SONGS OF THE 
 HEART AiND SOUL 
 
 JOSEl'M ROLAND PIATT 
 
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SONGS OF 
 THE HEART AND SOUL 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH ROLAND PIATT 
 
 » » 
 
 > » ) 
 
 BOSTON 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 
 1917 
 

 
 « -« 
 
 Copyright, 1917 
 Sherman, French 6* Company 
 
 JAN -4 1918 > 
 
 dCI.A479839 
 
 /W-0 I 
 
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 IN FOND REMEMBRANCE OF THE 
 AULD LANG SYNE. I AFFECTIONATELY 
 INSCRIBE THIS VOLUME OF VERSE 
 
 TO THE "ELECT OF LOVE," WHO 
 SIPPED WITH ME LIFE'S MORN- 
 ING WINE, AND WHO RECALL 
 THEIR DAYS OF YOUTH, AS 
 GLADLY I DO MINE; TO ALL, 
 WHO, LIVING, THINK OF ME AS 
 YEARS GO FLEETING ON, AND 
 TO THE MEMORY OF THOSE, THE 
 DEAR ONES DEAD AND GONE. 
 
PROEM 
 
 I can't recall what age I was when rhymes be- 
 gan to play 
 
 Their fancies in my heart and brain, — " I've 
 always been that way " ; 
 
 And 'way back there in early youth the very 
 air to me 
 
 In Summer time was thick with sounds of sweet- 
 est harmony. 
 
 I loved the haunts of nature, and I loved the 
 songs of birds ; 
 
 I loved the wooded pasture lands, where fed the 
 quiet herds; 
 
 I loved the dusk of country lanes, when Sum- 
 mer's day was gone ; 
 
 I loved the night with all its stars, I loved the 
 breath of dawn. 
 
 The cooing dove, the bobolink, the blue-bird and 
 the thrush 
 
 Made melody all day for me; and in the eve- 
 ning's hush 
 
 The whip-poor-will, the crickets, and the frogs 
 down by the stream 
 
 Lulled me to sleep, and filled my soul with many 
 a happy dream. 
 
So, in and out, and up and down, and back and 
 
 forth and through, 
 The warp and woof of Time and Years kept 
 
 weaving, till there grew 
 This fabric, whereon printed is full many a 
 
 song and rhyme 
 That lived with me from halcyon days of youth 
 
 until this time. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Forest Troubadour 1 
 
 Down on the Tennessee 3 
 
 The Old Man's Story 5 
 
 Never Again . 8 
 
 Sweethearts in the Auld Lang Syne . . 10 
 
 In Galion 12 
 
 When Age Comes On 14 
 
 looneenah 16 
 
 My Serenader 26 
 
 Robert Burns 28 
 
 He Tol(le)d the Bell 32 
 
 The Pianist 33 
 
 Lake Tahoe S6 
 
 He Wouldn't Take " No ! " for an Answer 38 
 
 Laughter 40 
 
 A Farewell 41 
 
 My Own Dear Mary Dee 43 
 
 Where Words are Weak 44 
 
 The Baby 45 
 
 The Fairest of Creation 47 
 
 Nannie McShane ........ 50 
 
 MoNA Lee 52 
 
 Beyond the Years 54 
 
 A Girl from Kentucky 56 
 
 Alone 57 
 
 When Daylight Fades 59 
 
 The Glad Yesterday 61 
 
 Robert Burns' Reverie 63 
 
 When the Leaves Drop Off'n the Trees 65 
 
PAOK 
 
 Land of the Used-to-be 68 
 
 Scenes of Other Years . . . . . .70 
 
 Belshazzar's Revel ....... 72 
 
 John Mulligan Me Jo 75 
 
 At Della Wilson's Grave 77 
 
 Mary Mundie 79 
 
 The Old Choir 80 
 
 Old Dad Dubbs 82 
 
 Longing 91 
 
 Thirty-Five .....'.... 93 
 
 Coasting Years Ago 96 
 
 The'Zephyr's Song 99 
 
 Doll Baby Days . . . . . . . .100 
 
 Childhood's Slumber Land 102 
 
 To James Whitcomb Riley: Greeting . 104 
 To Joseph Roland Piatt^ — The Poemer . 107 
 
 Summer Dawn 108 
 
 Dolce Far Niente , . .110 
 
 The Poet 112 
 
SONGS OF 
 THE HEART AND SOUL 
 
THE FOREST TROUBADOUR 
 
 When summer comes, and summer days 
 
 Are redolent of June; 
 When brooklets lisp thro pebbled ways, 
 
 With feathered choirs a-tune — 
 I fare me forth to wooded shades, 
 
 With heart and soul aglow, 
 In grottoes, glens and hazeled glades, 
 
 To hear my vireo. 
 
 Sweet Troubadour, you're never still 
 One minute at a time! 
 
 greenwood poet, how you trill 
 Your endless rowth o' rhyme! 
 
 " See here ! See me ! " from bush and tree, 
 
 You busy rascal, O. 
 " See me ! See here ! " in ecstas}^ 
 
 You sing, my vireo. 
 
 1 try to see you, cunning sprite ! 
 
 But 3^ou so flit about 
 You put eye, ear and brain in quite 
 
 A puzzled, hopeless rout. 
 Sit still, you scamp, and let me see 
 
 Just how your downy throat 
 Forms lyrics of clear melody. 
 
 And sings them note by note. 
 
 [1] 
 
Throughout the summer day you sing, 
 
 Almost the whole day long, — 
 You teasing, tantalizing king 
 
 Of modest, dainty song ! 
 And in the haze of autumn's days, 
 
 When leaves bear Jack-Frost stains, 
 You pipe e'en softer arias. 
 
 In mellowed, gentler strains. 
 
 Dear vireo, when you have flown 
 
 To Southland's sunny clime, 
 When winter comes, and harsh winds moan, 
 
 And Christmas carols chime, — 
 Across the sea of Memory, 
 
 From out the Long Ago, 
 Your silv'ry song floats back to me — 
 
 My bonny vireo ! 
 
 [3] 
 
DOWN ON THE TENNESSEE 
 
 Do you remember, Tom, old friend, 
 
 Those days of the long ago, — 
 Our happy home near the river bend, 
 
 And the woods where the flowers grow? 
 When you and I, old friend, were boys, 
 
 So merry and full of glee. 
 When life held sweetest, fairest joys, 
 
 Down on the Tennessee. 
 
 How we used to romp over every lea. 
 
 Or fish from those shady banks ; 
 How we chased the butterfly or the bee. 
 
 And played at our childish pranks. 
 The grass grew down to the water's edge. 
 
 Birds sang from every tree ; 
 At night the frogs croaked in the sedge 
 
 Along the Tennessee. 
 
 Do you recall how in days of old 
 
 All the darkies would gather at night ? 
 How the banjoes rang, how the voices rolled 
 
 Where the moon shed its mellow light. 
 We cast aside care, for the balmy air, 
 
 Like the breath of a southern sea. 
 Was sweeter than zephyrs from anywhere. 
 
 Where rolled the Tennessee. 
 
 [3] 
 
And then, you remember, the years went by, 
 
 And you and I grew to be men ; 
 You courted a girl by the name of Sue Bly, 
 
 And I courted sweet Sallv Glen. 
 Well, Susie shook you, but sweet Sally Glen 
 
 Was true as the stars to me, 
 Till she died and we buried her one sad day 
 
 There close by the Tennessee. 
 
 That broke my heart, and I wandered away, 
 
 Far off from my boyhood home ; 
 I went here and there and everywhere, 
 ' Nor for years did I cease to roam. 
 But the pain grew less as the years rolled in. 
 
 And I've taken a wife, you see, — 
 .Perhaps as good as she would have been 
 
 Who sleeps in Tennessee. 
 
 So I think, someti-^e, I'll take babies and wife, 
 
 And the stock and the household goods. 
 And" go to the scenes of my early life, 
 
 Near the edge of the shady woods. 
 And when I've gone to my rest for aye 
 
 I hope they will bury me 
 Where I may sleep till the Judgment Day 
 
 In dear old Tennessee. 
 
 [*] 
 
THE OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 On a golden summer of long ago, 
 
 In the fair, sweet month of June, 
 I walked with a maiden, as you shall know, 
 
 'Neath the full-orbed silvery moon; 
 And we plighted our troth where the summer's 
 breeze 
 
 With the scent of the rose did blow ; 
 We pledged ourselves to be always true, 
 
 On that summer's night long ago. 
 
 How I loved that maiden no tongue can tell, 
 
 With a love not all of earth; 
 'Twas a love that was born where the angels 
 dwell, — 
 
 Where the heart's best hopes have birth. 
 And her love for me was half divine. 
 
 And as pure as the driven snow ; 
 She promised some day she would be mine. 
 
 On that summer's night long ago. 
 
 We walked 'neath the star-bespangled skies, 
 
 On that well-remembered night; 
 And a holy joy lit up her eyes. 
 
 In that silvery, soft moonlight. 
 We whispered a lingering, fond farewell, 
 
 For at day-dawn I had to go 
 Far o'er the sea, and a shadow fell 
 
 As I left her, long years ago. 
 
 [5] 
 
I was captain then of a white winged ship 
 
 That sailed the summer seas ; 
 And we set our sails and sped away, 
 
 Next morn, with the ofF-land breeze. 
 I was to be gone for twelve long months, 
 
 And would then come home, heigh-o ! 
 O'er the bounding tide, to claim my bride, 
 
 On a summer of long ago. 
 
 But they told my Mary that^I was false. 
 
 On that summer of long ago ; 
 Oh, sad was the day, for they buried her 
 
 In the winter, beneath the snow. 
 And when I returned in the early June 
 
 My heart was broken, and oh! 
 life's fairest hopes all fled away 
 
 On a summer day long ago. 
 
 It is many a year sin. "^ that sweet June night, 
 
 When our souls in bliss were wed ; 
 But I know we belong to each other yet. 
 
 Though I'm living and she is dead. 
 On a summer's evening I often sit 
 
 In the roseate afterglow. 
 And await God's time to renew my vows 
 
 Of that summer of long ago. 
 
 I know we shall meet beyond the skies, 
 Where the truth will be understood ; 
 
 [6] 
 
And we'll dwell forever in Paradise, 
 
 As sure as the Lord is good. 
 My life is dreary ; I near the grave, 
 
 And I long for the tide to flow 
 That will bear my soul to the soul of my love 
 
 Of that summer of long ago. 
 
 ['!'] 
 
NEVER AGAIN 
 
 Never again while the lamps are gleaming 
 
 Shall I hear his step on the gravel walk ; 
 And never again while the stars are beaming 
 
 Will he hold my hands as we fondly talk. 
 Never again while the moonlight glistens 
 
 Along the waves of the restless sea, — 
 Never again ! — my sad soul listens, 
 
 But he'll never again come back to me. 
 
 Never again will his kind voice cheer me. 
 
 Never again shall I call him mine ; 
 Never again will his forai be near me. 
 
 For he found a bed in the ocean's brine. 
 Never again with my fair-haired Shelby 
 
 Shall I pluck love's flowers that sweetly 
 bloom. 
 For he crossed the dt "p in the ill-starred Elhey 
 
 And the ocean's depth is his silent tomb. 
 
 Never again while the sun rays quiver 
 
 Shall I see those eyes and their love-light 
 gleam; 
 Never again by the winding river. 
 
 And never again by the purling stream. 
 Never again on the Susquehanna 
 
 Shall we idly sail, all free from care. 
 And the curling smoke from his sweet Havana 
 
 Will float no more on the evening air. 
 
 [8] 
 
Never again, for the sea has taken 
 
 The dear one to whom I gave my love ; 
 Never again will my soul awaken 
 
 Till it wings its flight to the world above. 
 Never through all the sad years' fleeting 
 
 Shall I see him to whom my soul was wed. 
 And never again shall I hear his greeting 
 
 Till the solemn sea gives up its dead ! 
 
 [9] 
 
SWEETHEARTS IN THE AULD LANG 
 
 SYNE . 
 
 In the fire's gleam I doze and dream of years 
 
 long passed away ; 
 Through retrospect I recollect one tranquil 
 
 day in May, 
 When we sat by a wimpling brook, beneath a 
 
 spreading vine, 
 And you and I were sweethearts, in that glad 
 
 lang syne. 
 
 (Chorus) 
 When you and I were sweethearts, then the 
 
 skies shone soft above; 
 The birds of spring were mating, and we heard 
 
 the cooing dove. 
 And now lifers wintry frost has flecked your 
 
 hair, as it has mine, — 
 But ohy I love you just the same as vn the auld 
 lartg syne! 
 
 The autimm came; its golden flame lay over all 
 
 the land. 
 You promised me my bride you'd be, and we, 
 
 joined hand in hand. 
 Together faced the minister, and knelt at love's 
 
 blest shrine. 
 While you and I were sweethearts, in that dear 
 
 lang syne. 
 
 (Chorus) 
 [10] 
 
Though forty years of smiles and tears have 
 
 passed since you and I 
 Romped through youth's love and heard the 
 
 dove croon 'neath that summer sky, — 
 Your beauty, softened by the years, thrills me 
 
 like mellowed wine. 
 And you are yet my sweetheart, as in that lang 
 
 syne. 
 
