungry till their furious — A' just because it's lent. 'Oh! It's Lent, Lent, Lent! Here's a life that's been misspent, But we'll starve it into virtue With our much respected Lent. LENT 41 Oh, it lasts but forty days, Time enough for any craze, Self imposed without a reason An' no harm is really meant. But these disheartened looks, Plainly show we're sick of books. An' cigars are out of season A' just because it's Lent. Oh ! It's Lent, Lent, Lent ! Here's good fellows discontent, But we'll smoke 'em into favor When we 're finished with our Lent. Oh, if we were made of wood I suppose 'twould do some good, But goodness now don't answer For the jolly days we've spent. An' for all you laugh and smile. Who would have a silly style Make a monkey of a man, sir — A' just because it's Lent. Oh ! It's Lent, Lent, Lent ! Where 's the man that started Lent ? Oh, I fancy 'twill be jolly When we're done observin' Lent. Seattle— 1915. 42 AN OLD FRIEND OF MINE AN OLD FRIEND OF MINE Oh, Bill, he's gone to a party, And Tony and Fred are out, And Dick, so jolly and hearty, Is rushing the Kappas no doubt; And I'm alone for the evening With my books and my fire I'm free; So I '11 just drop a line, to an old friend of mine — To the girl who is going to be. 'Twill be an old fashioned letter Like my grandaddy wrote long ago, ''My dear little girl," and what's better I '11 mark it with crosses just so ; For crosses you know have a meaning That only true lovers can see, But she'll know the sign that old friend of mine — The girl who is going to be. I '11 close with, ' ' I love you truly, ' * Just the same as I used to do, And I'll turn the stamp around duly, "For sweetheart, I'm writing to you, Tonight my heart's in New England In a quaint old town by the sea. ' ' And I 'm writing a line to an old friend of mine — The girl who is going to be. MOTHER 43 There's the little white house and the clover, And joy's smiling out through your tears-^ Why, Bill! — Your party's not over? I'll be . Just a prank of the years. Guess you saved me from popping the question, You're a bully old pal, I decree. And tonight we will dine to an old friend of mine — To the girl who tvas going to be. Seattle— 1915. MOTHER ! mother dear, like outposts set on high, The bright eternal stars their vigil keep, The day is past, across the darkling sky, The night wind drowsily sings the world to sleep. Alone and far from home in forest wild I lay me down to rest 'mid falling dew. And peace came for a mother hushed her child, And in my dreams I knew that she was you. Thus in that last dark night which soon shall come But let me see your face and feel you near. And I shall know, although my lips be dumb. That God has known and blessed you, mother dear. Mt. Bainer National Forest — 1915. 44 THE FAIR CO-ED THE FAIR CO-ED A bit of rose and pink chiffon, In library sequestered nook, May come to be as time goes on, Of more importance than a book. Half hidden from the passing crowd, 'Neath dusty shelf and winding stair. She sits, and like a golden cloud, The morning sunlight tints her hair. She dips in Plato and in Hume, In Shakespeare and in Poe; Philosophy and tragic gloom But serve to make her fairer grow. She reads in Latin, likes the Greek, Has toyed with French, you know awhile; It's heavenly to hear her speak. But just divine to see her smile. The old librarian totters on. Nor thinks behind his shelves of dust A bit of rose and pink chiffon Knows why it is that freshmen — bust. Seattle— 1915. A TRYIN' TO BE HAPPY 45 A TRYIN' TO BE HAPPY Fact is, I've been about a bit an' seen a lot; An' I've made, and spent my pile "Where there was pleasure to be got; Guess I've gone a fool's own limit Quite as frequently as not — A' tryin' to be happy. Gone a silly fool's own limit Quite as frequently as not, A' tryin' to be happy. Each day I've set my hand to such as come along; An' I've learned to toss my heart Into the bargain with a song. An' perhaps to chirp and whistle When things is goin' wrong — A' tryin' to be happy. Oh, it's best to grin and whistle When things is goin' wrong, A' tryin' to be happy. What's left? I've lusted down the painted ways of light; An' I've known the lonely trail With its silent starry night ; Oh! I've pawned my youth to wander Over seas with wonder bright, A' tryin' to be happy. Pawned and lost my youth to wander Over seas with wonder bright, A' tryin' to be happy. Seattle — 1915. 