PS 3507 .156 A3 •:::: ::: :• J'; ^0* 4 o A * i ■> <$ ^ "*L* a"* v .i^^W^b* , <£» o t*. *r ^CROSS "T" HB ^HEAT a: a; a: By Will Dillman /f.. 0231838 ACROSS THE WHEAT ACROSS THE WHEAT BY WILL DILLMAH BEVILLO, S. D. THE ITEM 1898 i A r 4 V> Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1898, by WILL DILLHAN, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 'IE3 0EG241S98 D ^UA'i TO VINA And Dora took the child, and went her way Across the wheat The reapers reap'd, And the sun fell, and all the land was dark. Tennyson. CONTENTS ISADORE 9 IN THE JIM VALLEY 19 "'WHEN YOND' SAME STAB" 21 OLD BILL WILLIAMS 22 WHEN JENNIE PASSED 23 YENNIE 24 BALLAD OF BAILEY'S RIG 26 THE FARMER OF THE PRAIRIES 28 SENCE NELLIE'S MOVED AWAY 30 AFTER THE CURTAIN DROPS .... 32 WHEN WINTER'S COMIN' ON 33 RAIN IN HARVEST 34 BALLAD OF NELLIE HANKS 36 AUTUMN STORM 38 THE SHANTY ON THE CLAIM 40 BED TIME 42 FLORENCE 43 PA AN' ME 51 IN THE EVENING 52 HENRY 54 FOR HER 56 ON HER ABSENCE 57 CONTENTS viii THE WATCH KRS 58 KING LEAR 59 JOSEPH JEFFERSON 60 ST. ANTHONY FALLS IN APRIL 61 WALT WHITMAN 62 EDWIN BOOTH . ... bo THE MOODS 61 IAMBIC PENTAMETER 65 THE LEAVE-TAKINO 66 THE FAIR ISLANDS 67 THE VETERANS 68 THE WIRES 70 THE REAPERS 72 THEN DIE 73 DOWN TO GARY 74 ANALOGY 76 RETURNED ^.i*. SONG 79 GETTING HOME 80 SUGGESTION 83 L' ENVOI 84 ISADORE In the middle of the wheat, where the south winds, slow or fleet, Bore a fragrance from the prairies of the roses, faint and sweet, There the nestlings piped and peeped where the gray-brown stones were heaped, Where the plowshare never troubled, where the reaper nev- er reaped. In the weird and stilly noon of the nights of waning June, When the fields were sleeping 'neath the yellow halo of the moon, Dreamfully the barefoot child strayed among the roses wild. Thro' the dewy hollows, pausing where the mossy stones were piled. O, the little wand'ring feet, wending thro' the bending wheat; O, the childhood gone forever; O, the years so cruel, fleet! Listen to the homely lore pitying midnight spirits bore; As the childish watcher heard it, hear the tale of Isa.iore. 1. In the seasons past and gone dwelt two brothers, Frank and John, By the ever stretching prairie countless cattle roamed upon ; In a simple, strong abode, builded by the winding road, By the rippled rapid river where the turbid waters flowed. 9 10 ACROSS THE WHEAT Frank was weaker of the twain, for a grim disease amain Thro' the years had racked his body, leaving- still a cloudless brain. John was tall and brownly tanned, ruighly-arnied and strong of hand ; And his limbs were sturdy, treading fall by fall the furrowed land. Now the brothers spoke no more as they used in time before, When they wrought or when they rested, of the lovely Isa- dore. For in cither's heart, alone and deep hidden, there had grown For the girl a silent passion but to mutest lovers known. Busy seasons gliding fast, now were youth and boyhood past; And the brothers came to manhood's grave and sterner years at last. Now their parents, bent and gray and o'er-wrought. had pas- sed away; Alone they sowed ami reaped and watched the herd, as farm- ers may. All a brother's love they bore for each other; but a more Sacred passion grew within them lor the queenly Isadore. Each was hoping 1 thro' the years, hoping still 'neath doubts and tears. That lie might at some uay claim her, know her joys and share her tears. Now one late and autumn night the wild storm was at its height; Only in the old farm kitchen burned the wood-fire, warm and bright. IS ADORE 11 There the brothers lingered still near the midnight hour; and shrill Raged the tempest ; and the farm-house shook and shuddered, roof and sill. Thus spoke John, and looked away to the window, "Frank, all day L have tried to tell this secret; listen, then, to what 1 say : When the winter days are o'er, and the flowers bloom once more, This old house will bloom with sunshine and the smiles of Is- atiore." As one standing 'neath the bud of the hawthorne hears the thud Oi the first clods on the coffin of the nearest of his blood, So upon the brother's ears fell the name that all the years lit had loved to whisper nightly 'neath the dim unnumbered spheres. Yet 1 e silent sat. and raised not his head, but like one dazed At the ^iowlj glowing embers with unchanging eyelids gazed. Then upon a sudden teij iiom his soul the binding spell; And l.e seii.ee. the honest brown hand, saying, "Brother, it is wefi." On a bright and joyous day in the mating time of May, When wines were hushed, and all the plain a waveless ocean lay, Under apple blossoms hoar John the sturdy farmer bore To his home the happy maiden, bore the queenly Isadore. 12 ACROSS THE WHEAT Prank the brother stood beside the old door-way, on the wide Spreading 1 porch and, hands extended, welcomed home the groom and bride. No one seeing - him might know that beneath this smiling show Beat a heart all crushed and shattered by a single mighty blow. II. Thro' the villages and farms rose and rumbled War's alarms: And threat' ning drums and stirring trumpets called. "To arms! to arms!" Many a brave and noble band quit its forges, quit its land; Many a borne Avas h'i't unguarded by a strong and manly hand. At t lie cottage door t he three stood and parted— (Far and free On the morning air w:is borne the war-drum's dreadful re- veille!)— John the manly brave and true in bis uniform of blue, Isadore the young and tearful, Frank beside the silent two. While the birds of morning passed thro' the dewy boughs, ana fast Fell the girlish tears, the husband held her. kissed her for the last. So the soldier left her there with the sunlight on her hair. • Saying. "Frank, protect and guard her; Frank. I leave her in your care." Down the winding road he passed, while the heavy muskei cast ISADORE 13 On his manly shoulder glistened, gleamed and glistened to the last. On the farthest hill he stood, looking backward while he could; Saw the cattle in the farm-yard ; saw the green and pleasant wood ; Saw the farm-house white and fair; saw the still and lonely pair, The patient yielding brother and the young wife standing there. Burning tears unheeded flowed down the soldier's cheeks; lie strode, Leaving ail tilings dear behind him, down the Jong and wind- ing road. So the soldier went; and still watched the lonely two, until The figure small and smaller grew, and vanished o'er the bill. Then the silent brother turned to his fields, for he discerned A profound and sacred sorrow on the face of her who yearned. And the lonely Isadora, fairer, queenlier than before, "He is gone," she stood repeating, "he is gone," and evermore, While the sunny day wore on, and she turned herself anon To her household cares, she murmured, ever murmured, "he is gone." III. O. the long and lonely years, time of mingled hopes and fears; O, the eyes grown dim with watching; O, the silent flowing tears ! 