r in IN -^w&* WINK-A-WAY LAND BY EUGENE FIELD AUTHOR OF HOOSIER LYRICS, THE CLINK OF THE ICE JOHN SMITH, U. S. A., ETC. M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY CHICAGO COPYRIGHT ^05 By M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY fs INTRODUCTION. From whatever point of view the character ot Eugene Field is seen, genius rare and quaint presents itself is childlike simplicity. That he was a poet of keen perception, of rare discrimina tion, all will admit. He was a humorist as deli cate and fanciful as Artemus Ward, Mark Twain, Bill Nye, James Whitcomb Riley, Opie Read, or Bret Harte in their happiest moods. Within him ran a poetic vein, capable of being worked in any direction, and from which he could, at will, extract that which his imagination saw and felt most. That he occasionally left the child-world, in which he longed to linger, to wander among the older children of men, where intuitively the hungry listener follows him into his Temple of Mirth, all should rejoice, for those who knew him not, can while away the moments imbibing the genius of his imagination in the poetry and prose here presented. Though never possessing an intimate acquaint anceship with Field, owing largely to the dis parity in our ages, still there existed a bond of 3 4 INTRODUCTION friendliness that renders my good opinion of him in a measure trustworthy. Born in the same city, both students in the same college, engaged at various times in newspaper work both in St. Louis and Chicago, residents of the same ward, with many mutual friends, it is not surprising that I am able to say of him that "the world is better off that he lived, not in gold and silver or precious jewels, but in the bestowal of priceless truths, of which the possessor of this book be comes a benefactor of no mean share of his estate." Every lover of Field, whether of the songs of childhood or the poems that lend mirth to the out-pouring of his poetic nature, will welcome this unique collection of his choicest wit and humor. CHARLES WALTER BROWN. Chicago, January, 1905. CONTENTS. PAGE. The Bottle Tree 9 The Sugar-Plum Tree 11 New Year s Eve 13 Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not 15 Armenian Folk Song The Mother 17 Little Homer s Slate 19 The Dream-Ship 21 The Boy 24 Lady Button-Eyes 25 Teeny- Weeny 28 Pittypat and Tippytoe 31 The Humming Top 34 The Dinkey-Bird 36 Fiddle-dee-dee 39 The Happy Household 41 Good-Children Street 44 The Drum 46 Three Valentines 48 The Duel 52 Booh! 54 Child and Mother 56 Fairy and Child 58 Over the Hills and Far Away 60 The Hawthorne Children 62 Nightfall in Dordrecht 65 Intry-Mintry 67 5 I 6 CONTENTS. PAGE. Telling the Bees 69 Hi-Spy 71 The Naughty Doll 72 Ganderfeather s Gift 74 The Brook 76 Little Croodlin 7 Doo 77 The Bow-Leg Boy 78 Hymn 80 The Straw Parlor 81 Hush-a-By, Sweet My Own 84 Cobbler and Stork 86 "Guess" 89 Uhland s "White Stag" 91 A Piteous Plaint About the Coquetry of Martha Clow 92 Song My Heart is the Shore 95 Our Two Opinions 96 The Little Peach 98 The Brook and the Boy 100 To a Little Brook 102 The Wanderer 105 Soldier, Maiden and Flower 106 The Peace Christmas Time 108 The Dead Babe 110 Recall of Boyhood Joys 112 The Song of Luddy-Dud 114 A Western Boy s Lament 1] 6 My Playmates 117 The Dreams -. 120 The Dream-Ship 123 To My Mother 126 CONTENTS. 7 PAGE. Christmas Eve 128 Beranger s "Broken Fiddle" 130 Mary Smith 133 In the Court of Honor 138 French s "Republic" 140 Hymn Midnight Hour 141 Christmas Morning , 143 Holly and Ivy 145 To the Passing Saint 147 THE BOTTLE TREE. A Bottle Tree bloometh in Wink-a-way land Heigh-ho for a bottle I say! A snug little berth in that ship I demand That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies away Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day And reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand ; You take as much of that fruit as you list, For colic s a nuisance that doesn t exist! So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day Heigh-ho for Wink-a-way land! And Bottle Tree fruit (as I ve heard people say) Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand And that is a trick I would fain understand ! Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day! And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night A bottle of milk that is creamy and white! 10 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. So cuddle me close and cuddle me fast And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say ! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 11 THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE. . Have you eyer heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree! Tis, a marvel of gre^at renown! ItTblooms op" the shore^if the Lollopop Sea In the garden of Shut-Eye tb^vn^ The friiit that ilTbears is" so wondrousiy sweet, (As ttjpse who have tasted it say), / That good little children have only"to~eat Of that friiit to be h appy next day. "When you ve got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing; The tree is so tall that no person can climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing; But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so: You say but the word to that gingerbread dog, And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest. 12 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground Hurrah for that chocolate cat! There are marshmallows, gumdrops and pepper mint canes, With stripings of scarlet and gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains As much as your apron can hold ! So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I ll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 13 NEW-YEAR S EVE. Good old days dear old days When my heart beats high and bold When the things of earth seemed full of mirth. And the future a haze of gold ! Oh, merry was I that winter night, And gleeful our little ones* din, And tender the grace of my darling s face As we watched the new year in. But a voice a specter s, that mocked at love Came out of the yonder hall; "Tick-tock, tick tock!" twas the solemn clock That ruefully croaked to all. Yet what knew we of the griefs to be In the year we longed to greet? Love love was the theme of the sweet, sweet dream I fancied might never fleet! But the specter stood in that yonder gloom, And these were the words it spake : "Tick-tock, tick-tock" and they seemed to mock A heart about to break. Tis new-year s eve, and again I watch In the old familiar place, 14 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. And I am thinking again of that old time when I looked on a dear one s face. Never a little one hugs my knee And I hear no gleeful shout I am sitting by the old hearthstone, Watching the old year out. But I welcome the voice in yonder gloom That solemnly calls to me: "Tick-tock, tick-tock!" for so the clock Tells of a life to be; "Tick-tock, tick-tock!" tis so the clock Tells of eternity. ZA T WINK-A-WAY LAND. 15 BUTTERCUP, POPPY, FORGET-ME- NOT. Buttercup, poppy, forget-me-not These three bloomed in a garden spot, And once, all merry with song and play, A little one heard three voices say: "Shine or shadow, summer or spring O thou child with the tangled hair And laughing eyes we three shall bring Each an offering, passing fair!" The little one did not understand, But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand. Buttercup gamboled all day long, Sharing the little one s mirth and song; Then, stealing along on misty gleams, Poppy came, bringing the sweetest dreams, Playing and dreaming that was all, Till once the sleeper would not wake! Kissing the little face under the pall, We thought of the words the third flower spake, And we found, betimes, in a hallowed spot The solace and peace of forget-me-not. Buttercup shareth the joy of day, Glinting with gold the hours of play; 16 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Bringeth the poppy sweet repose. When the hands would fold and the eyes would close, And after it all the play and the sleep Of a little life what cometh then? To the hearts that ache and the eyes that weep A wee flower bringeth God s peace again. Each one serveth its tender lot Buttercup, poppy, forget-me-not. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 17 ARMENIAN FOLK SONG THE MOTHER. I was a mother, and I weep; The Night is come the Day is sped- The Night of Woe profound, for, oh! My little golden son is dead ! The pretty rose that blossomed anon Upon my mother breast, they stole; They let the dove I nursed with love Fly far away so sped my soul! That falcon Death swooped down upon My sweet voiced turtle as he sung; Tis hushed and dark where soared the lark- And so, and so my heart is wrung! Before my eyes they sent the hail Upon my young pomegranate tree Upon the bough where but just now A rosy apple bent to me! 18 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. They shook my beauteous almond tree, Beating its glorious bloom to death They strewed it round upon the ground And mocked its fragrant dying breath. I was a mother, and I weep; I seek the rose where nestleth none No more is heard the singing bird I have no little golden son! So fall the shadows over me, The blighted garden, lonely nest; Reach down in love, God above, And fold my darling to my breast! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 19 LITTLE HOMER S SLATE. After dear old grandma died, Hunting through an oaken chest ! In the attic, we espied What repaid our childish quest; Twas a homely little slate, Seemingly of ancient date. On its quaint and battered face Was the picture of a cart Drawn with all that awkward grace Which betokens childish art; But what meant this legend pray: "Homer drew this yesterday ?" Mother recollected then What the years were fain to hide She was but a baby when Little Homer lived and died; Forty years, so mother said, Little Homer had been dead. This one secret through those years Grandma kept from all apart, 20 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Hallowed by her lonely tears And the breaking of her heart; While each year that sped away Seemed to her but yesterday. So the homely little slate Grandma s baby fingers pressed, To a memory consecrate, Lieth in the oaken chest, Where, unwilling we should know, Grandma put it years ago. JN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 21 THE DREAM-SHIP. When all the world is fast asleep, Along the midnight skies As though it were a wandering cloud- The ghostly Dream-Ship flies. An angel stands at the Dream-Ship s helm, An angel stands at the prow, And an angel stands at the Dream-Ship s side With a rue-wreath on her brow. The other angels, silver-crowned, Pilot and helmsman are, But the angel with the wreath of rue Tosseth the dreams afar. The dreams they fall on rich and poor, They fall on young and old; And some are dreams of poverty And some are dreams of gold. 22 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. And some are dreams that thrill with joy, And some that melt to tears; Some are dreams of the dawn of love, And some of the old, dead years. On rich and poor alike they fall, Alike on young and old, Bringing to slumbering earth their joys And sorrows manifold. The friendless youth in them shall do The deeds of mighty men, And drooping age shall feel the grace Of buoyant youth again. The king shall be a beggarman, The pauper be a king, In that revenge of recompense The Dream-Ship dreams do bring. So ever downward float the dreams That are for all and me, And there is never mortal man Can solve that mystery. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 23 But ever onward in its course Along the haunted skies As though it were a cloud astray The ghostly Dream-Ship flies. Two angels with their silver crowns Pilot and helmsman are And an angel with a wreath of rue Tosseth the dreams afar. 24 IN W1NK-A-WAY LAND. THE BOY. Down through the snowdrifts in the street With blustering joy he steers: His rubber boots are full of feet And his tippet full of ears. IN W1NK-A-WA7 LAND. 25 LADY BUTTON-EYES. When the busy day is done And my weary little one Rocketh gently to and fro; When the night winds softly blow And the crickets in the glen Chirp and chirp and chirp again: When upon the haunted green Fairies dance around their queen- Then from yonder misty skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. Through the murk and mist and ffloam To our quiet, cozy home, Where to singing, sweet and low, Rocks a cradle to and fro ; Where the clock s dull monotone Telleth of the day that s done; Where the moonbeams hover o er Playthings sleeping on the floor Where my weary wee one lies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. 26 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Cometh like a fleeting ghost From some distant eerie coast; Never footfall can you hear As that spirit fareth near Never whisper, never word From that shadow-queen is heard. In ethereal raiment dight, From the realm of fay and sprite In the depth of yonder skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. Layeth she her hands upon My dear weary little one, And those white hands, overspread Like a veil the curly head, Seem to fondle and caress Every little silken tress; Then she smooths the eyelids down Over those two eyes of brown In such soothing, tender wise Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. Dearest, feel upon your brow That caressing magic now; For the crickets in the glen Chirp and chirp and chirp again, While upon the haunted green Fairies dance around their queen, IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 27 And moonbeams hover o er Playthings sleeping on the floor Hush, my sweet! from yonder skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. 28 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. TEENY-WEENY. Every evening, after tea, Teeny- Weeny comes to me, And, astride my willing knee, Plies his lash and rides away ; Though that palfrey, all too spare, Finds his burden hard to bear, Teeny-Weeny doesn t care He commands and I obey! First it s trot; and gallop then Now it s back to trot again; Teeny-Weeny likes it when He is riding fierce and fast! Then his dark eyes brighter grow And his cheeks are all aglow More ! " he cries, and never * i Whoa ! - Till the horse breaks down at last. Oh, the strange and lovely sights Teeny-Weeny sees of nights, As he makes those famous flights On that wondrous horse of his! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 29 Oftentime, before he knows, Weary-like his eyelids close And, still smiling, off he goes Where the land of By-low, is,. There he sees the folk of fay Hard at ring-a-rosie play, And he hears those fairies say: "Come, let s chase him to and fro! : But, with a defiant shout, Teeny puts that host to rout Of this tale I make no doubt Every night he tells it so! So I feel a tender pride In my boy who dares to ride (That fierce horse of his astride) Off into those misty lands; And as on my breast he lies, Dreaming in that wondrous wise, I caress his folded eyes Pat his little dimpled hands. On a time he went away, Just a little while to stay, And I m not ashamed to say I was very lonely then; 30 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Life without him was so sad, You can fancy I was glad And made merry when I had Teeny-Weeny back again! So of evenings after tea, When he toddles up to me And goes tugging at my knee, You should hear his palfrey neigh! You should see him prance and shy, When, with an exulting cry, Teeny-Weeny, vaulting high, Plies his lash and rides away! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 31 PITTYPAT AND TIPPYTOE. All day long they come and go Pittypat and Tippytoe: Footprints up and down the hall, Finger-marks along the wall, Tell-tale streaks upon the door By these presents you shall know Pittypat and Tippytoe. How they riot at their play! And, a dozen times a day, In they troop demanding bread Only buttered bread will do, And that butter must be spread Inches thick with sugar, too! Never yet have I said: "No, Pittypat and Tippytoe!" Sometimes there are griefs to soothe Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth; For I much regret to say Tippytoe and Pittypat Sometimes interrupt their play "With an internecine spat; 32 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Fie ! oh fie ! to quarrel so, Pittypat and Tippytoe ! Oh, the thousand worrying things Every day recurrent brings! Hands to scrub and hair to brush, Search for playthings gone amiss, Many a murmuring hush, Many a little bump to kiss; Life s indeed a fleeting show, Pittypat and Tippytoe ! And, when day is at an end, There are little duds to mend; Little frocks are strangely torn, Little shoes great holes reveal, Little hose, but one day worn, Rudely yawn at toe or heel! Who but you could work such woe, Pittypat and Tippytoe! But when comes this thought to me; Some there are that childless be, Stealing to their little beds, With a love I cannot speak, Tenderly I stroke their heads, Fondly kiss each velvet cheek. God help those who do not know A Pittypat or Tippytoe! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 33 On the floor, along the hall, Rudely traced upon the wall, There are proofs of every kind Of the havoc they have wrought; And upon my heart you d find Just such trademarks, if you sought, Oh, how glad I am tis so, Pittypat and Tippytoe! 34 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE HUMMING TOP. The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song To my dear little boy at play Merrily singeth all day long, As it spinneth and spinneth away. And my dear little boy He laugheth with joy When he heareth the tuneful tone Of that busy thing That loveth to sing The song that is all its own. Hold fast the string and wind it tight, That the song may be loud and clear ; Now hurl the top with all your might Upon the banquette here; And straight from the string The joyous thing Boundeth and spinneth along, And it whirrs and it chirrs And it birrs and it purrs Ever its pretty song. Will ever my dear little boy grow old As some have grown before? IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 35 Will ever his heart feel faint and cold, When he heareth the songs of yore? Will ever this toy Of my dear little boy When the years have worn away, Sing sad and low Of the long ago, As it singeth to me to-day? 36 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE DINKEY-BIRD. In an ocean way out yonder (As all sapient people know) Is the land of Wonder-Wander, Whither children love to go; It s their playing, romping, swinging, That giveth joy to me, While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing In the amf alula tree! There the gumdrops grow like cherries And taffy s thick as peas- Caramels you pick like berries When and where and how you please ; Big red sugar plums are clinging To the cliffs beside that sea Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amf alula tree! So when the children shout and scamper And make merry all the day, When there s naught to put a damper On the ardor of their play; IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 37 When I hear their laughter ringing, Then I m sure as sure can be That the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amfalula tree. For the Dinkey-Bird s bravuras And the staccatos are so sweet His roulades, appoggiaturas And robustos so complete, That the youth of every nation Be they near or far away Have especial delectation In that gladsome roundelay. Their eyes grow bright and brighter, Their lungs begin to crow, Their hearts get light and lighter And their cheeks are all aglow; For an echo cometh bringing The news to all and me That the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amfalula tree! Yes, I m sure you d like to go there To see your feathered friend And so many goodies grow there You would like to comprehend! 38 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Speed, little dreams, your winging To that land across the sea Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the amfalula tree! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 39 FIDDLE-DEE-DEE. There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, And all he could whistle was " Fiddle-dee-dee " A very provoking, unmusical song For one to be whistling the summer day long ! Yet always contented and busy was he With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee." Hardby lived a brave little soldier of four That weird iteration repented him sore; "I pri thee, Dear-Mother-Mine ! fetch me my gun, For, by our St. Didy ! the deed must be done That shall presently rid all creation and me Of that omnious bird and his Fiddle-dee-dee! " Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son His awfully truculent little red gun; The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in The right kind of weapon, I think you ll agree, For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee!" 40 7A T WINK-A-WAY LAND. The brave little soldier quoth never a word, But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, Then loud laughed the youth By my Bottle/ cried he, "I ve put a quietus on Fiddle-dee-dee !" Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son, Right well have you wrought with your little red gun! Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here ! She kissed the dear boy. (The bird in the tree Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee!") IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 41 THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD. It s when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks, That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes ; Then it s sleep no more for baby, and it s sleep no more for me, For, when he wants his dinner, why, it s dinner it must be! And of that lacteal fluid he partakes with great ado, While gran ma laughs, And gran pa laughs, And wife, she laughs, And I well, Z laugh, too! You d think to see us carrying on about that little tad, That, like as not, that baby was the first we d ever had; But, sakes alive! he isn t, yet we people make a fuss As if the only baby in the world had come to us ! And, morning, noon and night-time, whatever he may do, 42 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Gran ma, she laughs, Gran pa, he laughs, Wife, she laughs, And 7, of course, laugh, too! But once a likely spell ago when that poor little chick From teething or from some such ill or infancy fell sick, You wouldn t know us people as the same that went about A-feelin good all over, just to hear him crow and shout; And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he d pull him through, Old gran ma cried, And gran pa cried, And wife, she cried, And I yes, / cried, too! It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place With his everlastin crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face; The patter of his pinky feet makes music every where, And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care! No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo, IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 43 Old gran ma laughs, And gran pa laughs, Wife, she laughs, And I you bet, / laugh, too. 44 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. GOOD-CHILDREN STREET. There s a dear little home in Good-Children street My heart turneth fondly to-day Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet Make sweetest of music at play; Where the sunshine of love illumes each face And warms every heart in that old fashioned place. For dear little children go romping about With dollies and tin-tops and drums, And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout Till bedtime too speedily comes! Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street. See, here comes an army with guns painted red, And swords, caps and plumes of all sorts; The captain rides gayly and proudly ahead On a stick-horse that prances and snorts! Oh, legions of soldiers you re certain to meet Nice make-believe soldiers in Good-Children street. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 45 And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about Poor dolly! I m sure she is ill, For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out, And her voice is asthmatic ly shrill. Then, too, I observe, she is minus her feet, Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street. "Pis so the dear children go romping about With dollies and banners and drums, And I venture to say they are sadly put out When an end to their jubilee comes; Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street! But, when falleth night over river and town, Those little folk vanish from sight, And an angel all white from the sky cometh down And guardeth the babes through the night. And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet To the dear little people in Good-Children street. Though elsewhere the world be o erburdened with care, Though poverty fall to my lot, Though toil and vexation be always my share, What care I they trouble me not! This thought maketh life ever joyous and sweet: There s a dear little home in Good-Children street. 46 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE DRUM. I m a beautiful red, red drum, And I train with the soldier boys; As up the street we come Wonderful is our noise ! There s Tom and Jim and Phil And Dick and Nat and Fred, While Widow Cutler s Bill And I march on ahead, With a r-r-rat-tat-tat And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum Oh, there s bushels of fun in that For boys with a little red drum! The Injuns came last night While the soldiers were abed, And they gobbled a Chinese kite And off to the woods they fled! The woods are the cherry trees Down in the orchard lot, And the soldiers are marching to seize The booty the Injuns got. With a tum-titty-um-tum-tum. And r-r-rat-tat-tat, When soldiers marching come Injuns had better scat ! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 47 Step up there, little Fred, And, Charlie, have a mind! Jim is as far ahead As you two are behind! Ready with gun and sword Your valorous work to do Yonder the Injun horde Lieth in wait for you. And their hearts go pittypat When they hear the soldiers come. With a r-r-rat-tat-tat And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum ! Course it s all the play ! The skulking Indian crew That hustled the kite away Are little white boys like you! But "honest" or "just in fun/ It is all the same to me ; And, when the battle is won, Home once again march we With r-r-rat-tat-tat And tum-titty-um-tum-tum ; And there s glory enough in that For the boys with little red drum! 48 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THREE VALENTINES. LTO MISTRESS BARBARA. There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true, On Valentine s day came a maiden to woo, And quoth to your mother: Good-morrow, my dear. We come with some songs for your daughter to hear!" Your mother replied: "I ll be pleased to convey To my daughter what things you may sing or may say!" Then the first cavalier sung: "My pretty red rose, I 11 love you and court you some day, I suppose ! And the next cavalier sung, with make-believe tears : "I ve loved you ! I ve loved you these many long years ! But the third cavalier (with the brown bushy head And the pretty blue jacket and necktie of red) IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 49 He drew himself up with a resolute air, And he warbled: "0 maiden, surpassingly fair, I ve loved you long years, and I love you to-day, And, if you will let me, I ll love you for aye!" / (the third cavalier) sung this ditty to you, In my necktie of red and my jacket of blue; I m sure you ll prefer the song that was mine And smile your approval on your Valentine. 50 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. II. TO A BABY BOY. Who I am I shall not say, But I send you this bouquet With this query, baby mine: "Will you be my valentine?" See these roses blushing blue, Very like your eyes of hue; While these violets are the red Of your cheeks. It can be said Ne er before was babe like you, And I think it s quite as true No one e er before to-day Sent so wondrous a bouquet As these posies aforesaid Roses blue and violets red! Sweet, repay me sweets for sweets- Tis your lover who entreats! Smile upon me, baby mine Be my little valentine. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 51 III. TO MISTRESS BESSIE. Go, Cupid, and my sweetheart tell I love her well! Yes, though she tramples on my heart And rends that bleeding thing apart ; And though she rolls a scornful eye On doting me when I go by; And though she scouts at everything As tribute unto her I bring Apple, banana, caramel Haste, Cupid, to my love and tell, In spite of all I love her well ! And further say I have a sled Cushioned in blue and painted red! The groceryman has promised I Can "hitch" whenever he goes by Go tell her that, and, furthermore, Apprise my sweetheart that a score Of other little girls implore The boon of riding on that sled Painted and hitched as aforesaid ; And tell her, Cupid, only she Shall ride upon that sled with me. Tell her this all, and further tell I love her well! 52 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE DUEL. The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; Twas half past twelve, and, what do you think, Neither of them had slept a wink! And the old Dutch clock and Chinese plate Seemed to know, as sure as fate, There was going to be an awful spat. (I wasn t there I simply state What was told to me by the Chinese plate.) The gingham dog went " bow-wow-wow !" And the calico cat replied "me-ow!" And the air was streaked for an hour or so With fragments of gingham and calico, While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row! (Now mind, I m simply telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true.) The Chinese plate looked very blue And wailed: "Oh, dear, what shall we do! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 53 But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that, And utilized every tooth and claw In the awfulest way you ever saw And, oh ! how the gingham and calico flew ! (Don t think that I exaggerate I got my news from the Chinese plate.) Next morning where the two had sat They found no trace of the dog 01 cat; And some folks think unto this day That burglars stole that pair away; But the truth about that cat and pup Is that they ate each other up Now, what do you really think of that? (The old Dutch clock it told me so, And that is how I came to know.) 54 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. BOOH! On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap, And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse s lap, In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face, And cautiously and quietly I move about the place ; Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view, And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say "Booh!" Sometimes that rascal tries to make believe that he is scared, And, really, when I first began, he stared and stared and stared; And then his under lip came out and farther out it came, Till mamma and the nurse agreed it was a "cruel shame But now what does that same wee toddling, lisp ing baby do But laugh and kick its little heels when I say "Booh." IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 55 He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then In shrill, despotic treble bids me "Do it all aden ! " And I of course I do it; for, as his progenitor, It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for! And it is, oh, such fun ! and I am sure that I shall rue The time when we are both too old to play the game of "Booh!" 56 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. CHILD AND MOTHER. Mother-My-Love, if you ll give me your hand And go where I ask you to wander, 1 will lead you away to a beautiful land The Dreamland that s waiting out yonder. We 11 walk in a sweet-posie garden out there Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, And the flowers and the birds are filling the air With the fragrance and music of dreaming. There ll be no little, tired-out boy to undress, No questions or cares to perplex you; There ll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, Nor patching of stocking to vex you. For I ll rock you away on a silver-dew stream And sing you asleep when you re weary, And no one shall know of our beautiful dream But you and your own little dearie. And when I am tired I ll nestle my head In the bosom that soothed me so often, And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my stead A song which our dreaming shall soften. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 57 So, Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear hand And away through the starlight we ll wander Away to the mist, to the beautiful land The Dreamland that s waiting out yonder! 68 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. FAIRY AND CHILD. Oh, listen, little Dear-My-Soul, To the fair voices calling, For the moon is high in the misty sky And the honey dew is falling; To the midnight feast in the clover bloom The bluebells are a-ringing, And it s Come away to the land of fay" That the katydid is singing. Oh, slumber, little Dear-My-Soul, And hand in hand we ll wander Hand in hand to the beautiful land Of Balow, away off yonder; Or we ll sail along in a lily leaf Into the white moon s halo Over a stream of mist and dream Into the land of Balow. Or, you shall have two beautiful wings Two gossamer wings and airy, And all the while shall the old moon smile And think you a little fairy; IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 59 And you shall dance in the velvet sky And the silvery stars shall twinkle And dream sweet dreams as over their beams Your footfall softly tinkle. 