 {Chorus) 
 
 [Ul 
 
IN GALION 
 
 The sun shines bright in summer time 
 
 In Galion; 
 On Sundays church bells softly chime 
 
 In Galion; 
 The wild birds warble in the trees, 
 Rocked by the flower-scented breeze ; 
 The folks are busy, all, as bees, — 
 
 In Galion. 
 
 The merchants all are full of life 
 
 In Galion; 
 They're wide awake with friendly strife 
 
 In Gallon ; 
 The stores are tidy, clean and neat. 
 On Main or on South Market Street; 
 With welcome they a stranger greet 
 
 In Galion. - 
 
 There's coolest shade I've ever seen 
 
 In Galion ; 
 The grass is richest, darkest green 
 
 In Galion; 
 Beneath the soft electric light 
 There's many a heart filled with delight. 
 As love-lorn swains their vows do plight 
 
 In Galion. 
 
 [12] 
 
The girls are bonny as can be 
 
 In Gallon; 
 And just the style of girls for me 
 
 In Gallon; 
 With eyes as clear as morning's dew, — 
 Some gray, some black, some brown, some 
 
 blue — 
 I'd like to be a young man, too, 
 
 In Gallon. 
 
 [13] 
 
WHEN AGE COMES ON 
 
 When age comes on, and sight begins to fail, 
 And when our eyes seem " dusty " when we 
 
 read ; 
 When visions blur, and brilliant lights grow 
 
 pale, 
 And when we turn to glasses in our need ; 
 When print that once seemed large grows small, 
 
 and when » 
 
 We feel we've just the least bit less of brawn, — 
 It vexes us, we know, a little then. 
 When age comes on. 
 
 When age comes on, and " <?row's-feet " round 
 
 the eyes 
 Begin to come, and furrowed wrinkles show 
 Across the brows ; and when the memory flies. 
 Or lingers o'er the scenes of long agd ; ^ 
 When in the past we live, and love to dream 
 Of joys we one time knew, that now are gone, — 
 We hold this life in scarce so high esteem 
 When age comes on. 
 
 When age comes on, and threads of silver tinge 
 The locks of auburn, brown, or black, or gold ; 
 When pains of gout or rheiunatism twinge 
 The joints, — when we first feel that we are 
 
 growing old; 
 When we look forward to the future years, 
 
 [14] 
 
Straining the eyes of hope out toward the dawn 
 Of life eternal, — how it calms our fears, 
 When age comes on. 
 
 When age comes on, and sense of weariness 
 Steals over us, and seems to know no end ; 
 When bones are crazed by many a sore distress, 
 When feebleness afflicts, and will not mend; 
 When footsteps falter as we onward fare 
 O'er life's rough road, — we're glad will soon 
 
 be gone 
 This earthly toil, and all this grief and care, — 
 When age comes on. 
 
 L15J 
 
LOONEENAH 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF NIAGARA FALLS 
 
 Down in the " Cave-Of-The- Winds " I stood, 
 
 Under the Horse-Shoe Fall. 
 Over my head the dashing flood, 
 Whose awful roar congealed my blood. 
 
 Behind me the rocky wall. 
 
 The waters boomed, and there seemed to come 
 
 Out of the spray and spume 
 Voi-ces that made mv senses numb. 
 Voices that struck my spirit dumb — 
 
 Voices of dreary doom. 
 
 My mind was troubled and filled with fear. 
 
 There on that shelf of stone. 
 When, all of a sudden, I seemed to hear 
 Whispered words, sad and sweetly clear, 
 
 Breatlied in an undertone. 
 
 And, standing just to the right of me, 
 
 I saw in the misty light 
 A wraith or a ghost, it seemed to be, 
 Clad in garments of mystery — 
 
 A Spirit robed in white. 
 
 She spoke to me in a language calm 
 As the voice of the summer wind 
 
 [16] 
 
Sighing through fronds of the fern or palm, 
 Filling my soul with peaceful balm, 
 Soothing my troubled mind. 
 
 " Stranger," she said, " thy face reveals 
 
 The tender thought within; 
 Thou art a singer, I know, who feels 
 Sympathy for the soul that steals 
 
 Away from a world of sin. 
 
 " I am a Spirit that once did dwell 
 
 In an Indian maiden fair; 
 I was Looneenah, whom all knew well — 
 I was Looneenah, who roamed the dell. 
 
 As free as the mountain air. 
 
 " So, listen, while I a tale unfold. 
 Sadder than yet you've known; 
 A tale that began ere this land was old, 
 A tale that to none I have ever told. 
 Through all the years agone! 
 
 " But, reading the wonderment in thy face, 
 
 And knowing thy soul is free, 
 I'll tell thee, here, where the waters race, 
 And none may hear." These words preface 
 
 The tale that she told to me: 
 
 (" I AM A spirit! I AM IMMORTAL ! 
 
 Dwelling forever here in the fall! 
 
 [17] 
 
Just when the day-god knocks at night's 
 
 PORTAL, 
 
 Seen in the mists I am fairest of all. ! 
 
 *' Take my hand, singer. See, my form 
 trembles! 
 Trembles, because there is that in thy 
 
 FACE 
 
 Or the soul back of thy face — which re- 
 sembles » 
 Him whom I knew in a far distant place. 
 
 ■ 
 
 " Thus it is, singer, that I have appeared to 
 thee. 
 Thy soul and mine are akin ! and I know 
 Joy will be thine. I will grow more en- 
 deared TO THEE 
 As THE moons FADE AND THE YEARS COME AND 
 
 go!) -^ 
 
 " Happy was I in those distant years. 
 
 And proud of my warrior bold. 
 Happy, mine eyes had known naught of tears, 
 Glad, for my heart was devoid of fears. 
 
 In those dreamy days of old. 
 
 " My lover was gallant', and young, and free, 
 
 And swift as the eagle's flight. 
 In all our tribe none so strong as he; 
 He led the chase, and was sure to be 
 
 The bravest in every fight. 
 
 [18] 
 
" Soft and low he would speak my name, — 
 
 ' Looneenah, be my bride ! ' 
 I told him ' yea,' in the yellow flame 
 Of Indian summer, when herds of game 
 
 Fed on the woodlands wide. 
 
 " Nonga ! — this was my warrior bold ; 
 
 Plighted were he and I — 
 Plighted to wed, ere the winter's cold 
 Covered the earth, or its strength unrolled 
 
 Out of the northern sky. 
 
 " And Nonga came to my father's tent, 
 
 Just at the close of day, 
 Asked of my father for his consent 
 To wed Looneenah. My father, spent 
 
 With age, said : ' Nonga, nay, — 
 
 a i 
 
 Looneenah shall marry a chief,' he said, 
 
 ' A chief of a warrior band ; 
 I do not desire a &02/ should wed 
 My only daughter ! ' Yet Nonga plead 
 
 And begged for my heart and hand. 
 
 " ' Prove,' said my father, ' that thou art brave, 
 
 Show me thou hast no fears ; 
 Go up to the Mal-Ko-Ho-Rik's cave,* — 
 
 1 On the peak of a great precipice, near the Indian 
 village, was the place where the eagles had built their 
 nests for many years. This place was known as the 
 
 [19] 
 
Up where those Devils of Darkness rave — 
 Where the eagles have built for years.' 
 
 " My father pointed out toward the west, 
 Where the sun had gone from sight — 
 
 * On yonder cliff is the Eagles' Nest ; 
 
 If you climb up there ere you go to rest, 
 I'll give my consent this night ! ' 
 
 " My heart grew cold, for th^ clifF was steep ; 
 
 But Nonga lay down his bow 
 And arrows, and said: ' Sire, before I sleep 
 I will scale yonder rocky wall or I'll leap 
 
 To the chasm that yawns below ! ' 
 
 " So, casting his robe and his head-gear by, 
 
 And also his hunting knife — 
 ' Enough, Sire,' he said, ' I would climb the sky, 
 Where the storm-god howls when the clouds 
 rush by — 
 
 Looneenah shall be my wife ! ' 
 
 " Away he springs toward the wall of stone ; 
 
 The villagers follow him. 
 ' The cliffs are haunted,' the old men groan, 
 ' By Mal-Ko-Ho-Rik, go not alone 
 
 In the shadow of evening grim ! ' 
 
 Eagle Eyrie. Near the top of the cliff, beneath the 
 " Eyrie," was a dark cavern, which was said to be in- 
 habited by Jee-bi, or demons of darkness, of which Mal- 
 Ko-Ho-Rik was chief. — Indian Legends. 
 
 [20] 
 
" * Beware of the ghosts of the crags ! ' they 
 said. 
 
 But Nonga draws deep his breath; 
 He is slowly climbing, his hands outspread 
 Feel for the clefts above his head — 
 
 All, little he recks of death ! 
 
 " He is half way up, while the dusk grows dense, 
 
 And the night has settled drear ; 
 The air is thick with the cool incense 
 Of a storm that comes from we know not whence 
 
 Through the startled atmosphere. 
 
 " We can not see, but we hear him toil 
 
 Up, up, in the distant gloom ; 
 A loosened pebble, a bit of soil 
 Falls. Ah! what's that? How our hearts re- 
 coil! 
 
 'Tis an awful cry of doom ! 
 
 " A crash of thunder, a blinding streak, 
 
 And the lightning-flash reveals 
 Nonga, up there on the ragged peak. 
 Near the Eagle Eyrie, and blanched his cheek, 
 
 While a horror o'er us steals. 
 
 " The fiends of the Mal-Ko-Ho-Rik host 
 
 Surround him and hold him there; 
 And, clutched by each gibbering imp and ghost, 
 
 [21] 
 
They bear him away, and forever lost 
 Is Nonga, the brave and fair. 
 
 (( ( 
 
 Farewell, Looneenah ! ' I hear him cry. 
 
 In a voice of wild despair. 
 The storm is past, and the clouds roll by, 
 The full moon floats in the eastern skv, 
 
 But the Eagle Cliff is bare! 
 
 " The shadows shorten, the moon climbs high, 
 
 I enter the wigwam door; 
 I curse my father, I pray to die, 
 I cannot sleep, for I hear that cry. 
 
 Forever and evermore! 
 
 " The Night stole by, and the Dawn awoke. 
 
 Unheralded e'en by birds. 
 A haze lay over the land like smoke. 
 While a weird hush brooded, or shrieked, or 
 ^poke 
 
 In my people's soft, low words. 
 
 " And thus it was through the years that 
 came — 
 At night, in the awful storm, 
 I would see in the lightning's lurid flame 
 The ghosts and the cliff's ; I could hear the 
 name — 
 ' Looneenah,' and see his form 
 
 [2a] 
 
" Just as I saw him that autumn night, 
 When he wailed ' farewell, good-bye 1 ' 
 
 My hair, once raven-black, grew white; 
 
 My life was haunted, and filled with fright; 
 I longed for a time to die. 
 
 " So nearly a score of summers sped. 
 
 But they brought no joy to me; 
 And nearly a score of winters fled. 
 When a springtime came, and the birds o'erhead 
 
 Were mating in every tree. 
 
 " I knew that for me there would be no mate ; 
 
 My heart had already died. 
 I ceased to rail at my cruel fate ; 
 I sought the lake, when the day was late. 
 
 And gazed on its waters wide. 
 
 " I leaned o'er a pool 'neath my weary feet, 
 
 And I saw reflected there 
 My face, now aged, that once was sweet. 
 And, thinned by the years, with their storms 
 and sleet. 
 
 My faded and whitened hair. 
 
 " With my own hands, from the white birch tree 
 
 I fashioned a bark canoe; 
 I set its prow to the sunrise sea. 
 And paddled away, — I longed to be 
 
 Far off from the scenes I knew. 
 
 [23] 
 
" Far over the lake I went drifting on, 
 
 Till the spring into summer wore. 
 In the gloam of eve, in the dew of dawn — 
 Awake or asleep — all the ghosts were gone. 
 And I heard their gibes no more. 
 
 " I entered a river which northward swept, 
 
 I sailed on its bosom clear; 
 The daylight faded, the shadows crept 
 Across the world ; then in pe^ce I slept — - 
 
 I knew not that Death was near. 
 
 " I dreamed, and my childhood came back 
 again. 
 
 And laughter made, glad my dreams ; 
 I saw in a vision the sunlit plain, 
 I heard soft winds and the patter of rain. 
 
 And the music of purling streams. 
 
 " Again I dream, and I see the face "^ 
 
 Of N^nga, and side by side 
 We walk through each quiet, wooded place ; 
 He clasps me "close in his fond embrace, — 
 
 At last I am Nonga's bride ! 
 
 " Happy are Nonga and I alway ; 
 
 He speaks to me soft and low. 
 We sit at the close of the summer day 
 Near the wigwam door, where our children play, 
 
 Or practice with spear and bow. 
 
 [24] 
 
" The dream is o'er ; I awoke ; a roar 
 
 Of waters, and that was all. 
 I could not guide my canoe, I tore 
 Adown the rapids, far off from shore, 
 
 Right over this mighty fall! 
 
