O-iiw 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No.. 
 
 Shelt.L5..3S'05' 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERI 
 
 K 
 

 -BY- 
 
 JOSEPH S. COTTER. 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY. 
 
 THE NEW South Pub. Co,, 
 
 517 W. Walnut St., 
 
 L Louisville, Ky. < 
 
A RHYMING/^ 
 
 ev 
 
 
 JOSEPH S/COTTER. 
 
 ''Thouffb old the ihoug-ht and oft expressed, 
 'Tis liis at last who says it best ; 
 I'll try my fortune with the rest." 
 
 — James Russell Lowell. 
 
 NOV 10 
 
 Inut St., 
 
 L Louisville, Kv. r^ 6 Y **^'' < 
 
 THH NEW Sou¥j4HPjjB,.CO., / 
 
 517 W. Walnut St., ^/yVyT 
 
 Louisville, Kv. X"/ 6j ^^ 
 
x^^'i^- 
 
 
 ^» 
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 Cop_vrij3-hted, 18%, by 
 Joseph S. Cotter. (Ka^ 
 
 JS 
 
PRELUDE. 
 
 Discerning- reader, you will quickly find 
 That here's a rhymer of the ktwly kind, 
 Applaud his little sallies, if you can; 
 And, if you can't, just treat him like a man 
 Whose aspiration wanders through the sky 
 Without genius to bear it company. 
 
THE VOICE OF THE OCEAN 
 
 (To THE Rev> John H. Frank.) 
 
 As I stood beside the ocean, 
 
 Gazing silenth^ 
 At the wild waves in commotion. 
 
 Thus it spoke to me: 
 
 '^Thousands now are sweetly sleeping 
 
 In my wide embrace, 
 While my waves are slowly creeping 
 
 O'er each silent face. 
 
 ''In the dark primeval ages 
 
 That so long have flown 
 Holy men and might}^ sages 
 
 Loved to sleep in stone. 
 
 ''So vast sepulchres were hollowed 
 
 By the hands of slaves, 
 And by thousands they were followed 
 
 To their rocky graves, 
 
 ''But the loved ones whom my billows 
 
 Now are raging o'er 
 Sank to sleep on briny pillows, 
 
 Mid mv awful roar/' 
 
THE BACHELOR, 
 
 (To Pkof. W. T. Pkvton. 
 
 The bachelor was old and sad, 
 His life was fast decaying; 
 
 'Tis said he oft grew raving mad 
 While o'er the past surve5^ing. 
 
 He dwelt within a little hut, 
 
 Surrounded by starvation; 
 No woman called upon him but • 
 
 By special invitation. 
 
 There lived with him a httle boy 
 Who loved to romp and tumble 
 
 And see how much he could destroy 
 To hear the old man grumble. 
 
 He broke his pipe and spilled his snuiT 
 
 And beat upon the kettle 
 Until, in truth, it was enough 
 
 To stir a preacher's mettle. 
 
 At last the old man holloed out: 
 
 "You surely are inhuman: 
 I'd sooner far be buffed about 
 
 And bothered by a woman." 
 
His words flew by like wind-tossed chaff 
 
 And only tickled Harry, 
 Who answered with a boyish laugh: 
 • '*Then, sir, why don't yon marry ? " 
 
 ''Now, boy, the question that j^ou ask 
 
 Is somewhat out of season, 
 But yet it is an easy task 
 
 To give to you the reason. 
 
 "When I was in my eighteenth year 
 
 And not a little frisky 
 I stopped at everything* to i3eer 
 
 No matter howe'er risky. 
 
 ''A few miles from my father's farm. 
 
 Between two iittle ditches, 
 I heard there dwelt, secure from harm, 
 
 Two very pretty witches. 
 
 ''Then, thought I, this cannot be so, 
 
 Such talk is so deceiving; 
 But to convince myself I'll go. 
 
 For 'seeing is believing.' 
 
 "So off I started, all alone. 
 
 Adown that muddy hollow; 
 But would have stopped had I but known 
 
 What was destined to follow. 
 
"At last I saw the ruined cot 
 
 Between the little ditches, 
 And paused to think whether or not 
 
 'Twas wise to see the witches. 
 
 **Then slowly crept on hands and feet: 
 Don't think I meant to creep in, 
 
 Or with them face to face to meet, 
 But simplj^ for to peep in. 
 
 *'Soon as I reached an open crack 
 I ^azed steadfastly throug"h it: 
 
 But, ah ! a burden met my back 
 That made me doubly rue it. 
 