14 ACROSS THE WHEAT All alone with thoughtful brow wrought the old man at the plow; All his boys had gone to battle; two had perished bravely now. And the mother at the gate wandered down to watch and wait. While the evening shadows lengthened, while the hour was growing late. And the young babe grown apace had forgot his lather's face. And marked no more the stillness and the ever vacant place. Ami the children 'round the door played in silence evermore. For a shadow like the shadow of. a dark cloud hovered o'er. Nightly down the yellow road where the summer moonlight Slowed, Peered the maiden: there he vanished, glancing backward as he strode. Now the blue-eyed Isadore stiller grew, and sang no more At her house-work, and her wistful eyes were sadder than be- fore. Ami the brother, strong above all the griefs he suffered of, Ever sought to cheer her. patient in his silent sinless love. Now the time of yellow shocks came again; and crying flocks Soared above, ami in the sunshine crew the faint and distant cocks. In the evening Frank returned with his horses, and discerned Thro' the door the young wife standing where the twilight embers burned. At the evening meal the two sat in silence. Faintly thro' Door and window came the lonely chirp of crickets in the dew. ISADORE 15 Now the cheerful farmer Brown, home returning- from the town With the newest tidings, entered, stood in silence, looking down. While the stricken Isadore looked upon him, lo, a more Deathly pallor came ubon her, spread her cheeks and lore- head o'er. To the kindly man she fled wild and helpless. -'Speak!" she said, ■Is he killed? Ah heaven, I know it! Tell me! Speak man! Is lie dead?" "Yes. my girl." And Isadore heard no word of tidings more. For the pitying farmer caught her falling swooning to the floor. Tenderly they laid her down on the couch; and farmer Brown Brought his kind old wife to tend her. and a doctor from the town. IV. Over sanded roads and gray John the soldier marched away With his comrades, passing cornfields, passing meadows sweel w ith hay; During all his weary tramps thinking still of her, in camps Of the South, in midnight watches, in the lonely dews and damps. So by one and one were gone dark and cruel years; and John With his comrades marched and fought: and yet the bloody War went on. 16 ACROSS THE WHEAT In the battle's smoke and roar, on the marches, or when o'er Silent tents the moon hung - watching - , still he dreamt of Isa- dore. Now in autumn time was made yet a fiercer battle. Blade (.'lashed on bloody blade, and banners waved, and ranks were lowly laid. Long - the soldier fought and well where his comrades reeled and fell, Where the screeching- shells were hottest, in the battle's red- dest hell. In a charge loo rashly fought John and all his line were caught From their comrades, and as captives to the dreaded prison lirought. And the tearful message, read in his native village, said These were killed and these were wounded, naming John among: the dead. Many mom ; s lie languished there in the filthy prison, where Sickened comrades lay about him, squalor filling earth and air. Frightful months the soldier passed in the ghastly prison cast; But deliv'ranct- and the flag he loved and bled for came at last. Now the cruel course was run; now were furled and folded, one After one, the shell-torn banners; now the awful War was done. ISADORE 17 Now the soldiers, sick and sore, thought to wander home once more, Thought again to see the farm-house with the loved ones at the door. V. In the summer night the sweet grass was crushed beneath the feet Of the homeward plodding soldier, as he passed the fragrant wheat. Now were all his labors o'er, thus he thought, and evermore Would he dwell in peace and quiet with the love of Isadore. So the weary man, elate with sweet visions, could not wait, But plodded, plodded onward till he reached the farm-house gate. Joyous tears, the least like those he had shed at parting, rose To the weary soldier's eyelids as he neared his journey's close. Thro' the somber summer night from the window gleamed a light. Coming near, he looked within, and moaned in sorrow at the sight. For he saw his Isadore lying still and pale, and o'er Snowy cheek and pillow streamed her hair as golden as of yore. Near the couch of spotless down sat wife of farmer Brown, With her kindly eyes and features and her quaint and ample gown. 18 ACROSS THE WREAT As she stroked in mother's wise all the flowing- hair, the eyes Opened, gazing- far and wistful, as on cloudless summer skies. Kneeling trembling on the floor, now the soldier held once more In his arms the pale-cheeked woman, held the happy Isadore. All her sorrow vanished when once again he held her; then Was she silent, saying only, "John, I dreamt you came again." Frank the silent brother came thro' the doorway, with the same Patient face that hinted not a silent love's undying flame. While the soldier held her fast in his trembling arms, she passed From earth's longings, ever smiling, ever happy to the last. And the brothers by the bed gazed upon the sinless dead, One the loved and one the loving, and no single word they said. And the curling hair of gold lay about the forehead cold ; And the brief young life was compassed, as a story that is told. In the middle of the wheat, there they laid her, where the fleet South winds ever bear a fragrance of the roses, faint and sweet. There the nestlings pipe and peep, where the stones their vig- il keep, Where the plowshare never troubles, where the reapers never reap. IN THE JIM VALLEY 19 IN THE JIM VALLEY They're a-harvestin' the wheatfields in the Valley of the Jim ; I can hear the reapers clatter, soundin' kind of low an' dim; See the yello' fields a-wavin', an' the shocks in crooked rows: An' house an' Darn, an' mother out a-hengin' up the clo'es; See the cattle in the pastur'. an' the ol' gray linipin' mule; An' the yello' heifer standin' in the water keepin' cool. An' I try to fight again* it as a sort of silly whim, But 1 wisht 'at I was hack there in the Valley of the Jim. Now it's fall, an' they're a-thrashin' an' a-plowin' up 1 l>t ground ; An' the air is sort of hazy, an' the gulls are sailin' 'round. An' the sun looks kind of yello' in the smoky afternoon ; An' at ev'ning- you can listen to the steamer's sleepy tune- See the horses comin' home f'om work, an' smell their sweaty coats ; Hear 'urn smashin' through the stubble, tired an' hungry foi their oats. Now it's growin' sort of dusky, an' they're doin' up the chores. An' the kitchen fire is burnin', an' it's chilly out o' doors. 1 can smell the eggs an' coffee, an' 1 know my little trim Lovin' mother's g-ettin' supper in the Valley of the Jim. Onc't I had a elder brother in the Valley of the Jim. An' he was a homely fello', an' I ust to go with him To the pastur' for the cattle, an' a-fishin', an' around : 'N I mind lie ust to carry me acrost the stubble ground. 20 ACROSS THE WHEAT An' we ust to sit a-fishin' of a summer afternoon By the crick, an' hear the gophers chirp, an' listen to the i uu< Of the bobolink an' blackbird.— O I recollect it well.— An' we liked the sleepy water, an' the sort o' lishy smell Of the ol' dry bank, with craw-iish bones an' clam-shells l;i \ - in' there; An' we'd hear the dreamy cryin' of the plover in the air.- An' then one day in fall they buried him on father's hill ; 'N I cried all day, an' wished 'at I was laid along of Bill. For it seemed so queer an' lonesome 'thout no brother any more.— An' now the grass is dyin' there, an' winds are sighin' o'er. I can hear the sor'ful meado' lark a-singin' over him.— O I wisht 'at I was back there in the Valley of the Jim. 