46 A VALENTINE FANTASY A VALENTINE FANTASY A red polo coat and a uniform gray, As it turns out once in a while, sir, "Were strolling across the campus one day, For strolling is always in style, sir. Said the red polo coat In a tremulous note, ''I think it is Valentine's day, sir." True, the red polo coat and the uniform gray. Never thought ere the strolling began, sir, Of things that may happen on Valentine's day, When a maid nods a smile for her answer. So the uniform gray Had a soldier's own way; '"Twas a lovely old Valentine's day, sir." Now, a red polo coat and a uniform gray, I'll finish my tale with your leave, sir. Go strolling together most every fine day; There's a heart on the uniform's sleeve, sir; And it beats to the note Of a red polo coat. For every day's Valentine's day, sir. Seattle— 1915. INVOCATION 47 INVOCATION Grant me a birthright of fair open places "Where mountain and valley come down to the sea, Through childhood to dream, search wild flowers ' faces And read from the rocks what the future shall be. Give me a life filled with manly endeavor. With youth at my side let me range field and flood, Strange ports and new faces my passion forever, Find joy in right living and everything good. Let me lie down to rest, life 's labor ended. At peace with the thought that a service is done, Untortured by promised rewards, undefended. Assured all beginnings and ends are as one. Make me a grave where the great rocks are lying High on some pinnacled point by the sea, 'Round my lone sepulcher vagrant winds sighing Shall mourn through the ages lost camraderie. San Francisco — 1915. 48 R. S. V. P. NOVEMBER EIGHTH Though Autumn fields of brown are spread Between us, yet the sunset red Shines bright for both, so health and cheer I send to you, Mother Dear! You have my love, I can but pray, God bless you this November day. Chicago — 1915. SPIRIT 0' YOUTH Because the sleigh bells gladly ring — I'm glad I am alive, Because my heart chords loudly sing, And sunshine brightens everything For which I live, and hope, and strive — At twenty-five. Chicago — 1915. R. S. V. P. Though all the world should come and say Your eyes were hazel, green, or gray, 'Twould be a hopeless sign; I still should call them wondrous brown And see 'neath lashes drooping down My pretty Valentine. Chicago — 1916. REGIMENTAL MARY ANN 49 MAY DAY 'Tis the first day of May, there's a kiss in the air, All the world loves a May day because it's so fair; Smell the lilacs in bloom, see the mayflowers too. And the lilies, and violets both yellow and blue ; And down in the orchard, and up in the glen The robins and bluebirds are nesting again. Along by the brookside the cowslips are out. Green grass on the hillside, and all round about The blue vaulted sky bright with sunshine and joy Fills the heart with a gladness that makes man a boy, A boy Vt^ith a dog and the whole day to play — Be a youngster at fifty, 'tis the first day of May. Chicago — 1916. REGIMENTAL MARY ANN There's many a trooper who still minds the day, When first came Mary Ann, A' down the company street s'gay. Like apple blossoms fresh in May, An' Danney O 'Toole stopped his roundelay — At the sight o' Mary Ann. Stopped a rollikin' Irish roundelay, Put his jiggin's aside for another day — At the sight o' Mary Ann. 50 REGIMENTAL MARY ANN For 'twas a, "Hey, dey, Mary! ''A hey, dey, Mary Ann! ''An' blessin's upon ye my pretty one — "You're sweet on Corporal Dan." An' a' through the summer's burnin' white heat, Each day came Mary Ann, A' peddlin' goodies and many a treat To Captain an' Sergeant an' high Private Pete, But 'twas plain she cared mostly young Danney to meet, Did handsome Mary Ann. Ah, her brown eyes were dancin' young Danney to meet, Though her gingerbread soldiers — poor beggars dis- creet — Were a' dyin' for Mary Ann. An' 'twas, "Hey, dey, Mary, "A hey, dey, Mary Ann! ' ' If soldiers have sweethearts my pretty one — "Beware o' Corporal Dan!" At last came our orders ; we a ' said, ' ' Goodbye, ' ' To sweet little Mary Ann. "Right forward, four right," rang the ol' Sergeant's cry As the mornin's red sun struck the October sky, CHANGING SEASONS 51 An' each trooper in saddle was ready to die — For dear little Mary Ann. Each trooper was ready and willin' to die, An' Danney 'Toole brushed a tear from his eye For the leavin' o' Mary Ann. An ' 'twas a ' ' Hey, dey, Mary ! ' ' Regimental Mary Ann ! ''May angels be bringin' ye pretty one "Sweet dreams o' Corporal Dan!" Fort Worth— 1916. CHANGING SEASONS 'Tv/as summer by the leafy tree, And by the meadow soft and green, The little brook sang merrily Of all the summery things he'd seen; A lark lost in the blue above Sang so it seemed his soul must part, But Mary only played at love. And oh, 'twas winter in my heart. 'Tis winter by the icy bough. The snowy fields and woods around. The laughing brook is silent now, And only wintry winds resound. Yet twinkling stars o'er vale and hill. Seem beauty gems of magic art, For Mary — love has said, *'I will," And oh, 'tis summer in my heart. Chicago — 1916. 