 "Somehow I did not care to stay 
 
 For any further pleasure; 
 But when at last I got away 
 
 I had a double measure. 
 
 "And from that time on down to this, 
 Although it prrves inhuman, 
 
 I never could find happiness 
 In beinjTf near a woman.'" 
 
10 
 
 THE STRANGE MAN. 
 
 (ToPkof. F. L. Williams.) 
 
 There lived a man of low degree 
 
 Far in a land obscure 
 Who daily thanked the fates that he 
 
 Was born so very poor. 
 
 ''The multitudes of wicked men 
 Who plan and steal and lie 
 
 Can never rob my wallet when 
 I am too poor to buy. 
 
 ''Kind is the fate that w^ill not let 
 
 Great riches bother me 
 Anrl so the poorer that I get 
 
 The happier I will be.'' 
 
 He swore this by as many gods 
 
 As ever lived of old, 
 Meanwhile he turned the heavy clods 
 
 In search of precious gold. 
 
 He sang a rustic Genevieve 
 
 At the approach of dawn, 
 Then slept until the dewy eve 
 
 And danced upon the lawn. 
 
 He never mingled wuth the throng 
 Until the day grew^ dim 
 
11 
 
 He did not Irke a sin^^le s(;ii<^- 
 That was not sung" by Inm. 
 
 Whatever made all other folks 
 
 The cup of sorrow quaff 
 Seemed uuto him but witty jokes 
 
 To make men sing" and laugli. 
 And so he lived for many a year 
 
 And san^ his own rude hymns; 
 And still the people far and near 
 
 Wondered at his stran,i^"e whims. 
 Some said his eyes wonld never view 
 
 The fast-approaching- fall; 
 And others swore by all they knew 
 
 He w^ould not die at all. 
 Straig'litwa}', on hearing" this, g'rim Death 
 
 Passed Icing" and artisan 
 And most politely took the breath 
 
 Away from this strang'e man. 
 But as the people gazed on him 
 
 And thoug-ht him stark and dead, 
 He cried: "I'llg-ive you one more whim 
 
 While on my dying- bed: 
 "Play londly on the life and drum, 
 
 Ljt flag's of triumph wave; 
 And let tlie joU^t' peasants come 
 
 And dance up )n ]ny g"rave." 
 
MflN DOES NOT KNOW. 
 
 To Prof. C. W. House k. 
 
 Man does not know. He daily look.s 
 around him 
 And tries to master earth and air and 
 skies; 
 But some mysterious power has tirml^' 
 bound him 
 Unto a plane from which he may not rise. 
 
 Man does not know. He plunges into 
 science 
 As urchins plunge into the wooing* 
 wave; 
 Yet nature's highest works still bid 
 defiance 
 And rear up bulwarks that he maj^ not 
 brave. 
 
 Man does not know. He says that on to 
 morrow^ 
 He' will be in a state of ecstasy; 
 But when it comes his head is bowed with 
 sorrow 
 And he is in the depths of miser3\ 
 
13 
 
 Man does not kno^v. He tries co look 
 before him 
 And view the bri*;ht side of his future 
 way, 
 Yet who can tell but what this may throw^ 
 o'er him 
 A veil to hide the bright side of to-day ? 
 
 Man does not know. He claims to have a 
 spirit 
 
 (And may he never cease believing" so) 
 Ihat some far day or other w^ill inherit 
 
 Eternal pleasure or eternal woe. 
 
 Man dees not know^. Has he a valid 
 reason 
 To deem this ignorance a grave offense? 
 To look for anythingbefore its season 
 Sliows tlieie is urgent need of common 
 sense. 
 
 Man does not know. Suppose he were 
 partaker , 
 
 Of all that now lies hidden from his 
 sight, 
 
 Not even meeting with his blessed Maker 
 
 Could thrill his bosom with a new delight. 
 
14 
 
 Man does not know. Yet why sbonld he 
 take pleasure 
 In doubting- what perchance he can not 
 see? 
 'Or why should he believe there is no 
 treasure 
 Awaiting* mortals in eternity ? 
 
 Man does not ,know. Each d.'iv he is 
 receiving" 
 Assistance from a pow^er out of siglTt; 
 So he should never, never cease believing- 
 That God will some da}' bring it all to 
 lig-ht. 
 
 Man docs not know\ O Thou Almighty 
 Power, 
 
 As thy great w^ays are past man's find- 
 ing out, 
 
 Do teacli him day by day and hour bj^ 
 hour 
 
 That loftv faith that over powers doubt. 
 
15 
 SONNET. 
 
 Oliver Wendell hiolmes. 
 