'WHEN YOND' SAME STAB." 21 "WHEN YOND' SAME STAR." "When yond' same star that's westward from the pole" Glowed in the dark-blue space thus over-bright. And the winds kept the silent sleep of night. By the still lake we rested from our stroll. I do mind your hair's abundantness When yonder star was westward from the pole. 1 mind the faint and sweetest scent that stole From countless silken folding's of your dress. I wonder, does that white contented swan Still dip and frolic where the ripples roll. When yonder star is westward from the pole? I wonder, does that fountain murmur on? So often as 1 wonder with my soul. As now, where pulseless midnight hushes are. I think of you, I long for you afar, When yonder star is westward from the pole. 32 ACROSS THE WHEAT OLD BILL WILLIAMS Where that old sod shanty is, Old Bill Williams, he lived there. He got froze to death; that's his Grave out by the plowing, whew All the sun-flow'rs are. He came To this country— I don' know— From Vermont— an' took that claim. Maybe twenty years ago. Well, one time the boy an' him Got caught out; an' I suppose He wrapped all his clo'es on Jim, An' laid down with him, an' froze. That's the way we found 'um, Bill Dead, an' Jim all right, an' so, Never missed 'im gretly, still Boys felt kind o' sorry though. WHEN JENNIE PASSED WHEN JENNIE PASSED There was a minute's silence in the crowd. Old Silas drew his feet up under him. Young Daily sighed and frowned and breathed h'ss loud Bill Hawkins leered upon her with a grim Bad smile, and turned and spat the other way. Great guilty heads were bent, and glances cast From corners of men's eyes, and hearts that day Had higher better thoughts, when Jennie passed. Young Williams stood with folded arms, erect. He did not mingle with the village men. He raised his hat; he saw her face, sun-flecked And fair; he caught a faint perfume; and when Her glance met his with modest sweet surprise. His heart stood still, fell, rose, beat high and fast. The corner sign-board danced before his eyes. And all was dizziness, when Jennie passed. 24 ACROSS THE WHEAT YENN1E Ay ben setten har des efning en mae lettle lunesome place, Un da lunesome clock ben ticken on da shulf. Ay ben tenken bote von lettle soony headt nn preety face. Ay ben sadt unt lunesome too touate msesulf. E fry ting hae ben so qviet ulmos' ay ben 'fraid to mofe, Oonly ven ay vapen tear ofe mit mas slief. Un niEe doge ben looken at me, setten qviet baa da stole: Poor ool' Roover, hae ben lunesome too, ay b'liei. Poor ool' Roover, never you vont yump mit her un play some more ; Never run un meet her ven she com en sate; Never you vont leek her lettle handt ven she com troo da door, Fore dose lettle handts ben gone avay lunate. .Many jears ago her mooder ilm, ven ve ben 'cross da sea; Yennie ben da oonly shildrens voL ve haf. She ben looken lak her mooder ven she setten on ma? knee; Ay ben tin ken bote her mooder ven she laf. Ay ben valken troo da pesture var she j use to drave dacowse, Un dey lift dar headt op ven ay com alouge; Un dey looken longe tern at maa ven ay goen to da boose. Lak dey vonder var poor lettle Yennie gone. Un her hatun sholl ben hengen on da nail behande da door. Unt her lettle shoose. un dress so clean un vate.— YENNIE Never she vont need dose lettle shoose to put on any more, Fore dose lettle feet ben gone avay tonate. Lettle Yennie, lettle Yennie, vot tor do you dae so soon? Oil da nebber boyse un girlse dey lote you too. Et'ry tem you haf da deener ven ay comen home ba^ noon. Oo mae Yennie, ay skel baa so lunesome noo! Lettle Yennie, lettle Yennie, oolvis ben so sveet un goode; Oolvis doen op da vork, un sing - un laf. Noo ay got von lettle grafe doon baa da corner of da rude, Unt von lettle shoose un hat, dos oil ay hat'. Poor ool' Roover, never you vont yump mit her un play some more; Never run unt meet her ven she com en sate; Never you vont leek her lettle handt ven she com troo da door, Fore dose lettle handts ben gone ava> 7 tonate. 36 ACROSS THE WHEAT BALLAD OF BAILEY'S RIG In the early light we set, while the frost was lying yet White and clean— we'd pulled from Hull's night before. And by sun-up or about we had half a setting out, And the old thing chewing wheat, howl and roar. Then the wind rose in the south, high and hotter. Woman's mouth Full of hair and bunnit strings as she run With a ca'f and wotter pail tacking up against the gale. And we worked and sweat and swore in the sun. Bailey standing on the top by the pile of sieves would mop Out his eyes and watch the cloud rolling near, Till a scorching headfire broke through the marsh with dame and smoke. — And he waved to Jerry Hicks, engineer. "Stop 'er! Run 'er 'round!" says 'e. "What a cussed fool I be Not to know the lake was dry, and the crick. Back 'er up! Pull out o' here! Or we'll lose three thousand clear! Make the plowing If you never strike a lick!" Engine backed in with a twist while the siz/ing spigots hissed. Black-red smoke a-boomiug on straight across. Jerry staited with a jerk. •"Pull 'er open! Make 'er work! Throw the gov'ner belt to hell!" yelled the boss. BALLAD OF BAILEY'S BIG 27 How he made her jump and bound! How sue climbed across the ground! And the fireman stuffing- straw fit to kill. And the pitchers sitting- blind with the smoke and dirt behind. And we sailed across the field, down the hill. Boiler hot and popping- steam. Bailey letting loose a stream From the oil-can on the straw. Forty rods! Jerry steering past the rocks tried the fiery-hissing cocks. "Bill, her wotter's g-etting low, by the gods!" Tried the pump. It wouldn't go. Tried the hot injector. No. "Run 'er dry then !" Bailey yelled. "Make 'er dig-!" Olose behind the header blew red-hot cinders on the crew. And we made the plowing sate with the rig. 28 ACROSS THE WHEAT THE FARMER OF THE PRAIRIES The farmer of the prairies trod with slow, Tired steps at evening, when his toil was done. To'rd his poor house. Far in the west a glow Was waning where had sunk the autumn sun. He sank upon the wooden steps, and drew His plow shoes from his swelled and heavy feet. He bared his massive brow. A warm wind blew. Bringing a restful fragrance, faint and sweei. The furrowed fields lay dark and silent. Now A dog barked on with tireless energy. Faint, far away, a neighbor's lonely cow Bawled, and a wagon rattled distantly. Long, long the farmer sat unmoving there. His whiskered cheek upon his hand, the kind Wind toying with his gray and moistened hair. His eyes unseeing, fixed. And now behind The shuddering, solemn corn the moon arose. Long, long he thought upon his wasted life, Its years of useless toil. He thought of those He loved, his absent boys, his buried wife. Late, late it grows. The last sad cricket's call THK FARM KR OV TH K I'RA I BIES &* Has ceased; and in the moon's pale silver glare The commonplace has seemed to vanish, all. I see a tragic figure sitting there. 