 " So this is my story, and this is why 
 
 A Spirit is held in thrall. 
 And thus it is when the sunset sky 
 Stains all the mists with a halo, I 
 
 Am seen in Niagara's Fall. 
 
 " Ten thousand moons since my life began. 
 Since my heart by love was cheered. 
 
 And, Singer, thou art the only man 
 
 Hast heard my story ! " My face grew wan — 
 The Spirit had disappeared! 
 
 This was the Spirit I saw that day, 
 
 There on that shelf of stone. 
 This was the vision, or dream, I say, 
 There where the mad waters spume and 
 
 SPRAY 
 
 And SPEAK in an awful tone ! 
 
 [25] 
 
MY SERENADER 
 
 (What the Convalescent Said to the Song Sparrow) 
 
 At last the weary night is gone, 
 
 And lifted is its gloom ; 
 The glad light of a welcome dawn 
 
 Steals softly thro the room. 
 I raise the sash and shade, I blink 
 
 To shield my tired eyes ; 
 And what I hear leads me »to think 
 
 That I'm in Paradise ! 
 
 • 
 
 The sound that so enraptures me 
 
 Breaks from the pulsing throat 
 Of the song sparrow ceaselessly. 
 
 And rich in every note. 
 The gamut thro from do to do 
 
 My brown-coat minstrel sings — 
 Staccato, pianissimo, ' ^i» 
 
 And glad, wild revelings. 
 
 I speak to him, but he, — well, he 
 
 Keeps right on singing of 
 Something that haunts his memory, 
 
 Constant and full of love. 
 He's lost in what he sings ! " Hey ! Hey ! 
 
 My serenading friend, 
 'Tis this that I would like to say, 
 
 If you your ear will lend : — 
 
 [26] 
 
" Your repertoire don't include 
 
 Space of much consequence 
 Between its numbers' interlude, — 
 
 You halt, then re-commence ! 
 You artist ! Why, you love to sing 
 
 Just for the sake of art ! 
 You pay no heed to anything 
 
 But that which fills jour heart ! 
 
 " If I could sing as loud as you, 
 
 (According to my size,) 
 If I could sing as sweet and true, 
 
 In strains that harmonize, 
 I'd sing until the skies would ring 
 
 At morn or eventide. 
 While seraph choirs, wondering. 
 
 Would lay their harps aside. 
 
 " You've sung right there for half an hour, 
 
 You — you one-member choir ! 
 I wonder at those chords of power 
 
 From such a wee, wee lyre. 
 And that which fills my noddle thro 
 
 With thoughts sedate and long, — 
 Is why a little chap like you 
 
 Should have so big a song! " 
 
 [27] 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 The blaudin' win's o' blae Janwar 
 Swapt mirk an' cauld ; an' ilkawhar 
 The ingle-lowe, wi' fitfu' glare, 
 
 Shed light aboon 
 The leafless shaws, the river Ayr, 
 
 An' Ayr the toun. 
 
 Frae out the lift a glintin' light 
 
 Cam streamin' thro' the heart o' night ; 
 
 An' choirs celestial sang wi' might. 
 
 In gleefu' turns, 
 As heaven oped its gates o' white, 
 
 "An' earth saw Burns." 
 
 A buirdly bairn at Alloway 
 
 He grew ; he knew each bank an' brae 
 
 An' sinny mead. Each simmer day 
 
 Filled him wi' joy. 
 Owre gowaned haughs he roamed at play, 
 
 A happy boy. 
 
 An eydent chiel, in youthfu' prime 
 He learned the art o' sang an' rhyme ; 
 An' little thoct he 'twas a crime 
 
 To luv a lass ; 
 Or laud an' praise wi' words sublime 
 
 A frien'ly glass. 
 
 [28] 
 
 I 
 
His deft han' swept across the strings 
 O' his glad harp, — an' angel wings 
 Were faulded, an' sweet whisperings 
 
 Swooned saft an' clear; 
 Anither sweep an' a' mean things 
 
 An' devils leer. 
 
 Whyles wi' his pen dipped in the wine 
 O' a' that's pure, thro' ilka line 
 He sang o' luv sae sweet an' fine. 
 
 An' which illumes 
 The palace ha', or, mair divine, 
 
 Lane cottage rooms ! 
 
 Or, whiles, wi' glaiket han' he dipped 
 His stumpie deep in mire, that dripped 
 Frae aff its point, an' feckless lipped, 
 
 He penned the things 
 That stoitered lame, or drucken tripped 
 
 On doited wings. 
 
 The mavis an' the lav'rock's sang; 
 The bumies wimplin' swift an' strang; 
 The go wans a', that grew amang 
 
 Life's sinny prime, — 
 An' ilka thing that cam alang 
 
 He wove in rhyme. 
 
 [29] 
 
He lo'ed the banks o' " Bonnie Doon " ; 
 He lo'ed the silver simmer moon 
 That glints wi' sklentin' light aboon 
 
 The shaws sae fair; 
 But maist he lo'ed his native toun, — 
 
 Auld toun o' Ayr. 
 
 He sang o' kind and luving deeds ; 
 Deil haet cared he for a' the creeds ; 
 His paukie een, like ble^ezin' gleeds, — 
 
 His raucle mind, 
 Beheld the flowers aboon the weeds 
 
 That vex mankind. 
 
 An' whan he died an ourie gloom 
 Hinged mirk an' cauld aboon his tomb ; 
 The poussie hirpled frae the broom, 
 
 A' sad an' lane ; 
 An' bees droned by the claver blume ^ 
 
 Whan Burns was gane. 
 
 Owre a' this warl', — in ony tongue, 
 Nae sangs mair blithe were ever sung 
 Than Burns' was, whane' e'er he strung 
 
 His lisping lyre. 
 Nane ithers' harp has ever sprung 
 
 Sic' lowan fire. 
 
 As lang as passion's saul gies birth 
 To ilka thing o' real worth, — 
 
 [30] 
 
As lang's this grand an' rowan earth 
 
 Diurnal turns, — 
 We'll lo'e auld Scotia, — Ian' o' mirth 
 
 An' Rabbie Burns. 
 
 [31] 
 
HE TOL(LE)D THE BELL 
 
 He was a sexton, old, devout. 
 
 And he had lingered there 
 An hour after church was out, 
 
 In attitude of prayer. 
 And when outside the church he went, 
 He saw upon the grass. 
 
 Their heads towards one another bent, 
 A bonny lad and lass. , 
 
 The lad there and maid there 
 
 Were cosy as could be ; 
 The sexton he saw them. 
 
 But him they did not see. 
 
 The sexton said, " This must not be ! 
 
 I'll tell a po-lice-mon ! " 
 He could not find one, — No, Sir — ee ! 
 
 The po-lice-mon was gone. 
 " Oi'll call the wagon up," he said, 
 " And run them in, — Ochone ! " 
 
 But as the wires were down, Bedad ! 
 He could not tell-a-phone. 
 
 He cussed then, he fussed when 
 
 He found no one to tell ; 
 And worried and flurried, 
 
 He went and tol(le)d the bell ! 
 
 [32] 
 
THE PIANIST 
 
 The fair, white fingers softly strike the grand 
 
 piano keys, 
 And the mystic, mellow music wakens olden 
 
 memories ; 
 While a sweet and solemn sadness gently steals 
 
 through every strain, — 
 A sadness near akin to joy, — half pleasure and 
 
 half pain. 
 
 For her fingers seek the master chords that 
 reach my very heart. 
 
 And the thrilled and thrilling instrument sets 
 all my nerves astart ; 
 
 And my senses gladly acquiesce in happy har- 
 mony 
 
 To each swell and note and treble of the 'wil- 
 
 dering symphony. 
 
 \ 
 
 As the winds of autumn sighing 'mong the foli- 
 age of the trees, 
 
 As the breath of summer morning, or the 
 springtime's gentle breeze, 
 
 As the echo of a foot-fall that for years we have 
 not heard. 
 
 As the gentle murmur of a brook, the carol of a 
 bird, — 
 
 [33] 
 
Is the mystic magic of her voice. 'Twould 
 
 shame the lark or linnet ! 
 I'm madly fond of music, and, ye gods! I'm 
 
 strictly in it ! 
 While the sweet notes seem to drop and drip 
 
 from off her finger tips. 
 My soul is simply ravished by those singing, 
 
 rosy lips. 
 
 How the lovely gray eyes twinkle, as with swift 
 
 and silvery lances ! 
 Full of fun and mirth and mischief, as toward 
 
 me she slyly glances. 
 And the witching, dimpled, pretty face, with 
 
 3'outh and beauty beaming. 
 Casts a strange influence o'er me, there beneath 
 
 the lamp's soft gleaming. 
 
 I turn the music for her, but, of coXirse, make 
 
 many a blunder. 
 And then she laughs at me, — she doesn't know 
 
 the spell I'm under! 
 And as I stand beside her it is hard to keep my 
 
 fingers 
 From to3'ing with the sunny curl around her 
 
 ear that lingers. ' 
 
 But then the clock has just struck ten ; and now 
 I must be going 
 
 [34] 
 
To catch the train for home again, — I hear its 
 whistle blowing. 
 
 I speed along, and still her song in echo's voice 
 reminds me 
 
 I'm somewhat interested in the girl I've left be- 
 hind me. 
 
 Yes ; I'm somewhat interested in this lovely, win- 
 some woman ; 
 
 To say that I am not would mean that I am 
 not quite human. 
 
 And who shall say I shan't admire good- 
 natured Maudie Kuxkel.'' 
 
 For she's my niece, — that's who she is ; and I'm, 
 — wh}^, I'm her — uncle ! 
 
 [35] 
 
LAKE TAHOE 
 
 Doubtless one of the most (if not the most) beautiful 
 bodies of water in the world is Lake Tahoe, situated in 
 the Sierra Nevada Range, 6240 feet above the sea, 23 
 miles long, 13 miles wide, and of a poetic irregularity 
 of contour to ravish the eye of a nature-loving artist. 
 
 Covering an area of over 200 square miles and ap- 
 proximating 2000 feet in depth in places, its waters, of 
 crystal purity, appear in color a rich, dark sapphire. 
 Above Tahoe's level, the mountains, with star-kissed 
 and eternally snow-capped peaks, rise in rugged gran- 
 deur for thousands of feet. Imn^ense pines, firs and 
 cedars form a serrated fringe along its shores. 
 
 Tahoe, beautiful beyond compare, becomes at once 
 elusive and baffling to the one who makes a real effort 
 at featuring its many sublime aspects. I've been there; 
 and I know. I wrote the sub j oined from " Tahoe 
 Vista," at Tahoe's northern end, July 7, 1915. 
 
 • GEM OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 Tahoe : — 
 
 Thou Gem ! Outrivaling 
 The koh-i-noor, or anything 
 Man's hand hath shaped, — Oh, let me sing 
 
 This simple strain 
 To thee, whose gorgeous shimmering 
 
 Thrill heart and brain. 
 
 Set in the high Sierran crests, 
 
 'Twixt Mother Nature's milk-white breasts, 
 
 Where the fierce eagles build their nests 
 
 And rear their brood, 
 And the lean grizzly roams, or rests 
 
 In solitude. 
 
 [36] 
 
Great sapphire marvel ! Deeply blue, 
 Of wondrous and resplendent hue ; 
 Wide-sweeping, down long vistas, thro 
 
 Serrated ways. 
 And gleaming soft as summer dew 
 
 In moonlit rays. 
 
 Thou Jewel ! Beautiful, serene, 
 Lying the lofty peaks between. 
 Whose bosom fair reflects the sheen 
 
 Of crag and snow, 
 Pine, fir and cedars' foliage green — 
 
 Matchless Tahoe! 
 
 [37] 
 
HE WOULDN'T TAKE " NO ! " FOR AN 
 
 ANSWER 
 
 He wouldn't take " No ! " for an answer , 
 
 As we sat in the gloaming alone ; 
 The question he asked was an old one, 
 
 And breathed in a low undertone. 
 He was a young lad, — only twenty ; 
 
 I was a young maid, — sweet sixteen. 
 I remember it all so distinctly, 
 
 Though a score of long years intervene. 
 
 He wouldn't take " No ! " for an answer ! 
 
 I hung my head shyly and blushed; 
 My heart beat with joy at his presence, 
 
 And its throbbings could scarcely be hushed. 
 But I was so bashful and timid 
 
 That I just couldn't say to him " Yes " ; 
 My soul thrilled at dear Johnnie's pleadings, 
 
 And my thoughts you may easily guess. 
 
 He told me my silence was charming^ 
 
 " For silence," he said, " gives consent." 
 He put his arm right round my waist, and 
 
 His mind was on mischief intent. 
 He forced me to kiss him, did Johnnie, 
 
 And you know the story he told ; 
 It is hardly worth while to repeat it, — 
 
 This tale that will never grow old. 
 
 [38] 
 
The whip-poor-will sang in the forest, 
 
 And thrilled the June night with its cry ; 
 The young moon, a silvery crescent, 
 
 Hung low in the clear western sky. 
 John wouldn't take " No ! " for an answer. 
 
 And there isn't a boy or a man, Sir, 
 That's built on a very good plan. Sir, 
 
 That will listen to " No ! " for an answer. 
 