 Who can hold up the intellect and say: 
 *'Fromhere to there scampers a vein of wit 
 With laughin^f humor by the side of it, 
 Assisting* cold philosophy to play 
 The game of thiniiing" ?"' Not a single ray 
 That boldly shines tlierefrom will e'er admit 
 Of close analj^sis. So, bit by bit 
 We fall to guessing out the mind's true w^ay 
 Of forming wholes. O, astute analyst, 
 Atid royal mercluint in the mart of song, 
 Because of this we see as through a mist 
 Thy charming whole. Yet know to thee 
 
 belong, 
 Howe'er they be arranged, the Oo^l-like 
 
 three — 
 Wit, humor and sublime philosophy. 
 
WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER 
 
 Thou who didst bid thy fellow-man 
 Stand up erect in deed and thought, 
 
 As noblv spent thy little span 
 As any human being" ought. 
 
 The life that smoothl}^ glides aloni^*, 
 And takes its toll of eighty years, 
 
 And sparkles with the purest song, 
 Proclaims itself the peer of i^eers. 
 
 Because of its pure warp and woof 
 Shall men toil on more carnestlj^ 
 
 And hold its lessons up in proof 
 Of man's avowed divinity. 
 
 And out of it shall spring the seeds 
 Of holy actions, and the strife 
 
 That terminates in evil deeds 
 Snail vanish in the nobler life. 
 
 So shall the world grow better through 
 Thy toil, O, poet of the West, 
 
 While thou art witii the gifted few 
 Taking thy long and quiet rest. 
 
!•; 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV 
 ANDREW HEATH. 
 
 Though no more we hear the voice, 
 And behold no more the face 
 
 Of the 7.>eople's worthy choice 
 In the old accustomed place, 
 
 From his virtue each inherits 
 
 Strength and patience to endure, 
 
 While he, in the land of spirits, 
 
 Dwelleth with the good and pure. 
 
 Men may till exalted stations 
 Ana be known from pole to pole 
 
 As the idols of the nations, 
 Yet be base in heart and soul. 
 
 Not by liue or form of faces. 
 
 Not by fluent tongue or pen, 
 Noi: by high nor lowly places. 
 
 Can we judge the worth of men. 
 The delight in generous giving. 
 
 Strength to battle with despair, 
 Loftj^ aims, and upright living. 
 
 Prove the hero ever3'^vvhere. 
 
18 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF A KENTUCKY 
 SCHOOL HOUSE. 
 
 (To William M. Steward Esq.; 
 
 In a hill-bound and somewhat rustic pocket, 
 Like a rough picture in a costly locket 
 With scarcely rcom enough to train a mouse, 
 Stand a few boards the trustees call a house- 
 The floor and ground meet on the western 
 
 side. 
 But on the east a drove of liogs miglit hide 
 And make their beds within the mellow 
 
 ground, 
 And dwell day after day and not be found. 
 The windows that front on the east and west 
 Are much like pockets in a ragged vest — 
 Pockets that have been Avorn out long ago. 
 And cling about the garment just for show. 
 Like to a hole cut in a massive bin 
 Is the large door at which }^ou enter in, 
 Ai d once within, you need not peep about 
 
19 
 
 To find the many places to look out, 
 For on each side, in front and at 3'our back. 
 Yes, everywhere you look you'll see a crack. 
 Close to the wall a pulpit stands in view, 
 (For this is both a church and school-house 
 
 too) 
 And here and there, fastened with wooden 
 
 cleats. 
 Are a few boards the p'jplls use for seats. 
 About the middle of the time-worn floor, 
 And on a straig-ht line wuth the barn-like 
 
 door, 
 Silently stands a larg-e old. stove. Of yore 
 They say it heated, but it heats no more, 
 A blackboard hang's upon the southern wall^ 
 And all day long- the curtains rise and fall 
 Willi every gust of wund. And that is all. 
 
•20 
 
 HER WAY IS THE WORLD'S WAY. 
 
 iTo I)K. F. G. FOWLEK. 
 
 ''Jane, drive the cows to the grassy hill, 
 
 And call the pigs together; 
 And take a sack of corn to the mill, 
 
 For this is pleasant weather. 
 
 ''And don't go moping along the road 
 A-trying to lose your shadjw; 
 
 And don't go hopping along like a toad 
 From the corn-fieid to the meadow. 
 
 "And w^hen you reach the dusty mill. 
 