30 ACROSS THE WHEAT SENCE NELLIE'S MOVED AWAY Some afternoons I let the cattle feed down here, To'rds the old house where Nellie ust to live. It's kind of queer. They ain't no flow'rs ner curtains, and a glass is busted out. An' weeds is gTOwin' in the little path. It's been about Three weeks I guess, er mebbe four, sence Nellie's mo vet I away. Sometimes 1 let 'um feed down here, along- to'rds evening, say. O' course now 1 don't s'pose 'at Nellie 'd ever think of me. She's gone off there to Illinois er somewheres. Still now she Would often stop an' talk to me— An' now it's summer time. An' everthing is hot an' dry, an' Nellie's gone, an' I'm— 1 s'pose I'm kind of foolish — yup — but 1 can't help 'ut say f'm lonesome like sence Nellie's moved away. [ recollect that afternoon she come an' told me. "Fred," She says, "we're go'n' away f'om here," an' stood an' hung 'er head. 1 see the wind an' sunshine playin' with 'er hair, an' then My throat stuck an' I couldn't speak, an' she walked home again. I wisht I could of thought o' some few words er so to say. I've thought o' lots sence Nellie's moved away. Oh the days is long an' sultry fer a I'ello' now like me, 'At ain't got notliin' much to A W A V 31 Right here's the place 1 held 'er baud that day a little while. I wonder now if she was mad? An' yet I seen 'er smile. I wisht she hadn't gone. I wisht she'd come again an' stay. I feel so sad sence Nellie's moved away. 32 ACROSS THE WHEAT AFTER THE CURTAIN DROPS We gaze entranced upon the shifting stage. Where stride the players in the tragedy. And tremble at the Moor's majestic rage. And shudder at Iago's treachery, And weep for Desdemona's cruel death. But when at last the wondrous drama stops. We brush away the (ears w ith freer breath. And turn to action, when the curtain drops. After the many parts are played. After the music stops, A Iter the exits all are mu.de. Vfter the curtain drops. My friends will pause and sigh some little space, And here and there, perchance, a tear may fa.il. And many men will look upon my face, Serene and eold. and deem that, after all I'm better off. And they will make for me A grave somewhere among the clover top*. And one poor girl, perhaps, will come ami see. And weep and pity, when the curtain drops. After the striving ends at last, A Iter the struggle stops, After the heart, aches all are past. After the curtain drops. WHEN WINTER'S COMIN' ON 33 WHEN WINTER'S COMIN' ON ' Oh a felio' feels so cheerfulrlike some days, When the prairie grass is withered, and you dig potatoes, say : And the geese and ducks are leavin', and the sky is cold an' gray; ..... , And the fodder rasps an' rustles where it lays. Vou feel a sort of sorro' for the summer time that's gone: But there's a kind of happy feelin' though, When you know the fall is passin' and the winter's comin' on. And you hear the autumn winds a-sighin' so. Vou see your woman takin' in the clo'es, Er a-workin' 'round the shanty, and you feel a happy thrill When you think you might 'a' lost 'er and you've got 'er with you still. Oh a fello' feels so thankful days like those. 34 ACROSS THE WHEAT RAIN IN HARVEST At two the white-hot sun was overcast With shreds of pale gray mist; And in the vast And reaching" west deep banks arose, Cool-blue and amethyst. With far, faint blows, Tap, tap, and lap, the farm mechanic hammered. The somber crows Flapped gloomily from hill to hill. By still, Unrippled ponds the scolding blackbird clamored. Still clanged the reapers o'er the ripened plain. Distant, and near, Low and sullen, or loud and clear. Then came the rain, Gentle and soft upon the brittle grain. Upon the long brown leaves, Upon the yellow shocks, Upon Lhe fallen sheaves; Lulling and fresh and cool. Stilling' the farmyard cocks. BAIN IN HARVEST 35 Dark' ning the wayside pool. Che drivers hastened home with their teams; The reapers were left by the wheat. O welcome rain, how sweet, How restful and soothing it seems; O beautiful harvest rain, After the days of heat, After the toil and pain. ; K) ACROSS THE WHEAT BALLAD OP NELLIE HANKS Daylight when I got to town. Roused the doctor out. Told him Nellie Hanks was worse; wanted he should go. Watched mv smokin' horses snort clouds of steam about. \ Iter seven miles of ice, seven miles of snow. Seen an engine with a. car sizzin', creakin past. An" a brakeman froze to death, wavin', signalin'. Got the doctor bundled up on the seat at last, Pulled (he lines up tight an' whang, off we went agin. Past the. stores an' opree house, past a church an' school. 'Crost the river where the black steamin' wotter flowed. Sun most risin' in the east, mornin' sharp an' cool, Past the courthouse and the jail, struck the country road Horses wild to go ahead, so ) let 'urn scoot, Struck a swift and sliddy trot, tried to hold 'urn so. frost the bridges and the pikes, ruts an' holes to boot. Seven miles of icy road, seven miles of snow. Hut 1 knowed my jumper'd stood more 'un that- before. Horses slingin' cannon balls past, the doctor's ear. How we flopped an' banged about. How we ripped an' tore. How the doctor clung to me like a drowndihg steer. BALLAD OF NELLIE HANKS 37 •Man," sez he, "for heaven's sake, all my teeth are jes' Droppin' out; and all my tools will be lost; and where Will my cussid bottles be?" "Can't help that," I sez, "Nellie Hanks is sick, an' I'll try and git you there." Down the hills an' 'crost the flats, on through Jones's Gap. Neighbors rushin' out the doors, wild to see us go. Lost a blankit and a quilt, doctor lost 'is cap. Seven miles of ice an' ruts, seven miles of snow. Up through Hanks's trees we rushed, plungin' 'crost the banks; 'Round the haystack and the barn, knockin' down a cow. Landed at the kitchen door. "My," sez Mrs. Hanks, "Sorry that you've hurried so, Nellie's better now." W ACROSS THE WHEAT AUTUMN STORM Rain in evening. Rain in the early fall. The cold few drops set in with gathering dusk. Borne o'er the prairies on the chilling winds From the vast Rockies. Rain and closing night. O cold and driving drizzly autumn storm! It will o'ertake the hastening hier home. It will pursue the homeward drifting sheep. The shrinking herd shall flee with lowered heads. The withered grass of untrod endless plains Drenched bv this storm shall writhe beneath the clouds. O'er all the vast and gloomy plain tonight The cold bleak rain is driving. In his tent The sleeper feels the stray drops on his face. And sighs from comfort. 'Round the kitchen fire The sleepy children linger, while the wife Adjusts the clashing dishes. In the barn The lantern gleams upon the yellow straw Under the horses' feet, upon the pegs Laden with harness, on the farmer's bent And shadowed form, passing among his steeds. O happy ye who. blessed with home and friends. AUTUMN STOKM 39 Abide this night against your cheerful tires. Ye hear the wild storm pelting at the panes. Ye see your children's faces in the fire light. Do ye remember us who homelessly Wander like broken Lear upon the heatliV 40 ACROSS THE WHEAT THE SHANTY ON THE CLAIM I'm sick and tired of city life. I want to start today, And git back where Dakoty is, and throw these things away. And git my old blue overhauls and wommus on agin, An' stand aside the pastur' when the cows are comin' in. I want to kiss my mother w'en she meets me at the door. And see the happy tears a-starting in her eyes once more. I want to see if father's changed, er if he's jest the same. I want to eat my supper in the shanty on the claim. 