60 IN. WINK-A-WAY LAND. OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY. Over the hills and far away, A little boy steals from his morning play, And under the blossoming apple-tree He lies and he dreams of things to be: Of battles fought and of victories won, Of wrongs o erthrown and of great deeds done, Of the valor that he shall prove some day, Over the hills and far away Over the hills and far away! Over the hills and far away It s oh for the toil the livelong day! But it mattereth not to the soul aflame With the love for riches and power and fame! On, man ! while the sun is high On to the certain joys that lie Yonder where blazeth the noon of day, Over the hills and far away, Over the hills and far away! Over the hills and far away, An old man lingers at close of day; Now that his journey is almost done, His battles fought and his victories won, IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 61 The old-time honesty and truth, The truthfulness and the friends of youth, Home and mother where are they? Over the hills and far away- Over the hills and far away ! 62 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE HAWTHORNE CHILDREN. The Hawthorne children seven, in all And famous friends of mine, And, with what pleasure I recall How, years ago, one gloomy fall, I took a tedious railway line And journeyed by slow stages down Unto that soporiferous town (Albeit one worth seeing), Where Herman, Hildegarde, John, Henry, Fred, And Beatrix and Gwendolen, And she that was the baby then The famous seven, as aforesaid, Lived, moved and had their being. The Hawthorne children gave me such A welcome by the sea, That the eight of us were soon in touch, And, though their mother marveled much, Happy as larks were we! Egad! I was a boy again, With Henry, John and Gwendolen! And oh ! the funny capers I cut with Hildegarde and Fred! IN W INK-A-WAY LAND. 63 And oh! the pranks we children played, And oh, the deafening noise we made Twould shock my family if they read About it in the papers. The Hawthorne children were all smart ; The girls, as I recall, Had comprehended every art Appealing to the head and heart, The boys were gifted, all; Twas Hildegarde who showed me how To hitch a horse and milk a cow, And cook the best of suppers; With Beatrix upon the sands, I sprinted daily and was beat; Twas Henry trained me to the feat Of walking round upon my hands, Instead of my uppers. The Hawthorne children liked me best Of evenings, after tea, For then, by general request, I spun them yarns about the west Yarns all involving me! I represented how I d slain The bison on his native plain, And divers tales of wonder. I told of how I d fought and bled 64 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. In Indian scrimmages galore, Till Mrs. Hawthorne quoth, "No more" And packed her darlings off to bed To dream of blood and thunder! They must have changed a deal since then; The misses, tall and fair, And those three handsome, lusty men Would they be boys and girls again, "Were I to happen there, Down in that spot beside the sea Where we made such tumultuous glee That dull autumnal weather? Ah me! the years go swiftly by! And yet how fondly I recall The week when we were children all, Dear Hawthorne children, you and I Just eight of us together. WINK-A-WAY LAND. 65 NIGHTFALL IN DORDRECHT. (Slumber Song.) The mill goes toiling slowly around, With, steady and solemn creak, And my little ones hear in the kindly sound The voices of the old mill speak; While round and round those big white wings Grimly and ghostlike creep, My little one hears that the old mill sings; "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn, And, over his pot of beer, The fisher, against the morning s dawn, Lustily maketh cheer; He mocks at the winds that caper along From the far-off clamorous deep, But we we love their lullaby song Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep." Shaggy old Fritz in slumber sound, Groans of the stony mart To-morrow how proudly he ll trot you around, Hitched to our new milk cart! 66 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. And you shall help me blanket the kine And fold the gentle sheep, And set the herring a-soak in brine But now, "little tulip, sleep!" A Dream-One comes to button the eyes That wearily droop and blink, While the old mill buffets the frowning skies And scold at the stars that wink; Over your face the misty wings Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep, And, rocking your cradle, she softly sings: "Sleep, little tulip, sleep. " IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 67 INTRY-MINTRY. Willie and Bess, Georgie and May Once, as these children were hard at play, An old man, hoary and tottering, came And watched them playing their pretty game. He seemed to wonder while standing there, What the meaning thereof could be Aha, but the old man yearned to share Of the little children s innocent glee. As they circled around with laugh and shout And told this rhyme at counting out: Intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, Apple seed and apple thorn; Wire, brier, limber, lock, Twelve geese in a flock; Some flew east, some flew west, Some flew over the cuckoo s nest!" Willie and Bess, Georgie and May Ah, the mirth of that summer day ! Twas Father Time who had come to share The innocent joy of those children there; He learned betimes the game they played And into their sport went he How could the children have been afraid, 68 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Since little they wrecked whom he might be. They laughed to hear old Father Time Mumbling that curious nonsense rhyme Of " Intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, Apple seed and apple thorn; Wire, brier, limber, lock, Twelve geese in a flock; Some flew east, some flew west, Some flew over the cuckoo s nest!" Willie and Bess, Georgie and May, And joy of summer where are they? The grim old man still standeth near Crooning the song of a far-off year ; And into the winter I come alone, Cheered by that mournful requiem, Soothed by the dolorous monotone That shall count me off as it counted them The solemn voice of old Father Time Chanting the homely nursery rhyme He learned of the children a summer morn When, with "apple seed and apple thorn/ Life was full of the Culcet cheer That bringeth the grace of heaven anear The sound of the little ones hard at play Willie and Bessie, Georgie and May. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 69 TELLING THE BEES. Out of the house where the slumberer lay Grandfather came one day, And under the pleasant orchard trees He spake this wise to the murmuring bees: "The clover bloom that kissed her feet And the posie bed where she used to play Have honey store, but none so sweet, As ere our little one went away. bees, sing soft, and bees, sing low, For she is gone who loved you so!" A wonder fell on the listening bees Under those pleasant orchard trees, And in their toil that summer day Ever their murmuring seemed to say : "Child, O child, the grass is cool, And the posies are waking to hear the song Of the bird that swings by the shaded pool, Waiting for one that tarrieth long!" Twas so they called to the little one then, As if to call her back again. O gentle bees I have come to say That grandfather fell asleep to-day, 70 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. And we know by the smile on grandfather s face He has found his dear one s hiding place. So bees, sing soft, and bees, sing low, As over the honey fields you sweep; To the trees abloom and the flowers ablow Sing of grandfather fast asleep. And ever beneath these orchard trees Find cheer and shelter gentle bees.. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 71 HI-SPY. Strange that the city thoroughfare, Noisy and bustling all the day, Should, with the night, renounce its care And lend itself to children s play. Oh, girls are girls and boys are boys, And have been so since Adam s birth, And will be so till dolls and noise Are called by Gabriel s horn from earth, The self -same sport which crowns the day Of many a simple shepherd s son, Beguiles the little lads at play By night in stately Babylon. 72 IN W1NK-A-WAY LAND. THE NAUGHTY DOLL. My dolly is a dreadful care Her name is Miss Amandy; I dress her up and curl her hair And feed her taffy candy. Yet, heedless of the pleading voice Of her devoted mother, She will not wed her mother s choice, But says she ll wed another. I d have her wed the china vase There is no Dresden rarer; You might go searching every place And never find a fairer; He is a gentle, pinkish youth Of that there s no denying Yet when I speak to him, forsooth, Amandy falls to crying! She loves the drum that s very plain And scorns the vase so clever, And weeping vows she will remain A spinster doll forever! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 73 The protestations of the drum I am convinced are hollow; When once distressing times should come, How soon would ruin follow. Yet all in vain the Dresden boy From yonder mantel woos her A mania for that vulgar toy, The noisy drum, imbues her ! In vain I wheel her to and fro And reason with her mildly; Her waxen tears in torrents flow, Her sawdust heart beats wildly. I m sure that when I m big and tall And wear long trailing dresses, I shan t encourage beaux at all Till mamma acquiesces; Our choice will be a suitor then As pretty as this vase is Oh, how we will hate the noisy men With whiskers on their faces! 74 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. GANDERFEATHER S GIFT. I was just a little thing When a fairy came and kissed me; Floating in upon the light Of a haunted summer night, Lo! the fairies came to sing Pretty slumber songs and bring Certain boons that else had missed me* From a dream I turned to see iWhat those strangers brought for me When that fairy up and kissed me Here, upon this cheek, he kissed me. Simmerdew was there, but she Did not like me altogether; Daisybright and Turtledove, Pilfercurds and Honeylove, Thistleblow and Amberglee On that gleaming, ghostly sea Floated from the misty heather, And around my trundle bed Frisked and looked and whispering said, Solemn-like and altogether : "You shall kiss him, Ganderf eather ! " IN WINK-A-WAT LAND. 75 Ganderfeather kissed me then Ganderfeather, quaint and merry! No attenuate sprite was he, But as buxom as could be; Kissed me twice and once again, And the others shouted when On my cheek uprose a berry Somewhat like a mole, mayhap, But the kiss-mark of that chap Ganderfeather, passing merry Humorsome but kindly, very! I was just a tiny thing When the prankish Ganderfeather Brought this curious gift to me With his fairy kisses three, Yet with honest pride I sing That same gift he chose to bring Out of yonder haunted heather : Other charms and friendships fly Constant friends this mole and I Who had been so long together! Thank you, little Ganderfeather! 