 [39] 
 
LAUGHTER 
 
 This I have said, and I say again, " No day can be so 
 sacred but that the happy laugh of a child will make it 
 more sacred still." 
 
 Ingersoll. 
 
 This I have said, and yet I say, 
 There can be no such sacred day 
 But that a happy laugh alway 
 
 Will make more sacred still. 
 Sweet sound that since Creation's birth 
 Hath flashed thy love o'er all this earth. 
 Come, fill each heart with joy and mirth 
 
 O'er every vale and hill! 
 
 Deft toucher of the organ keys. 
 Play, — play your sweetest melodies ; 
 Yet know your grandest symphonies 
 
 Are but discordant sounds 
 Compared with childhood's laugh so free, 
 Where dimpled cheeks in merry glee ^ 
 Touch every soul with ecstasy. 
 
 Where love and home abounds. 
 
 O laughter ! seek us all, we pray. 
 
 And banish every care away ; 
 
 Be with and cheer us every day — 
 
 Come, sit at every feast. 
 Let every happy note of thine 
 Expand and grow with love divine ! 
 Thou art the blessed boundary line 
 
 Between the man and beast. 
 [40] 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 Farewell, each olden, golden dream, — 
 Farewell, sweet, gentle, babbling stream, — 
 Farewell, ye starry lights that gleam 
 
 In yonder limpid river ; 
 Farewell, each daisied, dewy dell. 
 Where soft winds weave their magic spell,- 
 O scenes of youth, farewell, farewell. 
 
 Forever and forever ! 
 
 Farewell to childhood's happy home; 
 For soon, ah, soon, the hour will come 
 When I must leave, no more to roam 
 
 Where sun-rays glance and quiver. 
 Farewell, each mystic, moonlit glen, — 
 Farewell, each swale, and brake, and fen ; 
 Mine eyes shall view ye ne'er again. 
 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 Farewell to meadow, lawn and lea, — 
 Farewell, O billowy, sunlit set, — 
 Beside your banks my steps will be 
 
 No more, — no more, forever! 
 Farewell, each vineclad slope and hill, — 
 Farewell, each wimpling, laughing rill, — 
 Old scenes that make my pulses thrill, — 
 
 Farewell ! Good-bye forever ! 
 
 [41] 
 
For here will shine the silv'ry moon, 
 And here, at dawn, the dove will croon, — 
 But in this shade at summer noon 
 
 I'll rest no more forever. 
 And here the birds will mate and sing, 
 And build their nests in balmy spring ; 
 And bud and bloom will gladness bring 
 
 Forever and forever ! 
 
 [42] 
 
MY OWN DEAR AL\RY DEE 
 
 I KNOW a girl with dark brown hair, 
 With hazel eyes, and face so fair ; 
 And teeth like pearl, — I do declare 
 
 She's sweet as sweet can be ! 
 Such dimpled cheeks and rosy lips, — 
 And with what lightsome step she trips 
 My heart from out my bosom slips 
 
 At sight of Mary Dee. 
 
 She has a nature kind and true. 
 
 Her thoughts are pure as morning's dew; 
 
 She cheers me up when I feel blue, 
 
 By songs she sings to me. 
 Her songs would shame the nightingale 
 That warbles in the star-lit vale ! 
 Oh, may I never, never fail 
 
 To love sweet Marv Dee. 
 
 The bonny subject of this rhyme 
 Was bom in Erin's sunny clime. 
 But left her home in summer time, 
 
 And crossed the sea for me. 
 She's dearer far to me than life, 
 I'll cherish her, come peace or strife ; 
 And some day I will take to wife 
 
 My own dear Mary Dee. 
 
 [43] 
 
WHERE WORDS ARE WEAK 
 
 I WISH that I had the genius to breathe my in- 
 nermost thought, — 
 
 I wish I could form a sentence expressing my- 
 self as I ought ; 
 
 Could I create an expression as bright as the 
 skies of blue, 
 
 In which is the light of your laughing eyes, I'd 
 tell what I think of you. 
 
 If I .could sing as the seraphs sing, or write as 
 
 the poets write, — 
 If words could be made to shine as clear as the 
 
 snows on the Alpine height, — 
 If I' could conceive of a phrase as pure as the 
 
 morn with its sparkling dew. 
 Why, dearest, then I am very sure I could tell 
 
 what I think of you ! 
 
 But I can't sing as the seraphs sing, nor write 
 
 as the poets .write. 
 Nor could I untangle my thoughts, dear heart, 
 
 from now till the morning's light. 
 My words are weak and will not express just 
 
 the things I would have them to ; 
 So, sweetheart of mine, you will have to guess 
 
 what I really think of you. 
 
 [44] 
 
THE BABY 
 
 Little bunch of mystery ! 
 Sweet mite of humanity, 
 Born of pain and ecstasy I — 
 
 Tell me of the mysteries 
 
 Whispered to you by the breeze 
 
 That launched you on Life's strange seas. 
 
 Were there many fond good-byes 
 When you went from Paradise? 
 Did the angels touch your eyes, 
 
 That they shine so very bright? 
 Did the stars blink pale and white 
 As you passed the gates of Night? — 
 
 Passed the gates of Night to come 
 To our love, — to fill our home 
 Full of fragrance, bud and bloom ! 
 
 Bonny man in embryo, — 
 Image of your daddy, O, 
 Stretch your arms, and laugh and crow ! 
 
 In your grand, imperious way 
 Rule us all, and we'll obey, 
 Willing subjects day by day. 
 
 [45] 
 
O my baby, sweet and fair ! 
 Scratch my face and pull my hair 
 Till the tears come, — I don't care. 
 
 We don't care how big a fuss 
 You make ; only stay with us, — 
 Here, ma ! Change the little cuss 
 
 [46] 
 
THE FAIREST OF CREATION 
 
 This world gives love to nearly all 
 
 In one way or another; 
 Some love things great, some love things small, 
 
 And some all love would smother ! 
 And some, they say, in loving err. 
 
 But then " to err is human." 
 Perhaps that's why most men love her 
 
 Whom God first called a woman. 
 
 She was made, 'tis said, from part of man 
 
 As he lay sweetly dreaming, — 
 Created on an equal plan, 
 
 With life and vigor teeming ; 
 Bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, 
 
 And muscle of his muscle ; 
 She wore a fig-leaf for a dress, 
 
 But never wore a bustle ! 
 
 Adam awoke and found he'd lost 
 
 A rib in his sound slumber ; 
 The woman him did thus accost : 
 
 " I am the missing number." 
 He stood erect with staring eyes. 
 
 Put out his hand to reach her. 
 For he beheld, in glad surprise. 
 
 She was a winsome creature. 
 
 [4.7] 
 
Then Adam said, " I gaze upon 
 
 The fairest of creation ; — 
 More sparkling than the dewy dawn — 
 
 I have a strong temptation 
 To give you just one kiss, my love, — 
 
 I think I'd never rue it." 
 A voice benign said from above, 
 
 " Adam, she's yours, go to it ! " 
 
 And thus it was the happy pair. 
 
 By sighing streamlets sporting. 
 Went hand in hand through Eden fair. 
 
 Kissing, caressing, courting. 
 The birds, the butterflies, the bees. 
 
 And even the flowers a-bloomin', — 
 They all went laughing in their sleeves 
 
 To watch the man and woman. 
 
 The birdies said : " We've known our mates. 
 
 Through all times, near and distant ; — 
 No wonder she man's soul elates 
 
 Till he's not quite consistent! " 
 The little flow'rets shyly blushed 
 
 There in the evening's gloamin'. 
 And e'en the winds their voices hushed 
 
 When man first courted woman ! 
 
 And so it is that all mankind 
 Forever will admire 
 
 [48] 
 
Woman, sublime in every clime,- 
 She sets our souls on fire ! 
 
 As long as I'm in love with life,- 
 As long as I am human, — 
 
 As long as I've a loving wife, 
 I'll not cease loving woman. 
 
 [49] 
 
NANNIE McSHANE 
 
 (THE WANDERER'S RETURN) 
 
 O Nannie McShane, I am waitin' for thee, 
 Awauk frae your slumber an' open the door; 
 Oh, greet me ance mair wi' the glint o' your ee, 
 As ye did ere I wandered frae Scotia's fair 
 
 shore. 
 An' hae ye forgotten the vows that we said, 
 As our hearts madly thrabbed wi' luv's pain ; 
 An' how on my plaidie ye cuddled your head. 
 Whan I kissed ye, sw^eet Nannie McShane? 
 
 Chorus 
 Oh, come to the window! Oh, dpen it wide, 
 An\drive frae my heart a* the pain. 
 Ye promised me faithfully ye'd he my hride, — 
 My bonnie, sweet Nannie McShane, 
 
 The morn is awauk, while the grass is agleam 
 Wi' dew, an' the thorn is a'twitter wi' sang; 
 The lav'rock an' mavis lilt there by the stream. 
 While I hae been waitin' sae lang, — ah, sae 
 
 lang ! 
 Come, open the window ! Oh, open it wide. 
 An' let me behold ye again. 
 Ye canna forget how ye stood at my side, 
 An' promised me, Nannie McShane. 
 
 Chorus 
 [50] 
 
A face in the window ; thank Heaven, 'tis she i 
 Her footsteps fa' lightly, she opens the door ; 
 Her form is sae fair ; an' the glint o' her ee 
 Is bright as it was in the glad days o' yore. 
 She springs owre the lawn, an' she flies to my 
 
 arms ; 
 A' vanished my fear an' a' pain. 
 Her warm rosy lips greet my ain ; my alarms 
 Hae vanished. Gude Nannie McShane! 
 
 Chorus 
 
 [51] 
 
MONA LEE 
 
 Mona Lee ! Mona Lee ! 
 Years ago it was that we 
 Roamed and romped around or rambled where 
 
 the river ran in glee. 
 Barefoot girl and freckled boy, 
 Both hearts brimming with the joy 
 And the fairy dreams that youthful minds 
 
 employ. 
 
 Mona Lee ! Mona Lee ! 
 How in happy harmony 
 Did we lilt with lifted laughter in our merry 
 minstrelsy ; 
 . You and I beneath the sky 
 Where the summer days went by, 
 Living, liking, — knomng not the reason why ! 
 
 Mona Lee, quick the years 
 Passed away, and then the tears. 
 
 And the sweets and hopes of loving," as our child- 
 hood disappears. 
 You were shy, but I was bold. 
 And I begged to have and hold 
 
 In my keeping for all time your heart of gold. 
 
 Mona Lee ! Mona Lee ! 
 
 When you gave your heart to me, 
 
 [52] 
 
Then a light came in my life that " never shone 
 o'er land or sea." 
 And the leafy, lisping limes 
 Heard the whispering of rhymes, 
 
 As I wove your name in song's delicious chimes. 
 
 Mona Lee, when your eyes 
 
 Lost the light of summer skies, — 
 
 When the angels asked for you and beckoned 
 you to Paradise, — 
 When we buried my fair bride, 
 In the hush of eventide, 
 Then the weary heart within me swooned and 
 died. 
 
 Mona Lee, far away — 
 
 Where the salt seas spume and spray — 
 Over ocean's briny bosom to the earth's end did 
 I stray. 
 
 Forty years and more have passed, — 
 
 Forty yearSy — and I, at last. 
 Stand beside your grave in winter's biting blast. 
 
 Mona Lee, from the skies, — 
 From your home in Paradise, — 
 Look far out — ah ! look and listen — while my 
 sad song sobs and dies ! 
 Mona Lee, oh, beckon me 
 To that fair Eternity, — 
 Where you dwell in bowers of beauty, — Mona 
 Lee! 
 
 [53] 
 
BEYOND THE YEARS 
 
 " Is there beyond the Silent Night 
 
 An Endless Day? 
 Is Death a door that leads to Light? 
 
 We cannot say. 
 The tongueless secret locked in fate 
 We do not know — we hope and wait." 
 
 Ingersoll. 
 
 Beyond man's mortal ken — beyond the 
 years ■ — 
 When sighs shall cease, and weary eyes shall 
 close, 
 Is all but dreamless sleep and calm repose? 
 Or is there an awakening, where we may 
 know 
 And feel the .pangs of bitterness and woe.^^ 
 And does this salutation brief: "Good 
 night!" 
 End all.'^ Or gleams there yet another light — 
 
 Beyond the years? 
 
 Beyond the years — Ah, me ! Beyond the 
 years, 
 When life's short span is over, whereaway ? 
 And does the soul, immortal, swoon and sway 
 In strange forgetfulness? And does oblivion 
 come 
 And brood? And is the spirit speechless all 
 and dumb? 
 
 [54] 
 
Or does it hover round each olden scene, 
 And live again, with memory tense and keen — 
 
 Beyond the years? 
 
 Beyond the night of Death — beyond the 
 years — 
 Must HOPE reach no fruition, know no dawn? 
 Does not awakening come, and time go on 
 As now? Are not the soul's fair dreams all 
 satisfied? 
 Or is the spirit drenched with fears, and horri- 
 fied 
 At its beholdings? Comes there not a gleam 
 Of light that cheers, — whose rays shall ever 
 stream 
 
 Beyond the years? 
 