1 watcli the sun at evening as it kind of sadly drops In a bank of smoke that raises from a thousand chimbly tops. And 1 know the sun is setting clear an' beautiful out there, Where the meado' lark is singin' on the corner post, an' where My brothers are a-doing chores and whisteling, and pap's A -coming from the stable with his milkin' pail perhaps, And mebbe mother's standing in the door, and O I'm blame Lonesome when I think about 'urn and the shanty on the claim. I'm tired of all these city airs, and all this noise an' din. I want to see the prairie and the wavin' wheat agin; THE SHANTY ON THE CLAIM 41 And lay down in the cornfield where the wottermelons be. And watch the sky, and hear the corn a-rasping over me. I want to go to Hieks's where the dancing is, an' reel The roarin' inspiration of the old Virginy reel. I want to waltz with Nellie once agin, and hear 'er say In a whisper that she likes me, while the screeching fiddles play. I want to go with mother where my little sister lays; Where the golden-rod is bloomin' through the smoky autumn days, And a kind of gentle sadness seems a-floating in the air. I want to help my mother tend the flowers we planted there 42 ACROSS THE WHEAT BED TIME "Boys, come in and go to bed." That's what father always said, In the summer evenings— oh T guess that was years ago. When the twilight had about Faded, and the stars came out, And we sat and listened to Insect voices from the dew. Or a lonely frog, or low Twitter of a bird or so, Or a night hawk overhead: "Boys, come in and go to bed." Maybe we'll get back some day To the old farm. Anyway I'd enjoy it, wouldn't you? Sit there as we used to do, On the rough old porch ; and then Try to hear that voice again, Calling to us from the dead : •'Boys, come in and go to bed." FLORENCE 48 FLORENCE I. It was springtime in Dakota; and the motionless, wide plain Smiled to welcome back the south winds and the sunny days again. Sounds of jocund toil resounded; and the farmers were afield With their teams and harrows, sowing for the summer's gold- en yield. Ali was filled with exultation at the glad return of spring. Every creature seemed rejoicing in a new awakening. Herds of aimless cattle wandered where a tinge of faintest green Appearing on the burned and blackened prairie could be seen. The timid gopher ventured from his winter domicile. The wild cock boomed at morning from behind the distant hill. All day the lark was singing his glad song of joy and love. The cranes would cry at noonday as they floated high above. U ACROSS THE WHEAT At sunset time the rapid ducks flocked by with whirring flight. Afar the geese would sail and soar, and vanish in the night. Silent evening, solemn evening: just the stars were in the sky, For the moon was late, and only faintest winds went sighing by. But the wakeful frogs were croaking in the marsh, now low, now higher; And upon the dim horizon burned a languid prairie fire. Home returning from the party, Walter Gray and Florence Lee— Pretty blue-eyed Florence, fairest one of all the girls was she- Home returning in the evening, walking arm in arm were they, Softly talking to each other, Florence Lee and Walter Gray. "Are you sorry? Tell me, Florence," said the manly Walter Gray. Then said Florence, "You'll forget me, Walter, when you go away." And her voice was sad— she loved him, foolish, timid Florence Lee— "You'll find a prettier sweetheart there, and never think of me." FLORENCE 45 He stooped and kissed her flushing- cheek and warm and girl- ish brow. Silent evening, solemn evening; and the moon had risen now. II. It was summer in Dakota; and the fields of waving grain Stretched in endless undulation far across the yellow plain. Day by day the sun was shining; not a cloud was in the sky. The wind was still, and only spiders' webs went sailing by. The pool was green and stagnant where the cattle came to drink. The locust chirped and chattered in the hot grass bv the brink. The song birds all were silent; not a note was in the air. Only humming, dreamy insects broke the stillness every- where. All was wheat: the great sun shone on miles of wheat; the scented heat Smelt of wheat; the gopher chirped of wheat; the blackbird screamed of wheat. And now the grain was ripened, and the harvest was begun. A thousand men and horses toiled beneath the burning sun. 16 ACROSS THE WHEAT A thousand reapers clattered thro' the yellow, brittle grain. All was hurry aud excitement o'er the busy, sounding- plain. Sunday came and brought no respite. Ail the golden sabbath day Toiled the worn-out men and horses, many dropping by the way. Years had passed, and pretty Florence was a fair young woman now . The farm hand's Life seemed brig-liter when she passed him at the plow. The young man's blood would tingle, and his heart would leap, perchance, To catch her glance or clasp her for a moment in the dance. But hers was such a iieart as loves but once, and cannot choose. If it win 'tis filled with gladness, or is shattered if it lose. When she closed her eves she saw him; in her dreams she heard his voice; And her heart would droop with sadness, or exult with name less joys. From her father's house came Florence with her empty water pail; Stopped beside the meadow pasture, stood and leaned upon rail. FLORENCE 47 » It was sunset, radiant sunset; from the meadow came the sound Of the home-returning- cattle, treading- o'er the hollow ground. In the fields the reapers clattered high and lower, and anon Came the cries of weary drivers as they urged their horses on. But when the dew descended and faint stars appeared in sight, All grew still, and Florence knew the men were quitting for the night. Still she lingered in the twilight, hearing with a listless ear All this, but waited, listened, for a sound she longed to hear. Now he came, the handsome Walter, from the college just re- turned ; And she knew his step, and trembled, and her forehead flush- ed and burned. But he greeted her so freely, with such frankness in his air, And clasped her hand so warmly, that she knew no love was there. Then her tender heart was broken, and she sank beside him there.— It was summer in Dakota, and a stillness everywhere. 48 ACROSS THE WHEAT III. It was autumn in Dakota; and the winds of autumn blew Fiercely now, and rustled wildly where the yellow sunflowers grew. All the air was dark and smoky; and the yellow straw would fly On the winds; and corn leaves rustled ; and a haze was in the sky. Day by day the silent gulls would hover o'er the gliding - plow, Where the farm hand toiled and whistled, with the dust upon his brow. Yet some days were calm and pleasaut, when the golden-rod would bloom, And the air was soft and laden with a nameless, faint per- fume. Then upon the sunny hillside in the grass the herd boy lay With his sleeping dog beside him; dreamed the autnmn hours away. He saw the small and fleecy clouds float through the far-off sky. He heard the gopher's whistle and the plover's dreamful cry. The cattle's tread was muffled, and his pony's champing- seemed Faint and distant; and he lay and watched the clouds, and yearned and dreamed. FLORENCE 49 Florence Lee was ill with fever; and she grew not well, but lay Painlessly, and wasted slowly with the fever day by day. Her fair sweet face grew hectic, and her breath grew short and faint. tfhe lay and smiled, or tried to smile, and uttered no com- plaint. The doctor sat and held her hand and watched her hour by hour, And wondered at the strange disease that baffled all his power. Once he sat a long time silent; then he said, '"Come, Florence dear, Tell the old man all about it, for there's more than fever here." Then the young eyes tilied with tear-drops, like the old eyes, bent above ; And she told the simple story of her burning, useless love. And so, she said, she longed to die and leave this world of pain, For to die was better, better, than to live and love in vain. Long he gazed upon the pillow where the golden tresses lay ; Then rose and dropped a tear and kissed the cheek and went his way. 50 ACROSS THE WHEAT Walter came one day in autumn when the sun was in the west, And held her thin white hand and looked upon her peaceful rest. Her mother and her brothers stood and watched, but knew not why That smile was on her face and that new luster in her eye. She told them she was happy now, and needed nothing- more. The gray birds chirped and flitted thro' the sun-flow'rs 'round the door. The pensive lark was singing' in the sunshine down beside The garden; and her gentle eyes were closed; and so she died. It was autumn in Dakota; and the winds of autumn crept Softly now. and paused to whisper o'er the grave of her who slept. And they came and told her story to a musing wanderer; And he took his pen and wrote it. Read it, friend, and pity her. PA AN' MB 51 PA AN' ME Pa an' me, we had a fight I n a hay-cock other night. I seen pa an' John the hired Man a-restun cuz they's tired. An' 1 'es' sneaked up an' sat On his stomick. Oh an' 'at Made 'im grunt, an' right away We was fightun in the hay. 