76 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE BROOK. I looked in the brook and saw a face Heigh-ho, but a child was I! There were rushes and willows in that place, And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; And the brook it ran its own sweet way, As a child doth run in heedless play, And as it ran I heard it say: "Hasten with me To the roistering sea That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky ! I look in the brook and see a face Heigh-ho, but the years go by! The rushes are dead in the old-time place, And the willows I knew when a child was I And the brook it seemeth to me to say, As ever it stealeth on its way Solemnly now, and not in play: "Oh, come with me To the slumbrous sea That is gray with the peace of the evening sky! Heigh-ho, but the years go by I would to God that a child were I! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 77 LITTLE CROODLIN DOO. Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo? Ho, little lamb, is she jinking on the lea? Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me Got a lump o sugar an a posie for you Only bring back my wee, croodlin doo ! Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo ! Looked in er cradle, but didn t find you there Looked f r my wee, wee croodlin doo ever - where ; Ben kind lonesome all er day withouten you Where you ben, my little wee, wee croodlin doo? Now we go balow, my little croodlin doo; Now we go rockaby ever so far Rockaby, rockaby up to the star That s winkin and blinkin an singin to you As you go to balow, my wee, wee croodlin doo ! 78 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE BOW-LEG BOY. Who should come up the road one day But the doctor man in his two-wheel shay; And he whoaed his horse and he cried, "Ahoy! Such a cute little boy! Such a funny little boy! Such a dear little bow-leg boy!" He took out his box and he opened it wide, And there was the bow-leg boy inside! And when they saw that cunning little mite, They cried in a chorus expressive of delight: "What a cute little boy! What a funny little boy! What a dear little bow-leg boy!" Observing a strict geometrical law, They cut out his panties with a circular saw; Which gave such a stress to his oval stride That the people he met invariably cried: "What a cute little boy! What a funny little boy! What a dear little bow-leg boy!" IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 79 They gave him a wheel and away he went Speeding along to his heart s content; And he sits so straight and he pedals so strong That the folks all say as he bowls along: 1 What a cute little boy! What a funny little boy! What a dear little bow-leg boy!" With his eyes aflame and his cheeks aglow, He laughs "Aha" and he laughs "Oho"; And the world is filled and thrilled with the joy Of that jolly little human, the bow-leg boy The cute little boy ! The funny little boy ! The dear little bow-leg boy! If ever the doctor-man comes my way With his wonderful box in his two-wheel shay, I ll ask for the treasure I d fain possess Now, honest Injun! can t you guess? Why, a cute little boy! A funny little boy! A dear little bow-leg boy! 80 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. HYMN. From the German of Martin Luther. heart of mine! lift up thine eyes And see who in yon manger lies ! Of perfect form, of face divine It is the Christ-child, heart of mine! O dearest, holiest Christ-child, spread Within this heart of mine thy bed; Then shall my breast forever be A chamber consecrate to thee! Beat high to-day, O heart of mine, And tell, O lips, what joys are thine; For with your help shall I prolong Old Bethlehem s sweetest cradle-song. Glory to God, whom this dear Child Hath by His coming reconciled, And whose redeeming love again Brings peace on earth, good-will to men! IN WINK A-WAY LAND. 81 THE STRAW PARLOR. Way up at the top of a big stack of straw Was the eunningest parlor that ever you saw! And there you could lie when weary of play And gossip or laze in the coziest way ; No matter how careworn or sorry one s mood No worldly distraction presumed to intrude. As a refuge from onerous mundane ado I think I approve of straw parlors; don t you? A swallow with jewels aflame on her breast On that straw parlor s ceiling had builded her nest; And she flew in and out all the happy day long, And twittered the soothingest lullaby song, Now some might suppose that that beautiful bird Performed for her babies the music they heard; I reckon she twittered her repertoire through For the folk in the little straw parlor; don t you? And down from a rafter a spider had hung Some swings upon which he incessantly swung, He cut up such didoes such antics he played Way up in the air, and was never afraid! 82 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. He never made use of his horrid old sting, But was just upon earth for the fun of the thing ! I deeply regret to observe that so few Of these good-natured insects are met with; don t you? And, down in the strawstack, a wee little mite Of a cricket went chirping by day and by night ; And further down, still, a cunning blue mouse In a snug little nook of that strawstack kept house ! When the cricket went " chirp," Miss Mousie would squeak "Come in," and a blush would enkindle her cheek ! She thought silly girl ! twas a beau come to woo, But I guess it was only the cricket; don t you? So the cricket, the mouse and the motherly bird Made as soothingsome music as ever you heard; And, meanwhile, that spider by means of his swings Achieved most astounding gyrations and things! No wonder the little folks liked what they saw And loved what they heard in that parlor of straw ! With the mercury up to 102 In the shade, I opine they just sizzled ; don t you? IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 83 But once there invaded that Eden of straw The evilest feline that ever you saw! She pounced on that cricket with rare prompti tude And she tucked him away where he d do the most good ; And then, reaching down to the nethermost house, She deftly expiscated little Miss Mouse! And, as for the swallow, she shrieked and with drew I rather admire her discretion; don t you? Now listen: That evening a cyclone obtained And the mortgage was all on that farm that re mained ! Barn, strawstack and spider they all blew away, And nobody knows where they re at to this day! And, as for the little straw parlor, I fear It was wafted clean off this sublunary sphere! I really incline to a hearty "boo-hoo" When I think of this tragical ending; don t you? 84 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. HUSH-A-BY, SWEET MY OWN. Fair is the castle up on the hill Hush-a-by, sweet my own! The night is fair and the waves are still, And the wind is singing to you and me In this lowly home beside the sea Hush-a-by, swept my own! On yonder hill is store of wealth Hush-a-by, sweet my own! And revelers drink to a little one s health ; But you and I bide night and day For the other love that has sailed away Hush-a-by, sweet my own! See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep Ghostlike, 0, my own! Out of the mists of the murmuring deep ; Oh, see them not and make no cry Till the angels of death have passed us by- Hush-a-by, sweet my own! Ah, little they reck of you and me Hush-a-by, sweet my own ! In our lonelv home beside the sea: IN WINK-A-WAT LAND. 85 They seek the castle up on the hill, And there they will do their ghostly will "Hush-a-by, sweet my own* ; Here by the sea a mother croons Hush-a-by, sweet my own! In yonder castle a mother swoons While the angels go down to the misty deep, Bearing a little one fast asleep "Hush-a-by, sweet my own"; 86 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. COBBLER AND STORK. (Cobbler.) Stork, I am justly wroth, For thou hast wronged me sore; The ash roof -tree that shelters thee Shall shelter thee no more! (Stork.) Full fifty years .1 Ve dwelt Upon this honest tree, And long ago (as people know!) I brought thy father thee, What hail hath chilled thy heart That thou shouldst bid me go? Speak out, I pray then I ll away, Since thou commandest so. (Cobbler.) Thou tellest of the time When wheeling from the west, This hut thou sought st and one thou brought st Unto a mother s breast; IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 87 I was the wretched child Was fetched that dismal morn Twere better die than be (as I) To life of misery born! And hadst thou borne me on Still farther up the town, A king I d be of high degree, And wear a golden crown! For yonder lives the prince Was brought that selfsame day; How happy he, while look at me! I toil my life away! And see my little boy To what estate he s born! Why, when I die, no hoard leave I But poverty and scorn, And thou hast done it all I might have been a king And ruled in state, but for thy hate, Thou base, perfidious thing. (Stork.) Since, cobbler, thou dost speak Of one thou lovest well, Hear of that king what grievous thing This very morn befell. Whilst around thy homely bench Thy well-beloved played, In yonder hall beneath a pall A little one was laid ; 88 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Thy well-beloved s face Was rosy with delight, But neath that pall in yonder hall The little face is white; Whilst by a merry voice Thy soul is filled with cheer, Another weeps for one that sleeps All mute and cold anear; One father hath his hope, And one is childless now; He wears a crown and rules a town- Only a cobbler thou! Wouldst thou exchange thy lot At price of such a woe? I ll nest no more above thy door, But, as thou bid st me, go. (Cobbler.) Nay, stork! thou shalt remain I meant not what I said ; Good neighbors we must always be, So make thy home o erhead. I would not change my bench For any monarch s throne, Nor sacrifice at any price My darling and my own! Stork! on my roof-tree bide, That, seeing thee anear, I ll thankful be God sent by thee Me and my darling here! WINK-A WAJ LAND. 89 " GUESS. 5 There is a certain Yankee phrase I always have revered, Yet, somehow, in these modern days, It s almost disappeared; It was the usage years ago, But nowadays it s got To be regarded coarse and low To answer : I guess not ! The height of fashion called the pink Affects a British craze Prefers "I fancy" or "I think" To that time-honored phrase; But here s a Yankee, if you please, That brands the fashion rot, And to all heresies like these He answers: " I-guess-not ! " When Chaucer, Wycliff, and the rest Express their meaning thus, I guess, if not the very best, It s good enough for us! 90 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Why! shall the idioms of our speech Be banished and forgot For this vain trash which moderns teach? "Well, no, sir; I guess not! There s meaning in that homely phrase No other words express No substitute therefor conveys Such unobtrusive stress. True Anglo-Saxon speech, it goes Directly to the spot, And he who hears it always knows The worth of I-guess-not ! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 91 UHLAND S "WHITE STAG." Into the woods three huntsmen came, Seeking the white stag for their game. They laid them under a green fir tree And slept, and dreamed things strange to see. (First Huntsman.) I dreamt I was beating the leafy brush When out popped the noble stag, hush, hush! (Second Huntsman.) As ahead of the clamorous pack he sprang, I pelted him hard in the hide piff, bang! (Third Huntsman.) And as that stag lay dead I blew On my horn a lusty tir-ril-la-loo ! So spake the three as there they lay, When lo, the white stag sped that way! Frisked his heels at those huntsmen three, Then leagues o er hill and dale was he Hush, hush! Piff, bang! Tir-ril-la-loo! 92 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. A PITEOUS PLAINT WHEREIN IS SHOWN THE EVER-LAMENT ABLE COQUETRY OF MARTHA CLOW. I cannot eat my porridge, I weary of my play; No longer can I sleep at night, No longer romp by day! Though forty pounds was once my weight I m shy of thirty now ; I pine, I wither and I fade Through love of Martha Clow. As she rolled by this morning I heard her nurse girl say: She weighs just twenty-seven pounds And she s one year old to-day." I threw a kiss that nestled In the curls upon her brow, But she never turned to thank me That bouncing Martha Clow! She ought to know I love her, For I ve told her that I do; And I ve brought her nuts and apples, And sometimes candy, too ! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 93 I d drag her in my little cart If her mother would allow That delicate attention To her daughter, Martha Clow. Martha! pretty Martha! Will you always be so cold? Will you always be as cruel As you are at one-year-old? Must your two-year-old admirer Pine as hopelessly as now For a fond reciprocation Of his love for Martha Clow? You smile on Bernard Rogers And on little Harry Knott; You play with them at peek-a-boo All in the Waller Lot! Wildly I gnash my new-cut teeth And beat my throbbing brow, When I behold the coquetry Of heartless Martha Clow! I cannot eat my porridge,, Nor for my play care I; Upon the floor and porch and lawn My toys neglected lie; 94 IN WINK- A- WA Y LAND. But on the air of Halsted street I breathe this solemn vow: "Though she be false, I will be true To pretty Martha Clow!" IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 95 SONG MY HEART IS THE SHORE. My heart is the shore when the tide is gone And the argent feet of a lovely dawn Walk far and near o er the rocks and sand, With a loveless space twixt the sea and land, For thou art gone! My heart is the shore when the tide has come With yearning lips and song, and some Have waked a song in the shore s lush grass Where the wild rose blooms and the curlews pass For thou art come. 96 IN W1NK-A-WAY LAND. OUR TWO OPINIONS. Us two wuz boys when we fell out Nigh to the age uv my youngest now; Don I rec lect what twas about, Some small difference, I ll allow. Lived next neighbors twenty years, A-hatin each other, me nd Jim He havin his opinyun uv me Nd I havin my opinyun uv him. Grew up together nd wouldn t speak, Courted sisters nd married em, too; Tended same meetin house once a week, A-hatin each other, through nd through! But when Abe Linkern asked the west F r soldiers, we answered me nd Jim He havin his opinyun uv me Nd 7 havin my opinyun uv him! But down in Tennessee one night Ther wuz sound uv firin fur away, Nd the sergeant allowed ther d be a fight With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex day; IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 97 Nd I wuz thinkin uv Lizzie nd home Jim stood afore me, long nd slim He havin his opmyun uv me Nd I havin my opinyun uv him! Seemed like we knew there wuz goin to be Serious trouble f r me nd him Us two shuck hands, did Jim nd me, But never a word from me or Jim! He went his way nd I went mine, Nd into the battle s roar went we I havin my opinyun uv Jim Nd he havin his opinyun uv me I Jim never came back from the war again. But I hain t forgot that last, last night When, waitin f r orders, us two men Made up nd shuck hands, afore the fight; Nd, after it all, it s soothin to know That here I be nd younder s Jim He havin his opinyun uv me Nd 7 havin my opinyun uv him! 98 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE LITTLE PEACH. A little peach in the orchard grew, A little peach of emerald hue ; Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, It grew. One day, in passing that orchard through, That little peach dawned on the view Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue Them two. Up at that peach a club they threw Down from the stem on which it grew Fell that peach of emerald hue. Mon Dieu! John took a bite and Sue a chew, And then the trouble began to brew, Trouble the doctor couldn t subdue. Too true! Under the turf where the daisies grew They planted John and his sister Sue, And their little souls to the angels flew, Boo-hoo ! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 99 And what of that peach of emerald hue, Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew ? Ah, well, its mission on earth is through. Adieu ! "The Little Peach" was set to music and, strik ing popular fancy, was a remarkable success. From London, in February, 1890, Mr. Field wrote as follows: "That awful song, The Little Peach, has been put upon the market here by rival music pub lishers. A local poet has injected into the soulful poem these stanzas : Said Johnny Jones his sister unto: "I fear it is more than I can do, But get that "peach I must for you For you." He thought the way to climb he knew His foot got caught, off came his shoe, His jacket torn, his trousers, too, Eight through. 7 " 100 IN WtltK-A-WAy LAND. THE BROOK AND THE BOY. Out of the village there cometh a boy Dark and tall and lithe is he; And he washeth his face and rubbeth his hands And he talketh a space, as there he stands, With the brook that babbleth free. "Now tell me, waters, so cold and clear, And whence hast thou come so far?" "From the farther side of the hill we flow, Where the snow is bride of the last year s snow Children thereof we are!" "And whither dost thou pursue thy way, O waters clear and cold and fair?" "Where the rose is gay in the love of spring We hurry away our songs to sing To the lambkin bleating there." "01 should stay where the roses bloom, Thou waters sweet and good and true!" "We shall journey on through the meadows fair Till we come anon to the vineyard where Drippeth the vine with dew!" IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. H>r "Long should I linger to press those vines, O honest waters sweet and cool ! "Nay speed we fast through the balmy shade Till we come at last where a mulberry maid Swings by a crystal pool." Up from the waters that babble on All silently fareth the dark, lithe blade; And he giveth nor rose nor vine a look, But panting he goes to beat the brook, Wooing that mulberry maid. 102 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. TO A LITTLE BROOK. You re not so big as you were then, O little brook! I mean those hazy summers when We boys roamed, full of awe, beside Your noisy, foaming, tumbling tide, And wondered if it could be true That there were bigger brooks than you, mighty brook, peerless brook. All up and down this reedy place Where lives the brook, We angled for the furtive dace; The redwing-blackbird did his best To make us think he d built his nest Hard by the stream, when, like as not, He d hung it in a secret spot Far from the brook, the tell-tale brook! And often, when the noontime heat Parboiled the brook, We d draw our boots and swing our feet Upon the waves that, in their play, IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 103 Would tag us last and scoot away; And mother never seemed to know What burnt our legs and chapped them so But father guessed it was the brook! And Fido, how he loved to swim The cooling brook, Whenever we d throw sticks for him; And how we boys did wish that we Could only swim as good as he Why, Daniel Webster never was Recipient of such applause As Fido, battling with the brook! But once most unhappy day For you, my brook Came Cousin Sam along that way; And, having lived a spell out west, Where creeks aren t counted much at best, He neither waded, swam, nor leapt, But, with superb indifference, stepped Across that brook our mighty brook! Why do you scamper on your way, You little brook, When I come back to you to-day? Is it because you flee the grass 104 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. That lunges at you as you pass, As if, in playful mood, it would Tickle the truant if it could, You chuckling brook you saucy brook! Or is it you no longer know You fickle brook The honest friend of long ago? The years that kept us twain apart Have changed my face but not my heart Many and sore those years, and yet I fancied you could not forget That happy time, my playmate brook! Oh, sing again in artless glee, My little brook, The song you used to sing for me The song that s lingered in my ears So soothingly these many years; My grief shall be forgotten when I hear your tranquil voice again And that sweet song, dear little brook! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 105 THE WANDERER. Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a shell, And to my listening ear the lonely thing Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, Ever a song of ocean seemed to tell. How came the shell upon that mountain height? Ah, who can say. Whether dropped there by some too careless hand, Or whether cast there when ocean swept the land, Ere the Eternal had ordained the day? Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep, One song it sang, Song of the awful mysteries of the tide, Song of the misty sea, profound and wide. Ever with echoes of the ocean rang. And as the shell upon the mountain height Sings of the sea. So do I ever, leagues and leagues away, So do I ever, wandering where I may, Sing, my home! sing, my home! of thee. 106 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. SOLDIER, MAIDEN AND FLOWER. (A piece for little Miss Trotty to speak at school on Decoration day.) " Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said, "And bid me brave good-by; It may befall we ne er shall wed, But love can never die! "Be steadfast in thy troth to me, And then whate er my lot, My soul, to God, my heart to thee Sweetheart, forget me not ! The maiden took the tiny flow r And fed it with her tears; Lo, he who left her in that hour Came not in after years. Upon the field a demon rode Mid shower of flame and shot, While in the maiden s heart abode The flow r forget-me-not. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 107 And when he came not with the rest From out those years of blood, Closely unto her widowed breast She pressed the withered bud. Oh, there is love, and there is pain And there is peace, God wot; And these dear three do live again In sweet forget-me-not. Tis to his unmarked grave to-day That I should love to go Whether he wore the blue or gray, What need that we should know? "He loved a woman, " let us say, And, that hallowed spot, To woman s love that lives for aye We ll strew forget-me-not. 108 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE PEACE CHRISTMAS TIME. Earnest, how hard it is to say That all is for the best, Since, sometimes, in a grievous way God s will is manifest. See with what hearty, noisy glee Our little ones to-night Dance round and round our Christmas tree With pretty toys bedight. Dearest, one voice they may not hear, One face they may not see Ah, what of all this Christmas cheer Cometh to you and me? Cometh before our misty eyes That other little face, And we clasp, in tender, reverent wise, That love in the old embrace. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 109 Dearest, the Christ-child walks to-night, Bringing his peace to men, And He bringeth to you and to me the light Of the old, old years again. Bringeth the peace of long ago "When a wee one clasped your knee And lisped of the morrow dear one, you know And here come back is he! Dearest, tis sometimes hard to say That all is for the best, For, often, in a grievous way, God s will is manifest. But in the grace of this holy night That bringeth back our child, Let us see that the ways of God are right, And so be reconciled. 