 Beyond the ^^ears — far, far beyond the years ! 
 
 Though, SOUL OF MINE, I qucstion, I believe 
 That I shall live again ; nor shall I grieve 
 
 The heart of hearts Avithin me, that shall 
 never die. 
 And which shall know no pain while Time rolls 
 
 by, 
 
 Or seons pass. I yet shall live again, 
 All purged and cleansed of sin's vile, damning 
 stain — 
 
 Beyond the years ! 
 
 [55] 
 
A GIRL FROM KENTUCKY 
 
 Well, William, my boy, you are married, they 
 
 say. 
 And I hope that you always may bless that glad 
 
 day 
 Which carried you over the border, away 
 Where the maidens are fair, and men plucky. 
 You have chosen your bride from a State that 
 
 is known 
 From the lakes of the North to the sunny Gulf 
 
 zone 
 As the place from which chivalry never has 
 
 flown, — 
 The beautiful state of Kentucky ! 
 
 Poets rave about sweet Senoritas from Spain, 
 
 And the beautiful Ma'm'selles of France's do- 
 main, 
 
 But I want to compliment you once again. 
 
 And say that I think you are lucky 
 
 To choose 3^ou a bride from our own native 
 land, — 
 
 For America's daughters are peerless and 
 grand, — 
 
 And the fairest of these, you, of course, un- 
 derstand 
 
 Is the one whom you wed in Kentucky. 
 
 [56] 
 
ALONE 
 
 'Tis midnight on the stormy deep, 
 The wild winds sadly moan; 
 
 Of all the souls once on this ship 
 I'm here alone, alone ! 
 
 Oh, can it be the solemn sea 
 
 Has swallowed up each friend? 
 
 Is there no way I can escape, — 
 Is this to be mv end? 
 
 The thunders crash ; the lightning's flash 
 Lights up the gloomy place. 
 
 There is no answer to my cry, 
 I see no other face. 
 
 I hear the sound and dreary pound 
 
 Of seas upon the sand; 
 But I am shipwrecked and alone, — 
 
 There is no help at hand. 
 
 The lowering cloud casts wide its shroud. 
 
 The billows loudly roar; 
 The angry waves all madly rave, 
 
 And lap the murky shore. 
 
 O God of love, who reignst above. 
 Wilt thou the storm abate? 
 
 [57] 
 
Thou who canst save me if thou wilt, — 
 Is death to be my fate? 
 
 O Christ, who walked on Galilee, 
 The winds obeyed thy will ; 
 
 Oh, save me from the cruel waves, — 
 Say to them, "Peace, be still!" 
 
 'Tis vain ! I hear the breakers roar, 
 
 I know that I am lost; 
 Receive my soul, thou blessed one, 
 ' Who died upon the cross* 
 
 [58] 
 
WHEN DAYLIGHT FADES 
 
 When daylight fades, and when the evening 
 
 bells 
 Send echoes over meadow, vale and stream; 
 When in each solemn tone a sadness dwells, 
 As sweet as mem'ries of an olden dream; 
 When shadows creep across the world, and when 
 A mystic hush the peaceful time pervades, — 
 It brings to me the days of old again. 
 When daylight fades. 
 
 When dayhght fades, and rosy afterglow 
 Of twilight gleams in amber, red and gold; 
 When from the pasture comes the quiet " low " 
 Of kine, and bleat of sheep in wattled fold ; 
 When from the vines the noisy cricket thrums. 
 And katydids awake the gloomy shades, — 
 Oh, what a flood of recollection comes. 
 When daylight fades! 
 
 When daylight fades, and " swirls of honeyed 
 
 musk " 
 Steal over all the earth in summer's green ; 
 When " boist'rous beetles boom along the 
 
 dusk " ; 
 With fireflies dancing in and out the scene ; 
 When frogs are heard along the river's rim, 
 
 [59] 
 
And hooting owls awake the forest glades, — 
 'Mid such surroundings oft I think of him, 
 When daylight fades. 
 
 ^Vhen daylight fades, I think of days that were, 
 Long, long ago ; and of the manly form 
 That walked beside me ; — he, my worshipper, 
 My shield and my defense in every storm 
 Of life. But, oh ! he died one summer's even, 
 And passed away to silence and the shades 
 Of death! And so I dream of him and 
 r Heaven — 
 
 When daylight fades ! 
 
 [60] 
 
THE GLAD YESTERDAY 
 
 *' Though, for the soul, a lovely Heaven awaits 
 
 Through years of woe. 
 The Paradise with angels at its gates 
 
 Is Long Ago. 
 
 " The heart's lost home ! Ah, thither winging ever, 
 
 In silence, show 
 Vanishing faces, but they vanish never 
 
 In Long Ago." 
 
 JoHK James Piatt. 
 
 Where are the Junes of yesterday.'* 
 Gone whitherward, and where-a-way 
 The silver Dawns that once we knew, 
 The sweet breath of the mom, the dew. 
 The sunny fields, when skies were clear, 
 With rose-scent through the atmosphere 
 All redolent. Oh, where a-way 
 Are all the Junes of yesterday .^^ 
 
 Where are the songs of yesterday.'* 
 Where is each ringing roundelay 
 That thrilled the happy hearts of us, 
 And trilled away all glorious. 
 Or, spilled across the babbling rills. 
 Re-echoed back from out the hills 
 In middle day or twilight gray, — 
 Where are the songs of yesterday .f* 
 
 Where are the dreams of yesterday .^^ 
 Too bright to last ! Ah, well-a-day ! 
 
 [61] 
 
From iridescent hue to bay, 
 
 From emerald to grassless gray, 
 
 They all have changed. Each sprite and fay 
 
 Has vanished from our thoughts away. 
 
 Where bide they all.'' Oh, where, I say, 
 
 Are all the dreams of yesterday.? 
 
 Where are the friends of yesterday.? 
 The boys with whom we used to play 
 At " hookey," stealing from the school 
 To where the shades, inviting, cool. 
 Fell over us. Where quickly stripped 
 Of all our clothes, we splashed and dipped 
 Or swam, while sped the hours away. 
 Where are the boys of yesterday.? 
 
 Where are they all, — the sunny Junes, 
 The mornings, mid-days, afternoons. 
 The songs of old, the gladful dreams, 
 The lisp and gurgle of the streams. 
 The boys, the woods, the echoings, 
 The merry, mirthful revelings.? 
 Oh, lead us back ! we've gone astray ; 
 
 Lead back to the glad yesterday ! 
 
 • • • • • • ■ • 
 
 Halt, Time and Years ! about face ! Hey, 
 Forward ! March back to yesterday ! 
 
 [62] 
 
ROBERT BURNS' REVERIE 
 
 (WHERE HIGHLAND MARY SLEEPS) 
 
 Whare lavVock an' the mavis wauk the blush- 
 in', modest dawn, 
 
 An' whai*e the linties' pipin' sangs in echoings 
 is blawn; 
 
 Whare gowans grow an' thrissles wave owre 
 stany shipe an' hill, 
 
 Whare bauckie-birds whir thro' the shades in 
 e'en when a' is still, — 
 
 Whare starnies blink frae 'boon the lift wi' 
 glancin', sklentin' light 
 
 Whare whiddin' poussies hirple owre the fields 
 wi' timid flight ; 
 
 Whare lanely croaks the houlet frae the gloomy, 
 ivied tower, 
 
 An' whare the moon hings solemnly in mid- 
 night's eerie hour, — 
 
 Whare sinny sunnier first unfaulds the bloom o' 
 
 birken shaws, 
 An' whare the win' sincrs sweetlv as thro' tittlin' 
 
 \*ines it blaws. 
 An' whare auld Afton's waters rin alang in 
 
 shoals an' deeps, — 
 Oh, there in waukless dream for aye my Hilan' 
 
 Mary sleeps ! 
 
 [63] 
 
Flow gently, ilka wimplin' burn, blaw gently, 
 
 ilka breeze. 
 An' saft caress the foggage an' the limbs o' a' 
 
 the trees. 
 Shine sweetly on, O moon an' stars, owre mead 
 
 an' moor an' steeps, — 
 Weep, a' ye dews, aboon the bed whare Hilan' 
 
 Mary sleeps ! 
 
 [64] 
 
WHEN THE LEAVES DROP OFF'N 
 THE TREES 
 
 (Without arj apology to James Whitcomb 
 
 Riley) 
 
 In the fall, when the leaves drop off'n the trees, 
 
 An' yer out in the woods agin. 
 Jest roamin' eround an' at puffect ease — 
 
 In pleasure clean up to yer chin ; 
 In the warm ov the Injin Summer da}^, 
 
 Ye're ez glad ez a dorg ^\dth fleas, 
 An' wishin' to God ye wuz back in the May 
 
 Ov yer life — there ermong the trees : 
 Whv, it sets ye thinkin', in days like these. 
 In the fall, when the leaves drop off'n the trees. 
 
 While the leaves is droppin' down off'n the trees, 
 
 An' the blue-jays is yellin' there, 
 Forever a voicin' their fool idees, 
 
 An' screamin' an free from care ; 
 While the sassy squir'ls is a twittin' ye 
 ^ About yer infiraiitees. 
 An' paw-paws is yaller'n gold — ■ an' " free " — 
 
 \^liile the leaves drop off'n the trees — 
 Ye like to be lazy an' do ez ye please. 
 In the fall, when the leaves drop off'n the trees. 
 
 When the wind blows the leaves down off'n the 
 trees, 
 An' their ga'nt lim's is almost bare ; 
 
 [65] 
 
When they seem, ez they quake an' shake in the 
 breeze, 
 
 Somewhat like yer own lim's air — 
 Why, ye wish ole Time would have flew away 
 
 To the airth's antipodees, 
 An' left ye alone — jest a boy at play — 
 
 With no " anivarsarees ! " 
 Well, ye hate ole age an' its miserees. 
 In the fall, when the leaves drop ofF'n the trees. 
 
 Ez ye wade knee-deep in the rustlin' leaves, 
 
 An' kick 'em, ez once ye did, 
 Enjoyin' the cool, sweet wind, that grieves — 
 
 Ez it didn't when ye wuz a kid; 
 When ye grab off yer hat frum yer ole bald 
 head, 
 
 WTiile, borne on the Autumn breeze, 
 There echoes the shoutin' ov chums — long 
 dead — 
 
 An' the leaves drop pff'n the trees: 
 Why, it's melancholy in days like these. 
 In the fall, when the leaves drop off'n the trees. 
 
 An' yit, when the leaves drop off'n the trees, 
 An' yer brow is by frost o'erflecked. 
 
 Ye feel like thankin' God, there on yer knees, 
 Fer the pleasure ov retrospect; 
 
 An' ye thank him more fer yer thinkin' brain. 
 That yit kin retain idees. 
 
 [66] 
 
Tho' ye cain't be vounff ez ve wuz aganc 
 
 Ye kin wander emiong the trees — 
 An- do yer own thinkin', in days like these, 
 In the fall, when the leaves drop oiFn the trees. 
 
 [67] 
 
LAND OF THE USED-TO-BE 
 
 Oh, sing us a song of the long ago — 
 
 A song of our childhood days ; 
 Oh, sing of the things that we used to know, 
 
 When fancy was all ablaze; 
 And let every note of it ring out clear 
 
 With a musical melody. 
 To carry us back to the comfort and cheer 
 
 Of the land of the Used-To-Be. 
 
 Oh,' sing us a song of our boyhood's prime. 
 
 When " sure enough " Santa Claus 
 Filled every stocking at Christmas time, 
 
 " Afore we kuowed who he was." 
 And fill us again with the joyful dreams. 
 
 Where all is glad mystery ; 
 Come, sing us a song of the sunny streams 
 
 In the land of the Used-To-Be. 
 
 Strike every note till the organ wails 
 
 And sobs with the echoing ; 
 Then sing of Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales, 
 
 And sing of Aladdin's ring; 
 And tell how the Genii came from the vase. 
 
 To travel o'er land and sea. 
 And build up a palace just any place 
 
 In the land of the Used-To-Be. 
 
 [68] 
 
Oh, sing us the song that the robin trilled 
 
 Just after the summer showers ; 
 And sing of the meadow, all daisy frilled, 
 
 The bumblebees and the flowers. 
 Oh, sing to us, sing to us once again, 
 
 Change all of our care to glee ; 
 Awaken us all with the glad refrain 
 
 Of the land of the Used-To-Be. 
 
 Then low as the moan of the mournful dove. 
 
 And soft as the June day's close ; 
 And gentle and tender as mother's love. 
 
 And sweetly as twilight grows ; — 
 Oh, quietly sing us to blissful rest. 
 
 Where slumbering dreamily. 
 We, barefooted, toddle right back to the blest 
 
 Old land of the Used-To-Be. 
 
 [69] 
 
SCENES OF OTHER YEARS 
 
 I REMEMBER, I remember all the scenes of other 
 
 years, 
 And a longing fills my bosom, as my eyes grow 
 
 dim with tears ; 
 For I'd love to wander back again to boyhood's 
 
 glorious prime, 
 But soon my brows will whiten with the touch 
 
 of age's rime. 
 The stream where I went swimming in the days 
 
 of long ago, — 
 Along whose sunny banks the plum and alder 
 
 used to grow, — 
 Is shorn of every shady nook, the plum and 
 
 alder gone. 
 And grain now waves where piping birds once 
 
 charmed the blushing dawn. 
 