'En 1 got to laffun so I can't fight a tall. An' oh Yes, a hay stuck into my Eye, an' 'en I had to cry. Pa an' me has lots of fun In the summer time. An' one Day mos' up to grampa's lake Once we seen a rattle snake. 52 ACROSS THE WHEAT IN THE EVENING In the evening when the perfumed winds of summer wander- ed by, And the moon, a silver crescent, drifted down the western sky, In the fragrant dreamful twilight sat two lovers, she and I. On and on the fountain murmured with a musical, sweet sound. Dreamfully the cries of children lloated from the playing ground. We heard the flitting swallows in the twilight darting 'round. So we sat in blissful silence; and her cheek to mine was pressed ; And 1 felt her warm breath flowing on my lips; and felt her breast Rise and fall with gentle cadence, as it lay on mine at rest. Then began the old musician in the lonely tenement, With his flute; and ah, the pensive sighs of melancholy, blent With the syncopated breathings of the sobbing instrument. For we knew the gentle master, why the mournful melody; Knew his heart had once been buried far across the shining sea, IN THE EVENING 53 With his fair young- wife, among- the sunny slopes of Germany. Then a sudden fear came o'er us, as the strain went floating by, A dread thought we dared not utter: What if some day she orl?- And we drew each other closer, daring- not to whisper why. 54 ACROSS THE WHEAT HENRY Now an old man lookin' back, I remember best of all When 1's jest a little boy How I'd bear my mother call For me, standi n' in the door Of the old house, when I'd be I'layin' 'round the garden patch Er the corn crib— -, Hen-er-ee!" Then when I was bigger too I'd be snarin' gopbers, say, Down along the dusty road, On a sunny summer day; Huntin' hens' nests in the weeds, Er some other deviltry. Clear an' sweet I'd hear that voice Calliu' to me— "Hen-er-ee!" In them days I recollect, Herdiu' cattle 1'er away From the old home, on a bright Lonesome afternoon I'd lay Most asleep an' hear them sad Plovers cry in' over me; HENRY 55 Dream I heerd that fer-off voice Callin' to me— "Hen-er-ee." Oh these feet has wundered t'er Sence them airly days is past. Mother's silunt many years Sence I heerd her call the last. Yet a-roamin* on I hear In the nights a heavenly Voice from sad an' fer-off stars Floatin' to me— "Hen-er-ee." 56 ACROSS THE WHEAT FOR HER Amid the toilsome business of my life Ever I yearn for thee, for thee, my own ; Whene'er I walk where frozen tree trunks groan, With whirling snow and winter winds at strife; Or where the night with summer song is rife, And yon pale moon looks downward from her throne, Ever I yearn for thee, for thee alone, Ever for thee, my love, almost my wife. Dearest, to dwell with thee were to rejoice; To roam with thee 'neath sunny southern skies; To hold thee to my heart when day is done; To know no other music than thy voice; To wish no mirror but thy deep blue eyes; To feel no hand-clasp save thy velvet one. SONNETS 57 ON HER ABSENCE This night I think is very like the last, Save haply something- colder, as I mind Her breath, scarce warmer than the laden wind, But cooled my brow and cheek. Again the vast And melancholy dome is overcast With multitudinous stars. Again behind The lonely spire I see the moon declined. Again the wheat is waving where we passed. A nd now she's gone, she's gone. While earth rejoices How shall I count the hours that creep so slow? How shall I tell the days that drag so long? Where shall I list for hers among the voices? "Her voice was ever soft, gentle and low." Where shall I seek her face among the throng? 58 ACROSS THE WHEAT THE WATCHERS On some brown hill the patient herd boy lies, All through the dim and dull red autumn day, Seeing the few clouds floating far and gray, Seeing the mile-high plover soar and rise, Hearing the cattle graze in muffled wise. Now and anon bis yearning glances stray About the faint horizon far away, Where the wide prairie meets the bending skies. So, from their thousand homes of hopeless toil Are longing looks of dull-eyed women sent, Through weary days of work and nights of pain. So, grim and wind-blown tillers of the soil Gaze, and still gaze, yet find no solacement, O'er their life's drear and limitless wide plain. SONNETS 59 KING LEAR Reading this book, as quickened fancy can I see 'tis midnight on a trackless, cold, And storm-swept heath. I see vast manifold O'ertowering clouds the thund'rous heavens span. By these red rapid flashes let me scan This shocked and shattered monarch, feeble, old, And tottering 'neath the landless night— behold : "A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man." When I am sick with rhymes of small account, Dull pithless verses, poems but in name, With what deep inward yearning do I pine For thy rich leaves, O master paramount. Were all books else consigned to blasting flame The world were rich, methinks, possessing thine. 60 ACROSS THE WHEAT JOSEPH JEFFERSON Is this an actor? and is that a stage? Tell us not so; we will not think it. Here Behold the genial Rip himself appear. Behold an aimless vagabond engage The sympathy of thousands. Let the sage Prate on; we'll rather love this quaint and queer Soft-hearted man, and drop our warmest tear When he comes tottering home, infirm with age. O gentle master of the mimic art, Thine is a people's love and gratefulness. Blest be thy days among us, long thy stay. How fond a duty thine, to sway the heart! What shall we do when they are echoless, The halls where thy sweet voice is heard to-day? SONNETS 61 ST. ANTHONY FALLS IN APRIL Here at the falls I stand, while onward steal The last deep shades of evening-. Speak no more Of the shut world. I only hear the pour Of these stupendous waters, only feel The pluuging of these ponderous seas that reel And tumble headlong, jarring all the shore. Faint gleam the dim far city lights, while o'er The gloomy bridge coach-freighted engines wheel. Through weird and beckoning mists that rise I trace The round and sinking moon. Upon my face Is dashed the cool spray, scented with the gore Of upheaved rooted marshes. Ah the grace, The wild tumultuous glory of this place. The multitudinous thunder of this roar. 62 ACROSS THE WHEAT WALT WHITMAN Thou poet of the manly brawn and tan Of soldiership. Thou lover of young men. Thou wielder of the plane as of the pen. Thou wanderer o'er thy country's plains, where ran Her mighty streams. Thou good American. And now I read thy powerful Leaves again, Each with "its long, long history," and then Proclaim to heaven, Here wrought an honest man. Thou wert the champion of the sore oppressed ; Of "those who've failed in aspiration vast." For poor and fallen ones thy bosom yearned. Now after life's long toil art thou at rest. Joyful thou seek'st thy brighter home at last, "As soldier from an ended war return'd." SONNETS 63 EDWIN BOOTH WRITTEN IN WINTER'S "LIFE AND ART OF EDWIN BOOTH' r When I have read of those who living- took Applause indeed from earth's admiring host I have observed the common lot of most. And is't the same with thee? Hast thou forsook Betimes all earthly glories? Do I look Vainly upon this picture? Speaks no ghost? Are thy vast honors, like an idle boast, Shrunk to the compass of this little book? O loved and gentle player, let this heart, This trembling lip, these tear-dimmed eyes evince Thou art not gone indeed, but lingerest; Or, wearied with the labors of thine art, Sleepest like some tired youth. "Good night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." 