110 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE DEAD BABE. Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, In agony I knelt and said: "0 God! what have I done, Or in what wise offended Thee, That Thou should st take away from me My little son? "Upon the thousand useless lives Upon the guilt that vaunting thrives. Thy wrath were better spent! Why should st Thou take my little son? Why should st Thou vent Thy wrath upon This innocent?" Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, Before mine eyes the vision spread Of things that might have been; Licentious riot, cruel strife, Forgotten prayers, a wasted life Dark red with sin! Then, with soft music in the air, I saw another vision there: IN WINE-A-WAY LAND. Ill A Shepherd, in whose keep A little lamb my little child Of worldly wisdom undefiled, Lay fast asleep! Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, In those two messages I read A wisdom manifest; And, though my arms be childless now, I am content to Him I bow Who knoweth best. 112 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. RECALL OF BOYHOOD JOYS. Brother of mine, have you forgot Those pleasant nooning times of old; How in a quiet, shady spot We sat and heard quaint stories told? How sweet it was when tired of play Or vexed with discipline at school, To while that nooning hour away With romance in the shade and cool! Brother of mine, our noon is high Come, let us rest a little space, And let us twain revivify Our ardor with that boyhood grace! These little tales it is to tell- Some folks may wonder why they re told ; Yet shall they serve their purpose well If they recall the days of old. If they recall our boyhood joys And those far-distant scenes retrace; If they bring to us two boys A vision of the dear old place IN WINK-A-W AY LAND. The homestead, and the pickerel pond, The maple trees, the pasture lot, The Pelham hills away beyond Brother of mine, have you forgot? 114 IN WINK-A- WA Y LAND. THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD. A sunbeam comes a-creeping Into my dear one s nest And sings to our babe a-sleeping The song that I love the best. Tis little Luddy-Dud in the morning, . Tis little Luddy-Dud at night; And all day long Tis the same sweet song Of that waddling, toddling, coddling little mite, Luddy-Dud! The bird to the tossing clover, The bee to the swaying bud, Keep singing that sweet song over Of wee little Luddy-Dud. Tis little Luddy-Dud in the morning, Tis little Luddy-Dud at night; And all day long Tis the same dear song Of that growing, crowing, knowing little sprite, Luddy-Dud! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 115 Luddy-Dud s cradle is swinging Where softly the night winds blow. And Luddy-Dud s mother is singing A song that is sweet and low; } Tis little Luddy-Dud in the morning, 7 Tis little Luddy-Dud at night; And all day long Tis the same sweet song Of my nearest and my dearest heart s de light, Luddy-Dud! 116 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. A WESTERN BOY S LAMENT. I wished I lived away down east where codfish salt the sea, And where the folks have pumpkin pie and apple sass for tea, Us boys who s livin here out west don t get more n half a show We don t have nothin else to do but jest to sort o grow. Oh, if I was a bird I d fly a million miles away To where they feed their boys on pork and beans three times a day; To where the place they call the Hub gives out its shiny spokes, And where the folks so father says is mostly women folks. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 117 MY PLAYMATES. The wind comes whispering to me of the country green and cool Of redwing blackbirds chattering beside a reedy pool; It brings me soothing fancies of the homestead on the hill, And I hear the thrush s evening song and the robin s morning trill; So I fall to thinking tenderly of those I used to know Where the sassafras and snakeroot and checker- berries grow. What has become of Ezra Marsh who lived on Bunker s hill? And what s become of Noble Pratt whose father kept the mill? And what s become of Lizzie Crum and Anastasia Snell? And of Roxie Root who tended school in Boston for a spell? They were the boys and they were the girls who shared my youthful play They do not answer to my call! My playmates where are they all? 118 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. What has become of Levi and his little brother Joe Who lived next door to where we lived some forty years ago? I d like to see the Newton boys and Quincy Adams Brown, And Hepsy Hall and Ella Cowles who spelled the whole school down! And Gracie Smith, the Cutler boys, Leander Snow and all Who I am sure would answer could they only hear my call! I d like to see Bill Warner and the Conkey boys again And talk about the times we used to wish that we were men! And one I shall not name her could I see her gentle face And hear her girlish treble in this distant lonely place ! The flowers and hopes of springtime they per ished long ago, And the garden where they blossomed is white with winter snow. cottage neath the maples, have you seen those girls and boys That but a little while ago made, oh ! such pleasant noise ? IN W1NK-A-WAY LAND. 119 trees, and hills, and brooks, and lanes, and mead ows, do you know Where I shall find my little friends of forty years You see I m old and weary, and I ve traveled long and far! I am looking for my playmates I wonder where they are ! 120 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. THE DREAMS. Two dreams came down to earth one night From the realm of mist and dew; One was a dream of the old, old days, And one was a dream of the new. One was a dream of a shady lane That led to the pickerel pond, Where the willows and rushes bowed themselves To the brown old hills beyond. And the people that peopled the old time dream Were pleasant and fair to see, And the dreamer he walked with them again As often of old walked he. Oh, cool was the wind in the shady lane That tangled his curly hair! Oh, sweet was the music the robins made To the springtime everywhere! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 121 Was it the dew the dream had brought From yonder midnight skies, Or was it tears from the dear, dead years That lay in the dreamer s eyes? The other dream ran fast and free, As the moon benignly shed Her golden grace on the smiling face In the little trundle-bed. For twas a dream of times to come Of the glorious noon of day Of the summer that follows the careless spring When the child is done with play. And twas a dream of the busy world Where valorous deeds are done; Of battles fought in the cause of right, And of victories nobly won. It breathed no breath of the dear old home And the quiet joys of youth; It gave no glimpse of the good old friends Of the old-time faith and truth. 122 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. But twas a dream of youthful hopes, And fast and free it ran, And it told to a little sleeping child Of a boy become a man! These were the dreams that came one night To earth from yonder sky; These were the dreams two dreamers dreamed, My little boy and I. And in our hearts my boy and I Were glad it was so; He loved to dream of days to come, And I of long ago. So from our dreams my boy and I Unwillingly awoke, But neither of his precious dream Unto the other spoke. Yet of the love we bore these dreams Gave each his tender sign; For there was triumph in his eyes And there were tears in mine! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 123 THE DREAM SHIP. When all the world is fast asleep, Along the midnight skies As though it were a wandering cloud- The ghostly Dream-Ship flies. An angel stands at the Dream-Ship s helm, An angel stands at the prow, And an angel stands at the Dream-Ship s side With a rue-wreath on her brow. The other angels, silver-crowned, Pilot and helmsman are, But the angel with the wreath of rue Tosseth the dreams afar. The dreams they fall on rich and poor, They fall on young and old; And some are dreams of poverty And some are dreams of gold. 124 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. And some are dreams that thrill with joy, And some that melt to tears; Some are dreams of the dawn of love, And some of the old, dead years. On rich and poor alike they fall, Alike on young and old, Bringing to slumbering earth their joys And sorrows manifold. The friendless youth in them shall do The deeds of mighty men, And drooping age shall feel the grace Of buoyant youth again. The king shall be a beggarman, The pauper be a king, In that revenge of recompense The Dream-Ship dreams do bring. So ever downward float the dreams That are for all and me, And there is never mortal man Can solve that mystery. IN WlNK-A-WAY LAND. 125 But ever onward in its course Along the haunted skies As though it were a cloud astray The ghostly Dream-Ship flies. Two angels with their silver crowns Pilot and helmsman are, And an angel with a wreath of rue Tosseth the dreams afar. 126 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. TO MY MOTHER. How fair you are, my mother! Ah, though tis many a year Since you were here, Still do I see your beauteous face, And with the glow Of your dark eyes cometh a grace Of long ago. So gentle, too, my mother; Just as of old, upon my brow, Like benedictions now, Falleth your dear hand s touch, And still, as then, A voice that glads me overmuch Cometh again, My fair and gentle mother! How you have loved me, mother, I have not power to tell Knowing full well That even in the rest Above It is your will To watch and guard me with your love, Loving me still, And, as of old, my mother. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 127 I am content to be a child, By mother s love beguiled From all these other charms, So, to the last, Within thy dear, protecting arms Hold thou me fast, My guardian angel, mother I 128 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. CHRISTMAS EVE. Oh, hush thee, little Dear-My-Soul, The evening shades are falling Hush thee, my dear dost thou not hear The voice of the Master calling? Deep lies the snow upon the earth, But all the sky is ringing With joyous song, and all night long The stars shall dance, with singing, Oh, hush thee, little Dear-My-Soul, And close thine eyes in dreaming, And angels fair shall lead thee where The singing stars are beaming; A shepherd calls his little lambs, And he longeth to caress them; He bids them rest upon his breast That his tender love may bless them. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 129 So, hush thee, little Dear-My-Soul, Whilst evening shades are falling, And above the song of the heavenly throng Thou shalt hear the Master calling. 130 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. BERANGER S "BROKEN FIDDLE." There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend, Pay you no heed unto my sorrow; But feast to-day while yet you may Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! II. "Give us a tune," the foemen cried, In one of their profane caprices; I bade them "No" they frowned, and, lo! They dashed this innocent in pieces! III. This fiddle was the village pride The mirth of every fete enhancing; Its wizard art set every heart As well as every foot to dancing. IV. How well the bridegroom knew its voice, As from its strings its song went gushing, Nor long delayed the promised maid Equipped for bridal, coy and blushing. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 131 V. Why, it discoursed so merrily, It quickly banished all dejection, And yet, when pressed, the priest confessed I played with pious circumspection. VI. And though, in patriotic song, It was our guide, compatriot, teacher, I never thought the foe had wrought His fury on the helpless creature! VII. But there, poor dog, my faithful friend, Pay you no heed unto my sorrow; I prithee take this paltry cake Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow ! VIII. Ah, who shall lead the Sunday choir As this old fiddle used to do it? Can vintage come, with this voice dumb That used to bid a welcome to it? IX. It soothed the weary hours of toil, It brought forgetfulness to debtors; Time and again from wretched men It struck oppression s galling fetters. 132 7A T WINK-A-WAY LAND. X. No man could hear its voice, and hate, It staid the tear drop at its portal With that dear thing I was a king As never yet was monarch mortal! XI. Now has the foe the vandal foe Struck from their hands their pride and glory; There let it lie! In vengeance, I Shall wield another weapon, gory! XII. And if, countrymen, I fall, Beside our grave let this be spoken; "No foe of France shall ever dance Above the heart and fiddle, broken!" XIII. So come, poor dog, my faithful friend, I prithee do not heed my sorrow, But feast to-day while yet you may, For we are like to starve to-morrow. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 133 MARY SMITH. Away down east, where I was reared among my Yankee kith, There used to live a pretty girl whose name was Mary Smith; And though it s many years since last I saw that pretty girl, And though I feel I m sadly worn by western strife and whirl, Still, oftentimes, I think about the old familiar place, Which, some way, seemed the brighter for Miss Mary s pretty face, And in my heart I feel once more revivified the glow I used to feel in those old times when I was Mary & beau. I saw her home from singing school she warbled like a bird A sweeter voice for song or speech I never heard! She was soprano in the choir, and I a solemn bass, And when we unisoned our voices filled that holy place ; 134 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. The tenor and the alto never had the slightest chance, For Mary s upper register made every heart-string dance, And, as for me, I shall not brag ; and yet I d have you know I sung a very likely bass when I was Mary s beau. On Friday nights I d drop around to make my weekly call, And, though I came to visit her, I d have to see em all! With Mary s mother sitting here and Mary s father there, The conversation never flagged as far as I m aware ; Sometimes I d hold her worsted, sometimes we d play at games, Sometimes dissect the apples which we d named each other s names Oh, how I loathed the shrill-toned clock that told me when to go Twas ten o clock at half -past eight when I was Mary s beau! Now there was Luther Baker because he d come of age And thought himself some pumpkins because he drove the stage IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 135 He fancied he could cut me out ; but Mary was my friend Elsewise I m sure the issue had had a tragic end ! For Luther Baker was a man I never could abide, And when it came to Mary, either he or I had died! I merely cite this instance incidentally to show That I was quite in earnest when I was Mary s beau! How often now those sights, those pleasant sights recur again ; The little township that was all the world I knew of then The meeting house upon the hill, the tavern just beyond, Old Deacon Packard s general store, the saw-mill by the pond, The village elms I vainly sought to conquer in my quest Of that surpassing trophy, the golden oriole s nest! And, best of all, those visions that come back from long ago, The pretty face that thrilled my soul when I was Mary s beau! Hush, gentle wife, there is no need a pang should vex your heart Tis many years since fate ordained that she and I should part; 136 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. To each a true, maturer love came in good time, and yet It brought not with it noble grace the power to forget, And would you fain begrudge me now the senti mental joy That conies with recollections of my sparkings when a boy? I warrant me that were your heart put to the rack twould show That it had predilections when I was Mary s beau ! And, Mary, should these lines of mine seek out your biding place, God grant they bring the old sweet smile back to your pretty face God grant they bring you thoughts of me, not as I am to-day, With faltering step and dimming eyes and aspect grimly gray; But thoughts that picture me as fair and full of life and glee As we were in the olden time as you shall always be! Think of me ever, Mary, as the boy you used to know When time was fleet and life was sweet, and I was Mary s beau. (Dear hills of old New England, look down with tender eyes IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 137 Upon one little, lonely grave that in your bosom lies; For in that cradle sleeps a child who was so fair to see God yearned to have unto Himself the joy she brought to me ; And bid your winds sing soft and low the song of other days, When, hand in hand and heart to heart, we went our pleasant ways Ah me, but could I sing again that song of long ago, Instead of this poor, idle song of being Mary s beau!) 138 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. IN THE COURT OF HONOR. A sense of good upspringing, Of valor roused and ready, Of voices tuned for singing, Of movement onward, steady, And full of purpose grand, Falls on men mutely gazing Upon this scene amazing, This court of wonderland. Pale domes so vast and gracious, Lift up the radiant azure, Where shows the portal spacious, Bright as the dawn s embrasure, Large-limbed and girt with power, Their faces calm and wise, Look down with serious eyes, The genii of the hour. The sky is full of voices, "Wings winnow all the air; In strength men s thought rejoices Amid companions rare, IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 139 Joys flutter at their feet, World spirits call and beckon, With life they gladly reckon, It is so strange and sweet. 140 IN WINK-A-W AY LAND. FRENCH S "REPUBLIC. 3 She is calm and great, She standeth lone; Honors on her wait, Peace is her throne. Large purpose in her eyes, No fear she hath. Comes neath her kindly skies Not peril nor scath. Potent the will of her In her true breast, Like to God s messenger Her ways are blest. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 141 HYMN: MIDNIGHT HOUR. Midnight hour! how sweet the calm Thy solemn cadences impart; What solace, as of healing balm, Cometh with thee unto this heart ! Yet bring me not thy grace, alone Let others share thy dear delight Oh, let thy soothing monotone Be heard of all this holy Night! Anon shall angels walk the sky, The stars cry out in rapturous glee, And radiant splendors glorify The waking earth and wondering sea ; Jehovah s reassuring word Shall be proclaimed abroad again, And tidings everywhere be heard Of peace on earth, good- will to men! Tis of those glories of the morn, The sacrifice that makes man free, And of the Babe in Bethlehem born That midnight voices speak to me. 142 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Speak on, voices, sweet and low Soothing our griefs and doubts away That all mankind may hear and know What rapture cometh with the Day! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 143 CHRISTMAS MORNING. The angel host that sped last night, Bearing the wondrous news afar, Came in their ever-glorious flight Unto a slumbering little star. " Awake and sing, star!" they cried; Awake and glorify the morn! Herald the tidings far and wide He that shall lead His flock is born!" The little star awoke and sung As only stars in rapture may, And presently where church bells hung The joyous tidings found their way. " Awake, O Bells; tis Christmas morn Awake and let thy music tell To all mankind that now is born What Shepherd loves His lambkins well ! 144 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Then rang the bells as fled the night O er dreaming land and drowsing deep, And, coming with the morning light, They called, my child, to you asleep. Sweetly and tenderly they spoke, And, lingering round your little bed, Their music pleaded till you woke, And this is what their music said : Awake and sing! tis Christmas morn, Whereon all earth salutes her King; In Bethlehem is the Shepherd born Awake, little lamb! and sing." So, dear my child, kneel at my knee, And with those voices from above Share thou this holy time with me, The universal hymn of love! IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 145 HOLLY AND IVY. Holly standeth in ye house When that Noel draweth near; Evermore at ye door Standeth Ivy, shivering sore In ye night wind bleak and drear; And, as weary hours go by, Doth ye one to other cry. "Sister Ivy," Holly quoth, " Brightly burns the yule-log here; And love brings beauteous things While a guardian angel sings To the babes that slumber near, But, Ivy, tell me now What without there seest thou?" Sister Holly," Ivy quoth, "With fair music conies ye Morn, And afar burns ye Star Where ye wondering shepherds are, And ye Shepherd King is born: Peace on earth good will to men/ Angels cry, and cry again!" 146 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Holly standeth in ye house When that Noel draweth near; Clambering o er yonder door Ivy standeth evermore. And to them that rightly hear Each one speaketh of ye love That outpoureth from Above. IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. 147 TO THE PASSING SAINT. As to-night you came your way, Bearing earthward heavenly joy, Tell me, dear saint, I pray, Did you see my little boy? By some fairer voice beguiled, Once he wandered from my sight He is such a little child, He should have my love this night! It has been so many a year Oh! so many a year since then! Yet he was so very dear, Surely he shall come again! If upon your way you see One whose beauty is divine, Will you send him back to me? He is lost, and he is mine! 148 IN WINK-A-WAY LAND. Tell him that his little chair Nestles where the sunbeams meet; That the shoes he used to wear Yearn to kiss his dimpled feet. Tell him of each pretty toy That was wont to share his glee Maybe that will bring my boy Back to them and back to me! dear saint, as on you go Through the glad and sparkling frost Bid those bells ring high and low For a little child that s lost! dear saint, that blesseth men With the grace of Christmas joy, Soothe this heart with love again Give me back my little boy! UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. fttfr APR 21 1941 a 31 194 Tt .. , IN PO! , 955 , D LD APR 8 REC D LD DEC 14 19E3 29Apr 57TS REC D LD MAY 3 REC D Lr ECEIVED oAN DEPT. iR 27 19751 )21-100m-9, 47(A5702sl6)476 MR Olfc SW $> $ THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY