ft? 3amcs iPIjtttomb Etlep NEGHBORLY POEMS SKETCHES IN PROSE, With Interluding Verses AFTERWHILES PIPES O' PAN (Prose and Verse) RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS ARMAZINDY A CHILD-WORLD HOME-FOLKS HIS PA'S ROMANCE MORNING (The volumes above are bound in a uniform set known as the Greenfield Edition) OLD-FASHIONED ROSES THE GOLDEN YEAR POEMS HERE AT HOME RUBAIYAT OF DOC SIFERS THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN RILEY CHILD-RHYMES ( With Hoosier Pictures) RILEY LOVE-LYRICS (Pictures by Dyer) RILEY FARM.RH YMES (Pictures by Vawter) RILEY SONGS O' CHEER (Pictures by Vawter) AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE (Pictures by Christy) OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S (Pictures by Christy) HOME AGAIN WITH ME (Pictures by Christy) A DEFECTIVE SANTA CLAUS (Pictures by Vawter and Relyea) WHILE THE HEART BEATS YOUNG (Pictures by Betts) THE RAGGEDY MAN (Pictures by Betts) MORNING I AMES WHITCOMJi KJJ.F.V From the Pbrtrait by John S. Sar$fen*8 R In the John Herron Art Institute, Indianapolis THE BOBBv PUtLH MORNING JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS Univ. library, UC Santa Cruz 1989 COPYRIGHT 1907 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY OCTOBEX T-S 3/7 Of MORNING TO MEREDITH NICHOLSON CONTENTS PAGE America 69 An Autumnal Tonic 78 An Empty Nest 40 Children of the Childless, The 85 Christine 93 Christmas Glee, A 98 Country Editor, The 39 Doctor, The 30 Even as a Child 22 General Lew Wallace 89 Golden Wedding, A 16 Good Man, A 61 Great God Pan, The 9 Henry Irving 44 His Heart of Constant Youth 27 His Last Picture 42 Hoosier Calendar, A 72 Hoosier in Exile, The 91 Humble Singer, A 79 Laughing Song I4 Life at the Lake IO 3 Lincoln The Boy 87 Little Woman, The go Longfellow CONTENTS'- Continued PAGE Loveliness, The 4 Morning I My Foe 34 Nicholas Oberting 62 Old Days, The 20 On Reading Dr. van Dyke's PoemsMusic n Our Little Girl 59 Ours 67 "Out of Reach"? 33 Parting Guest, A 19 Quest of the Fathers, The 6 Rainy Morning, The 35 Rest, The 96 Rose-Lady, The 66 Sis Rapalye 2 Soldier, The 23 Some Imitations 47 Spring Song and a Later, A 84 To Edmund Clarence Stedman 37 Voice of Peace, The 45 We Must Believe 100 We Must Get Home 105 What Title? 88 You May Not Remember 94 CONTENTS Continued DIALECT, CHILDISH AND LIGHTER LINES PAGE "Blue-Monday" at the Shoe Shop 153 Bub Says 148 Goldie Goodwin 145 Grampa's Choice 124 Her Poet-Brother 120 Hired Man's Dog- Story, The in Hoosier Spring-Poetry 160 I' Got to Face Mother To-Day ! 122 It's Got to Be 157 Little Lame Boy's Views, A 125 Lizabuth-Ann on Bakin'-Day 138 "Mother" 139 Name Us no Names no More 134 Perversity 119 Poor Student, The 150 Rabbit 128 Raggedy Man on Children, The 137 Symptoms 146 Thinkin' Back 131 Thoughts of Youth, The 156 Uncle Sidney's Rhymes 152^ Very Tall Boy, A 130 What Little Saul Got, Christmas 143 MORNING MORNING BREATH of Morning breath of May- With your zest of yesterday And crisp, balmy freshness, smite Our old hearts with Youth's delight. Tilt the cap of Boyhood yea, Where no "forelock" waves, to-day, Back, in breezy, cool excess, Stroke it with the old caress. Let us see as we have seen Where all paths are dewy-green, And all human-kind are kin Let us be as we have been ! SIS RAPALYE WHEN rainy-greener shoots the grass And blooms the cherry-tree, And children laugh by 'glittering brooks, Wild with the ecstasy Of bursting Spring, with twittering bird And hum of honey-bee, "Sis Rapalye!" my spirit shouts . . . And she is here with me ! As laugh the children, so her laugh Haunts all the atmosphere ; Her song is in the brook's refrain ; Her glad eyes, flashing clear, Are in the morning dews ; her speech Is melody so dear, The bluebird trills, "Sis Rapalye ! I hear ! I hear ! I hear !" Again in races, at "Recess," I see her braided hair Toss past me as I stay to lift Her straw hat, fallen there ; 2 SIS RAPALYE The school-bell sends a vibrant pang My heart can hardly bear. Yet still she leads Sis Rapalye And leads me everywhere ! Now I am old. Yet she remains The selfsame child of ten. Gay, gallant little girl, to race On into Heaven then ! Yet gallant, gay Sis Rapalye In blossom-time, and when The trees and grasses beckon her Comes back to us again. And so, however long since youth Whose raptures wild and free An old man's heart may claim