 And see that crazy miller, 
 Say: 'No, no, no, you never w^ill 
 
 Make me a clever tiller*" 
 
 Jane drove the cows to the grassy hill. 
 And called the pigs together, 
 
 And took the sack of ^orn to the mill 
 All in that pleasant w^eather. 
 
 But did not mope along the road 
 A-trying to lose her shadow, 
 
I'i 
 
 And did not hop along like a toad 
 Prom the corn-field to the meadow. 
 
 But when she reached 'the dusty mill 
 
 And saw the crazy miller, 
 She said: "Yes, yes, I know you will 
 
 Make me a clever tiller." 
 
 She put the sack of corn aw^ay, 
 And then with pleasure tarried; 
 
 And ere the close of that bright day 
 She and the miller married. 
 
 ''I'll drive the cows to the grassy hill 
 And call the pigs together," 
 
 Her mother said, ''and go to the mill 
 III any kind of weather; 
 
 "For daughter Jane has married a man 
 Who is the wisest of wise millers; 
 
 And I believe my sjul in one day he can 
 Make the cleverest of tillers.'' 
 
2:t 
 
 MR. GOODY'S GOAT. 
 
 Old Mr. Goody had a goat 
 That was quiet and genteel; 
 
 His mustache started on his cbm 
 And ended on his lieel. 
 
 This goat thought he was just as smart 
 
 As anything could be: 
 He said no other goat alive 
 
 Knew half so much as he. 
 
 He knew that corn is made to grow, 
 And eggs are made to hatch; 
 
 But, lo, he never yet had seen 
 The thing you call a m'atch. 
 
 So, one day as be pondered o'er 
 
 The many things he knew, 
 Ht- chanced to see this very thing 
 
 Lj'ing plainly in his view. 
 
 Said lie: "Of all the things I've seen 
 Not one ot them I've feared: 
 
23 
 
 So I will take this something up 
 And hang it in my beard." 
 
 Just then a monkey came along, 
 
 And sneeringly he spoke: 
 *'The thing" that dangles from your beard 
 
 Was clearly made to smoke." 
 
 *'And how ?" the goat made quick reply, 
 The monkey said: **Just so;" 
 
 And gave the match a kind of stroke 
 That monkeys only know. 
 
 And in a triCe there stood a goat 
 
 As beardless as a flea, 
 And one that thought the smallest thing 
 
 Knew just as much as he. 
 
1:1 
 
 OLD BILLY OF MAIN STREET FAME. 
 
 Man with bis mind, strong" and refined, 
 
 Gazes from earth to lieav-en; 
 And thinks straightwaj^ each precious ray 
 
 Has unto lihn been g'lven. 
 
 And so his pride soon sets aside 
 
 That feeling pure and tender 
 That makes him feel each creature's weal. 
 
 And be its staunch defender. 
 
 And hardened thus, superfluous 
 
 Seems many a thing- that meets him; 
 
 And blinded so, he fails to know 
 Tne good in much that greets him. 
 
 He oft perchance, in ignorance, 
 Slights Nature's classic features; 
 
 And peers around in scorn profound 
 Upon the lower creatures. 
 
 The will of God is in the clod 
 Tliat decks the lowliest valley; 
 
And his great soul from pole to pole 
 Chimes ever musically. 
 
 Then howe'er low man's keen may go 
 
 It finds undying- beauty; 
 And a sense of this augments his bliss, 
 
 And gives him faith in duty. 
 
 Then why refuse to court the Muse 
 
 For one who so discreetly 
 Wove day to day in sucli a way 
 
 He lived almost completely ? 
 
 A rhyme or two I'm sure would be due 
 
 To any human being 
 \Y lio cculd toil So long and seldom go wrong 
 
 Not even to disagreeing. 
 
 i>illy*s d€eds should be writ by one whose wit 
 
 Is ever high and holy, 
 And not by me who clumsily 
 
 Plods on so melancholy. 
 
 Now, I frankly declare that exactly where 
 To begin is a point that troubles; 
 
2t) 
 
 For start where I will there's a surplus still 
 Behind that recedes and doubles. 
 
 For fear I may get too far in the debt 
 Of Hannibal, Caesar or some one, 
 
 I'll find me a point be it marrow or joint: 
 Poor Billy, you see, is the dumb cne. 
 
 He never would shirk. 'Twas his nature to 
 work 
 
 Right on for himself and his neighbor; 
 For somehow he knew as all wise men do 
 
 There's dignity in labor. 
 
 Alas, and alack, when the time came to 
 back, 
 
 (Billy hated the idea of fighting,) 
 If his neighbor was slow or impatient to go, 
 
 He just halted and gave him a biting. 
 