 I remember, I remember every tree in that big 
 
 grove, 
 Where all alone for happy hours I often used 
 
 to rove, 
 And how I watched the squirrel climb the oak 
 
 and walnut trees, 
 Or leaning 'gainst some giant bole, I sipped the 
 
 summer breeze. 
 But oh, alas ! the woodman's axe has let the 
 
 sunlight in, 
 
 [70] 
 
Where for a hundred vears or more its ravs 
 
 have seldom been; 
 And rotting stumps alone remain where forest 
 
 monarclis grew, 
 Whose grateful shade again will never shelter 
 
 me or jou. 
 
 I remember, I remember every youthful, happy 
 
 face 
 Of companions of my younger days, in that be- 
 loved place; 
 Some I've not seen for many years, and some 
 
 I'll see no more, 
 And some have joined the silent throng upon 
 
 the other shore. 
 From out the past there comes to me the trill, 
 
 the laugh, the shout 
 Of barefoot boys and happy girls in merry 
 
 romp and rout. 
 But while I live my eyes will see, though oft 
 
 bedimmed by tears. 
 The sunny gleams, the joyous dreams, the 
 
 scenes of other years. 
 
 [71] 
 
BELSHAZZAR'S REVEL 
 
 " In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, 
 and wrote over against the candlestick, upon the plaster 
 of the wall, of the king's palace." — Dak. 5:5. 
 
 "And this is the writing that was written: Mene, 
 MENE, TEKEL, uPHARsix." — Dan. 5:25. 
 
 In the Babylonian capital was spread a sump- 
 tuous feast; 
 
 There the wicked young Belshazzar and the 
 nobles of the East 
 
 With ribald mirth were dancing, in a madden- 
 ing revelry, — 
 
 They did not know the Lord of Hosts had 
 written this decree : - 
 
 '* MENE,' MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 
 
 While they drank from golden vessels, — 
 stolen, each and all of them, — 
 
 Stolen from God's holy temple in far off Jeru- 
 salem, — 
 
 Little heeded they or cared they, as their mirth 
 was at its height, 
 
 That this prophecy was spoken, and would be 
 fulfilled that night : 
 
 " MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 
 
 There were hidden bands of music, there was 
 
 perfume rich and rare. 
 And a sweet intoxication charmed the senses 
 
 everywhere ; 
 
 [72] 
 
There were maidens clad in scanty robes, half 
 
 crazed with sensuous glee, 
 While the mystic messenger of God was writing 
 
 this decree: 
 
 " MENE, MENE, TEKEI,, UPHARSIN." 
 
 As the young king and his cohorts drank and 
 
 held high carnival, 
 A mysterious, shadowy presence seemed to 
 
 beckon to them all. 
 And a spectral hand crept slowly from the 
 
 black sleeve of the Night, 
 And 'gainst the candlestick upon the palace 
 
 wall did write: 
 
 " MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 
 
 Every face grew white and blanched with fear; 
 
 the king, in awful dread. 
 Said, " Bring forth the wise astrologers, that 
 
 this writing may be read; 
 Bring Chaldeans and soothsayers, — say it is 
 
 the king's command 
 That they read these words mysterious, that 
 
 all may understand: 
 
 " MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 
 
 'Mongst astrologers, Chaldeans, soothsayers, 
 — one and all, — 
 
 None could truthfully interpret God's hand- 
 writing on the wall. 
 
 [73] 
 
Then the Hebrew captive, Daniel, — who had 
 
 seen four score of years,-^ 
 Was commanded by Belshazzar to explain, and 
 
 still their fears : 
 
 " MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN ! " 
 
 (( 
 
 MENE!" spake the aged Daniel, "in the 
 balance thou art weighed, — 
 
 In the balance, — and found wanting," and the 
 king grew sore afraid; 
 
 " TEKEL ! — PERES ! — thy great kingdom 
 is divided, and is done. 
 
 And BELSHAZZAR will be cold in death be- 
 fore tomorrow's sun!" 
 
 " MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN ! " 
 
 So it seems to us God's finger in the royal pal- 
 ace hall 
 
 Of the wicked kingdoms of this earth at last 
 upon each wall 
 
 Will trace these mystic letters in the .fullness 
 of His time. 
 
 That will cleanse and purge out wickedness in 
 evry land and clime: 
 
 " MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN ! " 
 
 [74] 
 
JOHN MULLIGAN ME JO 
 
 John Mulligan, me jo, John, 
 
 Th' day that we were wid, 
 
 Yer oies were loike the sthars, John, 
 
 Yer hair was foiry rid; 
 
 Whin Father Grady made us one 
 
 Ye said ye loved me, O, 
 
 And I belaved ye towld th' truth, 
 
 John Mulligan me jo. 
 
 John Mulligan me jo, John, 
 
 Ye towld th' praste a loie; 
 
 Now ye're in pollytiks, John, 
 
 Ye wink th' other oie 
 
 At ivery purty gurrul, John. 
 
 Since ye're a " cop," ye know, 
 
 Ye're on th' mash most av yer toime, 
 
 John Mulligan me jo. 
 
 5? 
 
 John Mulligan me jo, John, 
 Since ve wint on th' " foorce,' 
 Ye air no good at all, John, 
 Around th' house, av coorse; 
 Ye'll not bring kindlin' in, ner coal, 
 Ner schovel aff th' schnow, — 
 Ye growl and grumble all th' toime, 
 John Mulligan me jo. 
 
 [75] 
 
John Mulligan me jo, John, 
 
 If ye don't soon imphrove, 
 
 Oi'll pack up all th' goods, John, 
 
 Be jabbers and Oi'll move; 
 
 And whin ye come fram afF yer beat, 
 
 Ye'll foind no one to go 
 
 And black yer shoes, and shoine yer club, 
 
 John Mulligan me jo! 
 
 [76] 
 
AT BELLA WILSON'S GRAVE 
 
 With dewy eyes and beating heart I stand be- 
 side this grave, 
 
 Where balmy winds are whispering, and where 
 the grasses wave. 
 
 The meadow lark is caroling liis piping roun- 
 delay. 
 
 Just as he piped long years ago through every 
 sweet spring day. 
 
 I hear the kildee wail and call across the ver- 
 dant lea; 
 
 I hear the sad notes of the dove, as if it 
 mourned with me. 
 
 Above this pulseless breast I place, with loving 
 
 hand, these flowers. 
 In memory of other years, — of other, sunnier 
 
 hours. 
 
 Good-bye, my friend of years ago! I reach 
 
 my hand to you. 
 But no response comes up to me from 'neath 
 
 the sod and dew. 
 
 For, voiceless lipped, in calm repose you dream 
 
 the hours away. 
 Through crimson dawn, through sunny noon, 
 
 and in the twilight gray. 
 
 [77] 
 
And while the moon and solemn stars their si- 
 lent watches keep, 
 
 Away from every care of earth all tranquilly 
 you sleep. 
 
 And here, in voice of pulsing grief, I breathe 
 
 farewell, farewell! 
 God rest your soul! God comfort us who 
 
 mourn for " Brown-eyed Dell." 
 
 [78] 
 
MARY MUNDIE 
 
 Hair of raveled sunshine, spun 
 Into golden threads, that run 
 Over brows as pure and white 
 As the snows of downy light; 
 
 Teeth of clearest hue, that gleam 
 As a pearl in noon-day's beam; 
 Smile as sweet as morning dawn 
 When the summer day comes on ; 
 
 Rosy lips, and cheeks that vie 
 With the June-time's evening sky, — 
 This is Mary Mundie! 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 Mary Mundie's form of grace, 
 Mary's fine, bewitching face, — 
 And Mary Mundie's laughing eyes 
 Would lure a saint from Paradise. 
 
 [79] 
 
THE OLD CHOIR 
 
 In retrospective mood to-night 
 
 I sit beside the cosy blaze; 
 While memory takes a backward flight, 
 
 I think of by-gone days. 
 As in a dream I drowsily 
 
 Recall the past, and whispering 
 From somewhere come these words to me: 
 
 " I'd love to hear the old choir sing ! " 
 
 Oh, just to hear those voices roll 
 
 In " Rock of Ages," " Kindly Light," 
 In " Jesus, Lover of My Soul," 
 
 Or " Round the Throne of White." 
 And o'er the years that lie between 
 
 The present and the sunny spring 
 Of life's best prime, ah, me ! I ween 
 
 I often hear that old choir sing. 
 
 I'd love to hear the Sunday School 
 
 In chorus there, the old and young, 
 Repeat once more the " Golden Rule," 
 
 When opening songs were sung. 
 I'd love once more to hear the notes 
 
 Of Popple's skillful fingering, — 
 A prelude — then from chorused throats 
 
 I'd love to hear the old choir sing. 
 
 [80] 
 
Oh, days of old! Oh, homes bereft! 
 
 Oh, Death's cold touch so drear and dire ! 
 For few, indeed, I know are left 
 
 Of that, the old-time choir. 
 Some of them freed from earthly pain, 
 
 Some o'er the world are wandering, 
 And e'en if I were there again 
 
 I could not hear the old choir sing. 
 
 But when I've gone to my last rest, 
 
 And stand outside the open gate 
 Of pearl and jasper, where the blest 
 
 Of God shall congregate, — 
 Oh! may there fall upon my ears 
 
 These words of joy and welcoming: 
 " Come, weary one, through ceaseless 
 years — 
 
 Come in and hear the OLD CHOIR sing ! " 
 
 [81] 
 
OLD DAD DUBBS 
 
 Everyone knowin' him spoke ov him 
 
 As " Dad, — OP Dad," — though his name was 
 
 Jim. 
 And he wasn't old, ner he wasn't gray, 
 Some one had nick-named him jest that-a-way. 
 Thirty-five year, er it may be some less. 
 Was 'bout as old as he was, I guess ; 
 And this was a sayin' that 01' Dad had, — 
 He called every one he knew, good er bad : 
 ''^A purty good sort ov a feller." 
 
 Every blame kid in the neighborhood 
 
 Knew well enough- that 01' Dad was good. 
 
 Even the dogs in the alley or street 
 
 Came to the gates er the fences to meet 
 
 01' Dad Dubbs, and to lick his hand; 
 
 Barkin', as if they could understand. 
 
 They'd talk with their tails, fer dogs talk that 
 
 way, — 
 And jest as plain as dogs kin they'd say, 
 " Dad's a purty good sort ov a feller." 
 
 Most kindest mortal you ever saw! 
 The dreamy cows would fergit to chaw 
 Their cuds, if 01' Dad crossed the pasture, and 
 Come up to him, where they'd gently stand 
 Fer Dad's caress. Every hoss would poke 
 Its head through the bars fer a kindly stroke 
 
 [82] 
 
Ov the big soft hand. Why, the cats all knew 
 That Dad was the kindest ov mortals, too. 
 As honest as sunlight, he always paid 
 The last cent ov every debt he made. 
 But he'd git angry at times, and swear 
 So long and loud that the very air 
 Got blue and trembled. And then OP Dad 
 Would hate hisself, and he'd feel so bad 
 That he'd stay out in the wind or rain 
 Till he got cool, then come home again, 
 As a purty good sort ov a feller. 
 
 The Parson he worried about 01' Dad. 
 
 " I vum," said the Parson, " that man's all 
 
 bad." 
 So he talked with Dad about sin. Dad smiled, 
 Sayin', " I'm all right ef I don't git riled. 
 Though I cain't preach, and I seldom pray." 
 Well, the Parson's team once run away, 
 And the Parson's life was in jeopardy. 
 Dad caught the team as it flitted by. 
 " What shall I pay you," the Parson said, 
 " Fer savin' my life? " Dad shook his head, — 
 " You owe me nothin' at all," says he, 
 " You'd perhaps have done the same thin^ fer 
 
 em." 
 " But what shall I do ? " said the Parson then, 
 " To show my thanks to the best ov men ; 
 Is there naught I can do, is there naught I 
 
 can say.'' " 
 
 [83] 
 
" Yes," says Dad, " tell the Lord the next time 
 
 you pray, 
 ' Dad's a purty good sort ov a feller.' 
 
 J5 
 
 Along in his youth Dad had been in love. 
 And led to the altar a sunny haired dove. 
 And Dad at that time was called James, and 
 
 she 
 Was known as the belle, petite sweet Marie! 
 Things went all right fer about a year; 
 He called her angel, she called him dear. 
 The honeymoon over, and then said Marie: 
 " Jim Dubbs is too slow fer a lady like me." . 
 A flashy dressed stranger came 'long, and 
 
 stayed 
 Till he and Marie got acquainted, and laid 
 Their plans to elope ; and they took Jim's team 
 And skipped, while Jim dozed in a peaceful 
 
 dream. 
 The Vig'lance Committee gave chase, and 
 
 brought 
 Mr. Flashy Dressed Stranger back, and folks 
 
 thought 
 That blood would be spilled. Jim eyed the 
 
 thief 
 A moment, then said, with a sigh ov relief, — 
 " You're a purty good sort ov a feller ! " 
 
 The boss thief got twenty-five years in the pen, 
 And Marie went to live with her mother again. 
 