64 ACROSS THE WHEAT THE MOODS I conned a poet's book from page to page, And marked the many moods in which he sung. And some were early songs, and bold, and rung Of love and wine, and passion, and the rage Of his wild violent heart. And some the sage Man-grown had writ; and here it seemed the tongue Of mighty genius free and curbless flung Its priceless thoughts to men. But in old age, In life's calm autumn free from pang or pain, then his songs were sweetest to the ear. He sang of sunsets in the golden west; Of yellow harvest moons, and gathered grain; Of heaven, and the hour we tarry here. 1 loved the tranquil songs of age the best. SONNBTS 65 IAMBIC PENTAMETER Majestic cadence, plunging on and on Like the vast storm-heaved ocean, what sublime^ What mighty utterances have thou and Time Given to us! Since the poet's art begun No measure hath had greater singers. One Of Florence journeyed hell ward, and did climb To heaven's wide portals with thee. In thy prime The mighty Shakespeare wrought with thee. Anon The plowboy chants the Cotter's deathless song. A master weaves the tale of sweet Elaine. Beside the church, 'neath crimson evening skies, The Elegy is writ. And all along The path of years they come, an endless train. Wondrous recorder, to have wrought this wise. 66 ACROSS THE WHEAT THE LEAVE-TAKING As one on some late evening bids a slow And fond good-by with blessings manifold; Secures his cloak against the winter cold ; Sees for the last the cheerful embers glow; Kisses the cheeks he nevermore shall know; Presses the hands he nevermore shall hold ;— So I to-night take leave of all the old Fond hopes, and forth a winter pilgrim go. Farewell sweet visions, now a long farewell. The winds are raw, yet will I onward fare. The heavens are dark, yet will I brave the night. Full many a snow-blown milepost I must tell. Then let them say, if I shall perish there, He that was poor yet strove as best he might. SONNETS 67 THE FAIR ISLANDS I think there be fair islands in the seas. 'Round their bright shores the emerald ocean flows ; And blushing lovers walk and woo in those. I think there be unstoried Strophades; And from their sunny sands no sailor flees, For there no harpies are ; and there the rose Grows redder, and the lily whiter blows. And often have I yearned to dwell in these. But were I there I think in little time, As I should wander by the silver strand, My heart would languish with a deeper pain, A fiercer longing for that far-off clime, Where the strong cattle roam the prairie land, And waves the wheat o'er all the golden plain. 68 ACROSS THE WHEAT THE VETERANS I saw the war was finished ; and the flags, Soiled with the blood of heroes, torn with shells, Black with the smoke of conflicts, all were furled. I saw the camps forsook and silent, all, Save when the feathered dwellers of the wood Spilled sweet melodious music, and by night The lean wolf prowled beside the silent stream. The fields where battles raged were echoless. Old cannon rusted by forgotten roads. I saw departing hosts. I saw strong men Weep, taking final leave of faithful comrades. I saw each soldier sad, yet overjoyed : All the old hardships, marches, buttles done, And home, and waiting wife, and peace ahead. And had the weary soldiers peace at last? I saw there was for them no peace in store. Their fields were wasted by neglectful hands. Their shops and mills corrosive Time had touched ; And o'er the silent forge and water wheel The ivy and the lizard crept alike. THE VETERANS 69 I saw the soldiers had but scanty thanks. The dead were honored with cheap words of praise, The living cheated of their sustenance. I saw them turn again unto their toil With that sweet patience only heroes know, Take up their lifelong- fight with greed and wrong. O soldiers of the Union, not for you, While ye do live to strive, will there be peace. But for your comrades, sleeping without pain, Sleeping on many a Southern battle land, Sleeping where jasmine blossoms, and where rose, Sleeping after their noble fight is fought, Ah for your weary comrades there is peace. A little while, and ye will follow them. A little while, and we shall look in vain For your worn faces 'mong the throngs ofmen. A little while, and ye will be at peace. O soldiers of the Union, lingering yet, Walking a few more days with us who stay, As one departing unto foreign lands Walks yet a few more times among his fields, Teach us the lesson of your loyalty, That at the end, when ye are vanished quite, When the last soldier's funeral bell is tolled, The state may not want heroes utterly. 70 ACROSS THE WHEAT THE WIRES O the wires! I've heerd the whizzin' of 'um buzzin' in my ears, Drivin' cattle past the railroad in them dim and airly years; When the sun was bright in summer, and the gophers chirped, an' birds, The wires has promised things to me in queer and stirring words. O the wires! And take it evenings in the black and chilly spring; The wind southwest acrost the hills, I've heerd 'um hum and sing, Comin' home with pap from Hanks's, stumpin' 'long the ties with him, Neighbors' lights off 'crost the prairie, and our own light fer an' dim. In the war time too I mind the nights that follered, long and still, Me the youngest left with mother, dad an' Ike an' Uncle Bill Gone together off with Sherman, how the wires would cry and moan, Bringing news of death to wives and mothers, weeping and alone. THE WIRES 71 O the wires! And now I wunder most an old man in the fall; Winter winds and winter snowflakes, darkness comin' over all. In the nights I wunder yit a-past the homes and cheerful fires To the tracks, and stand and listen to the wild and wailing wires. O the airly days that's vanished, that's "departed," as they say; Father dead down south and mother north, and brothers past away. Only me that's left, past forty, roamin' on an' harkin' still, Tell I git the welcome message, an' go out acrost the hill. 72 ACROSS THE WHEAT THE REAPERS Far toward the halt-set sun I saw the reapers, Near the wild ending of the wind-blown day, Each driver with his four-in-hand, the horses Hastening over the bloody-stubbled hills, At one side and behind the warlike dust cloud Following each: they were the charioteers, Guiding over the shuddering fields of slaughter Scythe-bearing chariots of the Persian king. And now some turned the curve with high-raised whips Like swords, and wide-mouthed prancing steeds: they were The wild cloud-fighting warriors of the skies The Romans saw o' nights i' the Punic War. And still they passed in the red evening wind, Far down the west in silver-shining dust, Their reels flashing like burnished oars: they were The Argonautic seekers of the fleece, The fifty Greeks, sailing the sunset seas. THEN DIE 73 THEN DIE First I shall roam the prairies high, The woods and rivers of my land, And walk beside the far sea sand, Where wheel the gulls, and then I'll die. I must hear the evening cry Of loon upon the northern lake. I must feel the ripples break By southern bays, and then I'll die. 1 will not chide thee, Death. I'll yield, When it is time, all willingly. I'll join the shifting dust. I'll be Companion to the clodded field. My time is all too brief to see And know the half that stays and charms. 