52 YULE-TIDE A WISH Take away the years And the tears, Take away the name And the game ; Give me back the joy Of the boy— I used to be. Let me for a day Go away, I shall find the place And a face Bright with mother love From above — Awaiting me. Chicago — 1916. YULE-TIDE A little red house On a little white hill, A breath of Christmas in the air So beautiful and still. Berkshire Hills — 1916, THE MAGIC LAND 53 THE MAGIC LAND Do you remember long ago A blue eyed little lad? He climbed a hill-top all aglow In sunshine, saw far down below The city of the glad. Enraptured, long he gazed away O'er sea and golden sand. Till, spirit like, the hills of gray Crept up and spoke at close of day, ''Come see the Magic Land." With singing heart the boy pressed on, Strong in his youthful years, Loitered in Palace and Parthenon, Learned from the world and sages anon, Nor thought of his mother's tears. But he never found the Magic Land, Nor learned all he would know. Until he turned from a distant strand And found his mother's heart and hand The same as long ago. Chicago — 1916. S4 MOTHER CAREY AND SAINT NICK MOTHER CAREY AND SAINT NICK Little laddie at the window Gazing toward the evening sky, Tell me 'bout the snowflakes dropping As they pass the window by, As they flutter from the sky. Do' you think of Mother Carey Far above the leafless trees? Can you hear her faintly calling Home her pretty chic-a-dees? See their feathers in the breeze. Do you think of old Kris Kringle With his toys all in a rov»^? Can you hear his sleigh bells jingle As he drives off through the snow? Reindeers racing through the snow. If you thought for quite a minute 'Bout the snow storm dark and thick, Don't you think that way up in it There's a home for old Saint Nick? Mother Carey and Saint Nick. Chicago— 1916. REFLECTIONS 55 REFLECTIONS Tonight I stroll 'long time worn walks Beneath great oak and elm trees And feel the soul of Old Yale talks To me of life in prophesies. The future leads up from the past, Two centuries of glory bright Bespeak new deeds while time shall last, New men to carry ''Truth and Light." These ivied halls will pass away, Replaced by ones not yet designed. Where then the calls that sound today — The songs borne on the evening wind ? Ours not to know ! While duty stands — Strike out, persist, prevail, And Arctic snow and Tropic sands Shall feel the thrill of men and Yale ! 0! hearts that burn in after years, And you who bring new talents bright, Shall I return, and through my tears Recall the man I am tonight ? New Haven — 1916. 56 KENTUCKY KENTUCKY. A thousand bards have told in song Of Old Kentucky's charms, Portrayed her mountains ranged along — Her wondrous Blue Grass farms. Songs of our fair Kentucky Belle Are sung wher e'er men roam, And who's not heard as darkness fell, ''My Old Kentucky HomeT' But let me tell in simple rhyme Of other things unsung; Far back in geologic time When still the earth was young, Then many a mineral treasure tray Was locked beneath our hills Filled full of coal and oil and clay To feed and run our mills. Oh! land of rich maturity, Once ''dark and bloody ground," For thee is cast futurity Beyond the trumpet's sound; New generations yet unborn Shall come this wealth to hold. And mineral industries we scorn Will give a million fold. Prestonshurg — 1 917. GARGOYLES THREE -57 GARGOYLES THREE Gargoyles three to a cornice clung, Man, and reptile, and coral hung, Chiseled by steel with a clever art. Things of stone with a stony heart. Yet stones may speak as you shall see — List to the song of the gargoles three. First spake the man, for men are bold. Courtly his manner, his accent cold, ''Men call me Kublai, Mongol Kahn; I knew the world ere this race began, The knowledge your modern empire shows Was born with me and Himalayan snows." Spake then the reptile's deathly voice: ''Man took his knowledge not through choice; Back in the depths of the Permian fen There lived we saurians, mothers of men : How slight the wisdom you boast and name That knows not the line by which you came. ' ' Last of all three spake the coral spray, Ghostlike, indistinct, far away: "The earth was old when I was young; I knew you both as your cradles swung; Far off in the tropical Cambrian sea We lived all as one, you are kin to me." Lexington — 1918. 58 TWO LITTLE SHOES TWO LITTLE SHOES Two little shoes on the mantel high Worn at the heel and stubbed at the toe, Tell me, are you as lonely as I; Where are your thoughts as the night winds blow? Is it the wood lire's ruddy beam Caught in each button, a dangl'ing light, Or are those your tears that sadly gleam Dropped for a face that you miss tonight. Embers and ashes, and a dawn that grays Bringing old tasks that we may not choose. How priceless these dreams of sweet baby days, A God-given face, and two little shoes! Frankfort— 1920 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 938 599 1