 [84] 
 
Jim went tradin' hosses, and right from that 
 
 day 
 Jest seemed to git old and stay that-a-way. 
 He didn't complain, but 'twas plain to be seen 
 He had a suspicion most women was mean. 
 He seldom would look at a woman, and they 
 Nick-named him " 01' Dad," in a half teasing 
 
 way. 
 He wasn't no angel, — not by any sorts ; 
 Fact is, he had many odd-come-shorts. 
 Swappin' oy hosses he wouldn't tell 
 The hull blame truth, fer he'd swap, as well, 
 A lie er two with the feller which 
 Was braggin' his hosses good p'ints, and sich. 
 He wasn't no saint ner no hypocrit, — 
 He was simply, as some folks remember him yit, 
 Jest a purty good sort ov a feller. 
 
 Alwa3's ambitious at talkin', and yit 
 Xeyer a-sp'ilin' fer svork one bit. 
 Patientest feller you eyer haye saw. 
 If fishin' was good 'long the Mackinaw. 
 Never got tired, ef he could but jest 
 Do nothin' else 'cept hunt squirrels — er rest. 
 Best shot with a rifle there was there around 
 And no keener sportsman could eyer be found 
 Sometimes he'd go to the bar-room and spend 
 The half oy a night with some other friend, 
 Smokin' and drinkin' oy cider er beer, 
 Er playin' keerds, jest to keep up cheer. 
 
 [85] 
 
Reelin' in home at " wee sma' hour," 
 Nuther ill natured, er crabbed, er sour. 
 His mother would scold, and she'd say to him, 
 In a half sarkastikal way, " Well, Jim, 
 My, but you're a good sort ov a feller." 
 
 Dad never had anything mean to say 
 Ov any one ; he wa'n't built that way. 
 Always found suthin' by way ov excuse 
 Fer others' failin's. And 't wa'n't no use 
 To talk with him, er to argify 
 Regardin' ov any man's perfidy. 
 He'd say, ' The hull thing is jest this-a-way : 
 Keep still less you've got suthin' good to say. 
 I want to speak well ov a man," says he, 
 '* Er I'll keep my durned mouth shet, by Gee ! 
 I never knowed any one yit," he'd say, 
 " Entirely puffect in every way. 
 Fact ov the hull matter is, I swan. 
 The man without fault ha'n't yit been bo'n. 
 And so I'd ruther jest say ov a man. 
 Though he may be built on an orn'ry plan, — 
 He's a purty good sort ov a feller." 
 
 In Eighteen-Hundred-and-Sixty-One, — 
 Year that Fort Sumter was fired upon, — 
 When Lincoln called fer the Volunteers, 
 Dad nigh busted his lungs with cheers. 
 Got a flag, made ov red, blue and white 
 
 [86] 
 
Ov the daylight skies and the stars ov night; 
 
 Waving it high in the April air, 
 
 He mustered into the service there. 
 
 Six months passed, and Dad, veteraned. 
 
 Re-enlisted, and took his stand 
 
 Along with the rest ov the boys in Blue, 
 
 Down at the front, where the bullets flew. 
 
 Always was cool when the shot and shell 
 
 Hissed and screamed, jest as if all Hell 
 
 Was loosened. When all ov the Yankees 
 
 cussed 
 The Johnnie, Dad said, " Boys, he ain't the 
 
 wust, — 
 He's a purty good sort ov a feller." 
 
 " I know Johnnie Reb ain't as bad as he 
 
 Is painted by some," 01' Dad says 'ee. 
 
 " Fer I 've drunk whiskey from his canteen, 
 
 \\Tien nobody else was eround er seen 
 
 The Yanks and the Rebs, on the picket line, 
 
 Swappin' jack-knives fer terbacker er wine. 
 
 Anyhow, we didn't pledge our hates 
 
 To the Boys in Gray from the Southern 
 
 States ; 
 We're not fightin' them pussonally. 
 We're combattin' their wrong idee ! 
 We're jest fightin' to keep the Flag 
 Frum bein' trailed as a wuthless rag. 
 And to show that no people don't live nowhere 
 
 [87] 
 
As kin keep God's Emblem from God's pure 
 
 air. 
 We hate no one, but we'll lick the world 
 Jest to float OLD GLORY,— and when it's 
 
 furled 
 
 Ag'in in peace, — then the Boy in Gray 
 
 Will be our brother, and then you'll say — 
 
 ' He's a purty good sort ov a feller.' " 
 • •••••• 
 
 PETERSBURG ! — None ov the Boys fergits 
 The firin' line, ner the rifle pits. 
 01' Dad there in the bilin' sun 
 In one ov them pits, a sharp-shooter's gun 
 Gripped close in his hands ; and with him there 
 A brave young boy, with a face as fair 
 As a maiden's. " He, with his curly head, 
 Looks puny, — but Hell with his gun," Dad 
 
 said. 
 A bullet tore through the lungs and breast 
 Of the fair haired boy, and at his request 
 Dad took the boy in his arms, and leapt 
 Right into view, where Death's carnage swept. 
 He made a run in the face ov all, 
 And brought his charge to the hospital. 
 Dad was riddled with Southern lead, 
 But p'inting straight upward, he, dying, said: 
 " HE's a p-urt-y go-o-d sort — ov — a 
 
 Fel-1-ler ! " 
 
 [88] 
 
A man as will give up his life to save 
 A comrade cain't sleep in no unknown grave. 
 So, wrapped in the Blue and the Red and White 
 Ov the daylight skies, and the stars ov night. 
 They sent Dad home, and the old band played 
 His funeral dirge in the court-house shade. 
 " We're proud, 01' Dad, that you fit and bled 
 And died for the boy and the Flag," they said. 
 So they marched out there near the edge of 
 
 town. 
 And buried Dad jest as the sun went down. 
 And the drums beat " taps," while the bugles 
 
 said, 
 " Lights out." A salute to the hero dead 
 Was fired; and somebody placed the Red 
 And the Blue and WTiite over 01' Dad's head. 
 Soon a marble slab in the noon-day shone, 
 On which some wag writ : " Here, all alone. 
 Sleeps a purty good sort ov a feller." 
 
 And so I hope when the all -kind Lord 
 Called 01' Dad in fer his just reward. 
 The angel that always has kept account 
 Ov heart-conditions, did up and mount 
 Right there on the gates ov pearl, and say, 
 " Come in. Dad, and git you a harp to play. 
 You ain't no saint, but I'm satisfied 
 There's lots ov room 'mongst the glorified 
 Fer a purty good sort ov a feller ! " 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 [89] 
 
These is the things that was told about 
 Dan Dubbs, when the Civil War played out. 
 
 [90] 
 
LONGING 
 
 I'm tired, so tired, of all this din 
 Of city streets, and sounds wherein 
 
 There's naught but rattle and j am ; 
 I'm tired to death with the nervous strife. 
 The hurry and rush that shorten life, — 
 
 I long for the country's calm. 
 
 Never the song of a thrush I hear. 
 And never the morning atmosphere 
 
 Is thrilled by the piping joys 
 Of the meadow lark. The senseless cry 
 Of English sparrows, as days go by. 
 
 But adds to the city's noise. 
 
 The sparrow lives but to feed and fight, — 
 His sole ambition is greed and might; 
 
 He breeds in the filth and slime 
 Of noisome tenements, where he sees 
 Life's darker side, and the dregs and lees 
 
 Of poverty and of crime. 
 
 Yet he is a type of a certain class 
 Of people we meet, who daily pass 
 
 Up and down, and to and fro; 
 Their lives hold little, it seems to me. 
 Of Nature's music and melody, — 
 
 They selfishly come and go. 
 
 [91] 
 
I long to be where I'll hear the rain 
 Patter in showers o'er fields of grain; 
 
 And again do I long to hear 
 The bobwhite's voice, as his notes awake 
 Echoes that sleep in the mist-veiled brake, 
 
 And the morning's atmosphere. 
 
 I long for the woods, where the shadows play 
 At hide-and-seek through the livelong day, — 
 
 Far off from the city's sound. 
 I l9ng to sit by the shaded streams — 
 Such as I knew in my youthful dreams — 
 
 Where natural things surround. 
 
 I long for the dusk of the summer time; 
 I long to hear the tinkle and chime 
 
 Of bells on the browsing sheep. 
 I long for the scent of the clover bloom 
 That floods the air with its sweet perfume 
 
 When the day has gone to sleep. 
 
 And so I say, as I've said before. 
 Take me away, where I'll hear no more 
 
 This wrangle and crazy noise; 
 And let me live where my life will be 
 Replete with each sacred melody 
 
 That we knew when we were boys. 
 
 [92] 
 
THIRTY-FIVE 
 
 I've reached the zenith of the years allotted 
 
 here to men; 
 For should I live as many more I'll be three- 
 
 score-and-ten. 
 I'm on the summit of life's hill, and down its 
 
 other side 
 I'm surely taking my first steps out toward the 
 
 eventide. 
 I do not like to think that I am growing old, 
 
 and yet 
 Full many a summer's sun has shone, and win- 
 ter's suns have set 
 Since I, a barefoot, happy boy, began to live 
 
 and thrive; — 
 I've seen a score and three-fourths more of 
 
 years, — I'm thirty-five. 
 
 I've had a share of sorrow, and I've felt the 
 
 thrills of love 
 That come from sacred wedded bliss, and all 
 
 the sweets thereof. 
 I've kissed my first-bom's nectared lips, and 
 
 held the little hand. 
 And pressed the velvet finger-tips, gone to a 
 
 fairer land. 
 I've held my baby in these arms, and felt liis 
 
 rosy breath 
 
 [93] 
 
Upon my cheek ; and, oh ! I've seen his eyelids 
 
 close in death. 
 I've stood beside a mound of earth, but grief 
 
 could not revive 
 The fair, sweet flower that bloomed for me 
 
 when I was thirty-five. 
 
 The years once seemed too slow^ for me; I 
 
 wished to see the day 
 When I'd be twenty-one years old, and none 
 
 r to scold or say 
 What I should do, or shouldn't do. But, ah! 
 
 I've learned since then, 
 Though one may grow from boy to man, we 
 
 can't be boys again. 
 For one-and-twenty came at last, — and two- 
 
 and three-and four — 
 Then five — and six — and seven — and eight 
 
 — and nine, and one year more, — 
 And I was thirty ; then I said, " Time doth too 
 
 quickly drive 
 His chariot on. Oh, wait ! " I said. Alas, 
 
 I'm thirty-five! 
 
 " Death, time and tide wait for no man," was 
 
 said long years ago ; 
 This axiom that I learned in youth I find is 
 
 even so. 
 Time levels all and Death claims all ; the dawn 
 
 grows into day, — 
 
 [94] 
 
Then noon, then night, then eyelids close and 
 
 one has " gone away." 
 And what we call the night-time here may be 
 
 the break of dawn 
 Some other place. O patient soul, O waiting 
 
 soul, hope on. 
 I'm glad I've seen so many years, I'm glad I'm 
 
 yet alive; — 
 I hope I'll reach three-score-and-ten. I'm glad 
 
 I'm thirty -five ! 
 
 [95] 
 
COASTING YEARS AGO 
 
 I'm not very fond of winter, but I somehow 
 
 can't forget 
 There is something in the season sort of makes 
 
 me like it yet; 
 For it brings to mind the pleasures that we 
 
 knew long years ago, 
 When the blood of youth was in us, and our 
 
 hearts were all aglow. 
 So J recall the wintry nights, when skies were 
 
 bright and clear, 
 And when the light of moon and stars blinked 
 
 through the atmosphere. 
 And now the season's here again, and fields are 
 
 white with snow, 
 I think of how we coasted down the hills long 
 
 years ago. 
 
 Why, in my imagination, I can hear the songs 
 we trilled ; 
 
 And I hear the joyous laughter that through 
 evening's air was spilled; 
 
 And as the smoke from my cigar floats up and 
 curls away. 
 
 It limns the loving faces of a long-lost " yes- 
 terday." 
 
 And smiling round me once again are all the 
 girls and boys 
 
 [96] 
 
Who were mj merry playmates, 'way out there 
 
 in Illinois ; 
 While Fancy flings aside the Past — just for 
 
 the nonce — and so 
 I'm coasting down the hill, just as I did long 
 
 years ago. 
 
 The big hill south of Danvers, there near Dick- 
 inson's old farm, — 
 
 Ah, how we bundled up in coats and mitts to 
 keep us warm ! 
 
 And how the lads and lassies yelled, when that 
 big sled would start; 
 
 And how the wind slowed every breath, but 
 quickened every heart! 
 
 Each second how the speed increased, until 
 through every brain 
 
 Excitement ran and rioted. But, oh, the glad 
 refrain 
 
 Of chorused voices, as we felt our coaster get- 
 ting slow. 
 
 Then stop ; then up the hill again, to have an- 
 other " go." 
 
 We didn't mind the climb at all; we walked 
 
 close to the girls. 
 Just so's to keep 'em warm, you know! Ah, 
 
 me, the saucy curls 
 That tangled coyly round each face ! No 
 
 " Tetlow's Gossamer " 
 
 [97] 
 
Was needed there to paint those cheeks, all 
 
 wrapped in silk and fur. 
 Those eyes were brighter than the stars, those 
 
 lips were tempting sweet; 
 Sometimes we slyly stole a kiss — (Who'll say 
 
 'twas indiscreet?) 
 Why, lips like those would make a saint break 
 
 all his vows, I know! 
 And spend his whole soul in one kiss, — as we 
 
 did, years ago. 
 
 Where are they all ? — those dear ones of my 
 
 life's fair morning-tide. 
 Some living in the old town yet, — some scat- 
 tered far and wide! 
 Sweet, gray-eyed Mame, and brown-eyed Dell 
 
 have gone to sleep, I know — 
 Both in the self-same grave-yard are at rest 
 
 beneath the snow. 
 And to-night the snow is falling! I look 
 
 through the pane and see 
 The mantle that it spreads o'er all the earth so 
 
 solemnly. 
 I draw the blinds, — and go to bed, to sleep — 
 
 to dream, I know. 
 Of tangled curls, — of boys and girls, — of 
 
 COASTING YEARS AGO. 
 
 [98] 
 
THE ZEPHYR'S SONG 
 
 I COME from out the southern zone, 
 I softly slip through pleasant bowers ; 
 
 I steal across the grass, I drone 
 Among the fragrant flowers. 
 
 I sport where whirls the old mill-wheel, 
 I glance along the purling streams ; 
 
 I breathe in shady nooks, I steal 
 Into the poets' dreams. 
 
 I woo the pleasant summer day 
 
 I filter through the swale and brake ; 
 
 Adown the thorny glen I stray, 
 I ripple o'er the lake. 
 
 I glide across the gloamy dusk, 
 I, intermittent, stir the leaves ; 
 
 I bring the nectar and the musk 
 That flood the dewy eves. 
 
 I lighten all the cares of moil 
 At close of ever}'^ swelt'ring day ; 
 
 I fan the fevered cheek of toil, — 
 Then laugh and slip away. 
 
 I'm bred in warmth of sunny climes, 
 
 I dwell in seas of marigold ; 
 I live where blooms the lisping limes, — 
 
 I die in winter's cold. 
 
 [99] 
 
DOLL BABY DAYS 
 
 You say that your " doll baby days " have 
 gone by, 
 For you now are a Miss of fourteen ; 
 With your round rosy cheek and your laugh- 
 ing blue eye, 
 You're a beauty, my fair little queen. 
 But one with experience can't well be blamed 
 
 For the thought in his mind, and he says : 
 " Don't speak of them lightly, and don't be 
 ashamed 
 Of your innocent doll baby days." 
 
 In the days that will come to you soon, little 
 Miss, 
 You'll have pleasures, no doubt, by the score ; 
 And your soul may be thrilled by a dear lover's 
 kiss. 
 As he pledges his faith o'er and o'er. 
 But often a lover's fond fancy will wane. 
 And you can't believe all that he says ; 
 And sometimes the dart sped by Cupid gives 
 pain, 
 Which you ne'er knew in doll baby days. 
 
 You may learn after while that this old world 
 is not 
 What it seems to you now, little girl ; 
 
 [100] 
 
When the doll baby days for a time are forgot, 
 And you're lost in society's whirl. 
 
 For heart-aches will come to us all, Effie dear, 
 As we buffet life's billows and sprays, — 
 
 So let this advice kindly fall on your ear: 
 " Don't forget the old doll baby days." 
 
 Don't learn to speak ill of your doll baby days. 
 
 My rosy cheeked lassie, for, oh, 
 Through life's checkered scenes and its devi- 
 ous ways, 
 
 They're the happiest days you will know ! 
 When in life's retrospection a pleasure is found, 
 
 And you think of your youth and its plays, 
 A halo of glory will linger around 
 
 Those sweet, dreamy doll baby days. 
 
 [101] 
 
CHILDHOOD'S SLUMBER LAND 
 
 In Slumber Land, where dreams abide, 
 
 Beyond the sea of Lullaby, — 
 Where drowsy babies, sleepy eyed. 
 Forget to moan or sob or sigh; 
 In bowers of peace, where fairies are. 
 And elfin bands play near and far — 
 Why, here all joys are multiplied, 
 In Slumber Land, where dreams abide. 
 
 And here are silver dawns, whose mist 
 
 Its halo lends to mystify. 
 And half conceal the amethyst 
 
 That tinges all the eastern sky. 
 And here are never frowns or tears, 
 For angel voices charm the ears — 
 The little ears all satisfied — 
 In Slumber Land, where dreams abide. 
 
 And here the merry sprites and fays 
 
 In endless frolic may be seen. 
 Through sunny bowers, where the days 
 
 Are made of woven, golden sheen. 
 And this is where all babies go 
 When drowsy eyes are tired so 
 They close, and all the senses glide 
 To Slumber Land, where dreams abide. 
 
 [lOS] 
 
Back o'er a flight of weary years 
 
 We'd love to steal to childhood sweet,- 
 
 We'd love to cast away the tears 
 Of care, and romp with toddling feet 
 
 Along the brink of misty streams, 
 
 Where fairies flit in morning's beams, 
 
 And once again be mystified 
 
 In Slumber Land, where dreams abide. 
 
 [103] 
 
TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY: 
 GREETING 
 
 James Whitcomb Riley, bard who weaves 
 
 Into his verse the vines and leaves, 
 
 The fodder-shocks and golden sheaves 
 
 Of Hoosierland : — 
 
 This greeting from one who believes 
 
 You'll understand! 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 Tho' I'm nae skill't in writin' lays, 
 An' scarce conversant wi' the ways 
 O' crambo-clink, a feelin' sways — 
 
 An begs o' me — 
 To gie yer paukie stumpie praise 
 
 In powesy. 
 
 Sae, Jem, in gude Rab Burns' style, 
 An' swing o' rhyme, just for a while — 
 Aiblins ane hour — I will beguile 
 
 Ye wi' my chaff ; — 
 An' ask ye for (Losh, mon, don't smUe) 
 
 Yer autograph! 
 
 I love the good old-fashioned ring 
 
 Of all the tuneful things you sing; 
 
 For through them runs the breath of spring, 
 
 The songs of birds, 
 The summer dusk, the glow-lit wing. 
 
 The " low " of herds. 
 
 [\0^ 
 
And musing o'er your songs I hear 
 
 The boasting of Sir Chanticleer, 
 
 The Bobwhite's whistle, sweet and clear, 
 
 In morning's haze; 
 And everything that filled with cheer 
 
 My youthful days. 
 
 I hear the drowsy, soft refraim 
 Made by the pattering of rain 
 Across the fields of waving grain. 
 
 In days of June; 
 And, as of old, I hear again 
 
 The turtle croon. 
 
 I smell the nectar and perfume 
 That rises from the clover bloom. 
 When noisy " beetles bump and boom " 
 
 Adown the shades ; 
 When " whiddin' hares " steal from the broom 
 
 To starlit glades. 
 
 Oh rhymes of buds and blossomings — 
 Oh rhymes that to my memory brings 
 The tantalizing twitterings 
 
 Of birds at mom! 
 All sweet as zephyrs' whisperings 
 
 Through tasseled com. 
 
 And while from off your pen there drips 
 The tuneful, runeful quibs and quips, — 
 
 [105] 
 
And while your Muse the nectar sips 
 
 Of all things pure, — 
 I say with sincere, fervent lips, 
 
 Your fame's secure. 
 
 And so to you, whose writing brings 
 
 A memory of all the things 
 
 I knew when youthful revelings 
 
 Made glad my days 
 My simple muse her tribute sings 
 In simple phrase. 
 
 [106] 
 
TO JOSEPH ROLAND PIATT,— 
 THE POEMER 
 
 Whiles only hafflins gane tae bed 
 Yestreen, lang ere my prayers were said,- 
 As still ance mair your verse I read, 
 
 Its chime on chime 
 O' sweetness lured frae out my head 
 
 This answerin' rhyme. 
 
 Hail tae ye, friend an' brither mine ! — 
 Hail tae your blithe sang, every line 
 Tip-tasseled wi' a rhyme as fine 
 
 As Bums might wake 
 For Bonnie Jean, or, mair divine, 
 
 For Mary's sake. 
 
 Hail tae ye for the auld Scot's land, — 
 Its lowly bard as weel's the grand ! 
 Hail, for the art ye understand 
 
 By native right ; 
 Hail, tender heart and skilly hand — 
 
 Hail and gude night ! 
 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 
 
 Indianapolis, 
 
 Christmas of 1901 
 
 [107] 
 
SUMMER DAWN 
 
 The clarion call of Sir Chanticleer 
 Awakens night's slumber, and far and near 
 A tinkle of bells in the atmosphere, 
 
 While Nature begins to yawn. 
 We smell, and we feel, and we almost hear 
 
 A tingle and tang of dawn. 
 
 The sky is tinged with a touch of gray, 
 The stars pale slowly, then fade away, 
 The lazy mists listlessly float and sway 
 
 And ghost-like go gliding on. 
 A crimson blush greets the god of day, — 
 
 'Tis the glorious summer dawn. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 I love the summer dawn so well, 
 
 My very soul in rapture swoons 
 To breathe its breath. A magic spell 
 Comes over me. Emotions swell. 
 And dreams of old 
 Are swift unrolled, 
 As in a maze of mental haze 
 I wander through the long-lost Junes. 
 
 Loved, long-lost Junes ! I wander through 
 
 The woods, and each familiar place 
 Is mine again. The spangled dew 
 Gleams sweet. Here is each scene I knew. 
 And, far away, 
 
 [108] 
 
I hear the jay 
 His war cry call; and over all 
 The tangled branches interlace. 
 
 Gnarled, tangled branches over me! 
 
 Soft, tangled ferns beneath my feet 
 Half hide the olden paths, where we 
 Barefooted boys, all boisterously. 
 
 Romped in and out. 
 
 With lifted shout. 
 Or wayward strayed in deeper shade. 
 
 When sunmier days were all too fleet. 
 
 Oh, sunmier days speed all too soon ! 
 
 Too soon the time of youth is gone ! 
 Too fleet are all the days of June ! 
 
 And eventide 
 
 Doth short abide, 
 As down the stream of life we glide, 
 
 Where waits the great. Eternal Dawn. 
 
 [109] 
 
DOLCE FAR NIENTE 
 
 Autumn atmosphere all hazy 
 With the purple and the gold; 
 
 Strands of gossamer, that lazy 
 Float across an amber wold. 
 
 Sunlight sifting tender, gleamy 
 Through the tranquil atmosphere; 
 
 Thistle tufts and clouds, that dreamy 
 Sail away and disappear. 
 
 Listless gusts of wind, tJiat bluster 
 For a moment, then are gone ; 
 
 Leaves that eddy, whirl and cluster, 
 Swirl and sway, and on and on. 
 
 Streamlets gurgling and complaining. 
 Where the meadows gently slope ; 
 
 Jay-birds gabbing, and explaining 
 Everything within their scope. 
 
 Scolding squirrels bark and chatter. 
 Where the tree-tops arch and spread ; 
 
 Flocks of crows, with jawing clatter, 
 Wing their sluggish flight o'er head. 
 
 Low and call of peaceful cattle ; 
 Bleat of sheep, with tinkling bells 
 
 [110] 
 
Echoing in mellow rattle 
 
 From the glades and hazel dells. 
 • • * • • 
 
 Drowsing, rhyming, idly flinging 
 Care to every wind that flies ; — 
 
 Loitering about and singing, 
 
 AMiile the summer fades and dies,- 
 
 Thus in dolce far niente 
 
 Do I dream the hours away, 
 
 Doing nothing (and that's plenty) 
 On this sweet September day. 
 
 [Ill] 
 
THE POET 
 
 With thoughtful and wrapt expression 
 
 He stands by the boundless sea, 
 And the great wide reach of the shingling beach 
 
 Fills his soul with ecstasy. 
 
 He picks up a bit of parchment 
 
 Flung there by a vagrant wind, 
 And strolling along he pencils a song 
 
 That elevates all mankind, 
 
 And on that parchment, faded 
 
 And soiled by the stormy blast. 
 Plans symphonies and great harmonies. 
 
 That roll through cathedrals vast. 
 
 They say he is sentimental. 
 
 Well, what would this old world gain 
 If its sentiment were forever sent 
 
 To rest in the Polar Main? 
 
 Fling all of your spites at the poet. 
 
 Ye careless unthinking ones ; 
 But for all your spites, what the poet writes 
 
 Unlimbers the roaring guns. 
 
 And the tramping of mighty armies 
 Keeps time to his martial strains ; 
 
 [112] 
 
At the bard's request the earth's oppressed 
 Throw off their galling chains. 
 
 And at last we hear the pK)et 
 
 His •* Home, Sweet Home " release, 
 
 \Miile the flags are furled, and we see a world 
 Rejoice in his songs of peace. 
 
 Then here's to the *' dreamy '' poet 
 Who strives for the good and pure. 
 
 For the song he sings and the joy he brings 
 Will last while the stars endure ! 
 
 [113]