 And his nature was such that he leaned 
 over much 
 To the side that was burdened with 
 weakness: 
 
And in spite of his race, 3'ou could cleverly 
 trace 
 Through this make-up the jewel of 
 meekness. 
 
 Well, his faults were so few and his virtues 
 so true, 
 I disdain to comment on the first ones; 
 For the records of time have embalmed in 
 smooth rhyme 
 King's and queens who did worse and then 
 worst ones. 
 
 And the second so rose as to clearly disclose 
 The fact that kind Nature has given 
 
 To the down- trodden brute, though his 
 reason be mute, 
 A relationship honored in Heaven. 
 
LILY. 
 
 To Sarah. 
 
 She was the prettiest little maid 
 That ever tripped along", 
 
 Or sat beneath the pleasant shade 
 To sing* an evening" son;^. 
 
 The raven locks of curly hair, 
 The simple, childish grace, 
 
 Combined to make surpassing" fair 
 That sweet, ang-elic face. 
 
 And ever at her work she sang 
 
 Some simple, rustic lay 
 Until the cliffs around her rang" 
 
 With its sweet melody. 
 
 Her cot, beneath a rocky hill, 
 
 Stood by an aged tree ; 
 And far below a little rill 
 
 Ran rippling to the sea. 
 
 Along its banks she often straj-ed 
 To fill her lap with flovers, 
 
Or in some grassy cranny played 
 At building" fairy towers. 
 
 Now, sunny April came to wake 
 
 All nature from its sleeping" ; 
 And here and there a little brake 
 
 Above the soil was peeping*. 
 And Lily thought the g'entle spring* 
 
 Did never fairer seem, 
 And hurried through her work to sing 
 
 Beside the little stream. 
 Willie sitting on its grassy brink. 
 
 Singing her rustic lay, 
 She saw the songsters light and drink, 
 
 Then quickly flit away. 
 
 Just then som? school-boys came along 
 
 Upon the farther shore ; 
 And straightway did she cease the song 
 
 To row them safely o'er. 
 
 She tried to take the little boat 
 
 Across the stream in vain, 
 And sank beneath the current swift, 
 
 And never rose again. 
 
MARY. 
 
 When 3^ou ream the garden over, 
 When you trip across the lea, 
 
 When you play amid the clover, 
 Mar}^, do you think of me ? 
 
 When you sit beside the fire 
 In the closing" of the year. 
 
 Have you still the same desire 
 
 That once made my presence dear ? 
 
 When the banquet hall is lighted 
 For the youthful and the gay, 
 
 And you are with the invited, 
 Do you sigh that I'm away ? 
 
 When you hear that some disaster 
 Has befallen ship and crew, 
 
 Do you wisli the hours were faster 
 That will bring me back to you ? 
 
 And, if I perchance should perish, 
 While upon the briny sea, 
 
 Mary, will you ever cherish 
 
 All the gifts you have from me? 
 
SI 
 ON A SUICIDE. 
 
 Here lies a 'man who took his own sweet life 
 With that world-famous instrument — a wife. 
 
 ON A PROUD MAN 
 
 Here lies a man w-h^se spul waj^i so 
 
 Puffed up with pride it couldn't grow, 
 
 Yet, may be, in the life to be 
 
 Tlie fates will give it liberty, 
 
 And let it reach, through steps severe, 
 
 Tbe size it fancied it had here. 
 
 MODERN I10MI1J:T1C8. 
 
 Now, firstly, froiU'iny lest I str;iY 
 To where lyyxJ^scoarse is bt^^jfiu ; 
 
 And then I just say on anu any 
 Until, welK T airi (l')ri*'. 
 
32; 
 
 MY SONG. 
 
 I sang" me a song*, a tiny song, • 
 
 A song that was sweet to my sou], 
 
 And set it a-float on the sea of chance 
 In search of a happy goal. 
 
 I said to my song: **Go on, go on 
 
 And lodge in a tender spot 
 Of some human soul where the fires ot hate 
 
 And selfishness are not.'' 
 
 My song went on but a little space 
 
 And hied it back to me; 
 And fell at my feet in a sorry plight---- 
 
 The victim of cruelty. 
 
 I gazed a moment and quickly saw 
 Just how it had come about, 
 
 A cruel critic had caught my song 
 And probed the soul of it out. 
 
 O. poor indeed is the human mind 
 (And why was it ever wroug'ht ?) 
 
 That can thrive on husk in the form of 
 words, 
 And not on a sturdv thou^^ht. 
 
f>r 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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