1 have been taken up in arms To view the passing pageantry. I'll love.awhile the wild blue sky, The mellow warming sun, the far And midnight moon, and each pale star That swims the deep, and then I'll die. ACROSS THE WHEAT DOANE ROBINSON Down to Gary they's a man Men don't mostly understan', Jest becuz he's made of this Here same stuff 'at Shakespeare is, An' Jim Riley, an' the res' Of them gifted men, I guess. Queerest thing about this here Robinson, he don't appear Stilted up ner proud to me, Like a poit ought to be. Swappin' yarns an' walkin' 'roun' Hilly streets of that ol' town With a hay-seed freckle-face Like I be. Yet that's the case. Some his poums seems to me Jest as pure an' silvery As the Lac Qui Parle that flows Past the poit's house, an' those Others makes me walk again Dim red days in buskin', when Mother lived, an' Ed an' Joe, An' we wasn't scattered so. DOANE ROBINSON 75 An' I sez to him, as I Shook hands with 'im fer good-by After sundown, "Robinson If I never see a one Of the great men, dead er live, Yet I'll always feel that I've Held communion with one true 'Bard of nature', an' that's you." 76 ACROSS THE WHEAT ANALOGY As I have trod the broad fields of harvest, Where, far and near, clattered the sullen reapers, And ever the hurrying shockers toiled, And have observed the meek bewildered rabbit, Scared from his covert, wandering through the maze of yel- low shocks, Then tearfully have I thought How in the wide world, estranged, misguided, Wanders one I loved. RETURNED 77 RETURNED Dearest, I had thought to bring Honor to you when I came; Not the loud and brazen ring-, Not the sound of stilted fame; But a known and honored name From the notes that I should sing. To'rds an end that never nears 1 have trodden toilsome ways; And at eve the rising tears, And at morn the longing gaze; And the hours have turned to day s. And the days are come to years. After bootless journeying, I am come your hand to claim. Nothing but myself I bring. I have sought an honored name; I have sung for modest fame; But they would not hear me sing. Yet I know in your dear eyes, Though I come with bayless brow. 7M ACROSS THE WHEAT ] s am welcome. Then arise; Let it go, I care not how. Poor hearts, dearest, long ere now Loved and quickened in this wise. Under far and bending skies We will journey on the same, Where the wood birds sing and rise, Where the roses bud and flame. Let them keep their wealth and f ame: They .may never know this prize. SONG 79 SONG In the fall, in the fall, in the foul weather, Black comes the night with wind and with rain. Dim grow the black clouds, dim grow the bare trees; Bright glows the home light through the wet pane. Where are the wanderers in the foul weather? Where are the drovers on the wild plain? Where are the sailors, sailing the bleak seas?. Where are the soldiers in the cold rain? In the night, in the night, in the foul weather, Cold dash the driven drops on the black pane. Bright gleams the lamplight; warm glows the fire light. Where are God's creatures in the wild rain? 80 ACROSS THE WHEAT GETTING HOME A-sitting in this railroad car, That springs and sways and rips along-, 1 think of things which I have done; And some was right, and some was wrong. For years, in these United States, I've worked amongst my feller men. From Montreal to Mexico, And now I'm getting home again. Oil many is the fields I've trod. The harvest fields of prairie states. I've hugged a many farmers' girls By backdoor steps and pasture gates. I've hoed tobacco in the south. ['ve been in Kansas, baling hay. I've lumbered in the woods of Maine. I've oyster-fished in Ches'peake Bay. I've worked in Texas, making ties. I've mined for coal in Tennessee. And every wheres that I have went I've met with men the same as me: GETTING HOME SI Unlucky chaps that's had no chance, And so the devil's got us tight; And yet we know what struggles is; We've had our tri'ls at doing right. I know it's bad to drink and play, And take young girls and fool 'urn so. I've felt their hot and clinging lips; They'll hold and never let you go. But us that's had our youthful hopes. And all them hopes is given up, Gits careless, as the feller says, An' drownds our sorro' in the cup. You take a man that ain't no show, That's had no schooling, and is poor. That's got to grind at common work, He's bound to go to thunder sure. The railroads and the towns is built; The live stock trade is wilted flat; The lumber camps is on the hog: What's left to make a living at? Yet I'll git over this blue spell, And be a-joking first I know. Oh some they is that's rich and great, But most of us has stayed below. Oh I have worked at many jobs; Oh I have chummed with many men. But I have lost 'um, here and there; And now I'm getting home again. 82 ACROSS THE WHEAT And now I'm getting home to stay, Most middle aged, with not a cent. My mother's old, my father's dead. The chums I had they all have went. The friends that lived, which I have known. Where is them scattered friends to-day V The lonesome thoughts that rise in me I cannot tell, I cannot say. SUGGESTION 83 SUGGESTION Ain't you now on some cold bad winter day Been readin' in an almanac, er say Some old book, run acrost a little thing 1 'T'uld flash yer thoughts away to bloomin' spring? Fer instance, "Summer days will come again" Will make a person dream o' roses. Then "In spring a young man's fancy lightly turns To thoughts of love." Oh how a fello' yearns Fer warm March winds an' disappearin' snow. An' smiles of some dear girl he ust to know. 84 ACROSS THE Wli BAT L' ENVOI 1 have trod A lonely herder o'er my native prairies. On the tempestuous smoky days of autumn. When a child: And as a yearning student, In dewy silences of summer midnights. Hearing faint echoes from the antique poets Across the wheat. L have marked the seasons. The coming and departing birds of passage. The summer moon, the waning sun of autumn. And the fierce storms. What I have observed In nature's round, and each pathetic message Of the hoarse whispering south wind, I have written In my book. For it has told me Stories of tender hearts, silent and broken. L' ENVOI 85 Of ever dropping- tears, and in the south land The dead soldier. And as the lover, Wandering- in the scented wood of Arden, Hung his amorous poems on the branches For one he loved. So do I leave My message unto them I love and honor, The strong young men of now and of the seasons Yet to be. For they will come; And they will walk these ways, and feel, as I feel. Life's joy and rapture, and withal its sorrows Acute and bitter. Across the wheat! O harvest toilers, soon the twilight deepens. The Master waits, and the home lights are gleaming. Across the wheat. H251 78 525 l ' a ++. t V ^ ^ s * • > (.- NU A v ^ <<> 0* -*■ c> \ '\ > V % s ^ <> A fc\ ^ A? /jAW/k* ^ <*\ JUN 73 JJS^ N. MANCHESTER, INDIANA o .isSSHia 11 015 907 118 2