no more, With more than memory I share the Spring's own joy that brings My boyhood back to me With laughter, blossoms, singing birds And sweet Sis Rapalye. THE LOVELINESS AH, what a long and loitering way And ever-lovely way, in truth, We travel on from day to day Out of the realms of youth ! How eagerly we onward press The lovely path that lures us still With ever-changing loveliness Of grassy vale and hill : Of groves of May and morning-lands Dew-diamonded and gemmed with bloom ; With amber streams and golden sands And aisles of gleam and gloom; Where lovely little Fairy-folk, In careless ambush, pipe and call From tousled ferns neath elm and oak By shoal and waterfall : 4 THE LOVELINESS Transparent even as the stream, The gnarled prison-tree reveals Its lovely Dryad in a dream That scarce itself conceals ; The sudden redbird trips the sight And tricks the ear or doubtless we With happy palms had clapped the Sprite In new captivity. On on, through all the gathering years, Still gleams the loveliness, though seen Through dusks of loss and mists of tears That vainly intervene. Time stints us not of lovely things Old Age hath still a treasure-store, The loveliness of songs and wings And voices on before. And loveliness beyond all grace Of lovely words to say or sing, The loveliness of Hope's fair face Forever brightening. THE QUEST OF THE FATHERS WHAT were our Forefathers trying to find When they weighed anchor, that desperate hour They turned from home, and the warning wind Sighed in the sails of the old Mayflower ? What sought they that could compensate Their hearts for the loved ones left behind The household group at the glowing grate ? What were our Forefathers trying to find ? What were they trying to find more dear Than their native land and its annals old, Its throne its church and its worldly cheer Its princely state, and its hoarded gold ? What more dear than the mounds of green There o'er the brave sires, slumbering long ? What more fair than the rural scene What more sweet than the throstle's song? Faces pallid, but sternly set, Lips locked close, as in voiceless prayer, And eyes with never a teardrop wet Even the tenderest woman's there ! 6 THE QUEST OF THE FATHERS But O the light from the soul within, As each spake each with a flashing mind As the lightning speaks to its kith and kin ! What were our Forefathers trying to find ? Argonauts of a godless day Seers of visions, and dreamers vain ! Their ship's foot set in a pathless way, The fogs, the mists, and the blinding rain ! When the gleam of sun, and moon and star Seemed lost so long they were half forgot When the fixed eyes found nor near nor far, And the night whelmed all, and the world was not. And yet, befriended in some strange wise, They groped their way in the storm and stress Through which though their look found not the skies The Lord's look found them nevertheless Found them, yea, in their piteous lot, As they in their faith from the first divined Found them, and favored them too. But what What were our Forefathers trying to find ? THE QUEST OF THE FATHERS Numb and agasp, with the frost for breath', They came on a frozen shore, at last, As bleak and drear as the coasts of death, And yet their psalm o'er the wintry blast Rang glad as though 'twere the chiming mirth Of jubilant children landing there Until o'er all of the icy earth The snows seemed warm, as they knelt in prayer. For, lo ! they were close on the trail they sought : In the sacred soil of the rights of men They marked where the Master-hand had wrought ; And there they garnered and sowed again. Their land then ours, as to-day it is, With its flag of heaven's own light designed, And God's vast love o'er all. . . . And this Is what our Forefathers were trying to find. 8 THE GREAT GOD PAN "What was he doing, the great god Pan?" Mrs. Browning. O PAN is the goodliest god, I wist, Of all of the lovable gods that be ! For his two strong hands were the first to twist From the depths of the current, through spatter and mist, The long-hushed reeds that he pressed in glee To his murmurous mouth 2 as he chuckled and kissed Their souls into melody. And the wanton winds are in love with Pan : They loll in the shade with him day by day ; And betimes as beast, and betimes as man, They love him as only the wild winds can, Or sleeking the coat of his limbs one way, Or brushing his brow with the locks they fan To the airs he loves to play. 9 THE GREAT GOD PAN And he leans by the river, in gloom and gleam, Blowing his reeds as the breezes blow His cheeks puffed out, and his eyes in a dream, And his hoof-tips, over the leaves in the stream, Tapping the time of the tunes that flow As sweet as the drowning echoes seem To his rollicking wraith bejow. 10 ON READING DR. HENRY VAN DYKE'S VOLUME OF POEMS MUSIC Music ! Yea, and the airs you play Out of the faintest Far- A way And the sweetest, too ; and the dearest Here, With its quavering voice but its bravest cheer The prayer that aches to be all expressed The kiss of love at its tenderest : Music music, with glad heart-throbs Within it ; and music with tears and sobs Shaking it, as the startled soul Is shaken at shriek of the fife and roll Of the drums ; then as suddenly lulled again With the whisper and lisp of the summer rain : Mist of melodies fragrance-fine The birdsong flicked from the eglantine With the dews when the springing bramble throws A rarer drench on its ripest rose, And the winged song soars up and sinks To the dove's dim coo by the river-brinks II ON READING DR. VAN DYKE'S POEMS Where the ripple's voice still laughs along Its glittering path of light and song. Music, O Poet, and all your own By right of capture and that alone, For in it we hear the harmony Born of the earth and the air and the sea, Anci over and under it, and all through, We catch the chime of The Anthem, too. 12 LONGFELLOW 1807 FEBRUARY 271907 O GENTLEST kinsman of Humanity ! Thy love hath touched all hearts, even as thy Song Hath touched all chords of music that belong To the quavering heaven-strung harp of har- mony: Thou hast made man to feel and hear and see Divinely ; made the weak to be the strong ; By thy melodious magic, changed the wrong To changeless right and joyed and wept as we. Worlds listen, lulled and solaced at the spell That folds and holds us soul and body, too, As though thy songs, as loving arms in stress Of sympathy and trust ineffable, Were thrown about us thus by one who knew Our common human need of kindliness. LAUGHING SONG SING us something full of laughter ; Tune your harp, and twang the strings Till your glad voice, chirping after, Mates the song the robin sings : Loose your lips and let them flutter Like the wings of wanton birds, Though they naught but laughter utter, Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. Sing in ringing tones that mingle In a melody that flings Joyous echoes in a jingle Sweeter than the minstrel sings : Sing of Winter, Spring or Summer, Clang of war, or low of herds ; Trill of cricket, roll of drummer Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. LAUGHING SONG Like the lisping laugnter glancing From the meadow brooks and springs, Or the river's ripples dancing To the tune the current sings Sing of Now, and the Hereafter ; Let your glad song, like the birds', Overflow with limpid laughter Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. A GOLDEN WEDDING [DECEMBER 1884] YOUR Golden Wedding ! fif ty years Of comradeship, through smiles and tears !- Through summer sun, and winter sleet, You walked the ways with willing feet ; For> journeying together thus, Each path held something glorious. No winter wind could blow so chill But found you even warmer still In fervor of affection blest In knowing all was for the best ; And so, content, you faced the storm And fared on, smiling, arm-in-arm. But why this moralizing strain Beside a hearth that glows again As on your Wooden wedding day ? When butter-prints and paddles lay 16 A GOLDEN WEDDING Around in dough-bowls, tubs and churns, And all such "woodenish" concerns ; And "woodenish" they are for now Who can afford to keep a cow And pestle some old churn, when you Can buy good butter "golden", too Far cheaper than you can afford To make it and neglect the Lord ! And round your hearth the faces gleam That may recall, as in a dream, The brightness of a time when Tin Came glittering and clanging in And raising noise enough to seize And settle any swarm of bees ! But those were darling times, no doubt, To see the mother pouring out The "tins" of milk, and tilting up The coffee-pot above each cup ; Or, with the ladle from the wall, Dipping and serving mush for all. And all the "weddings", as they came, The "Glass", the "CTiwa", -still the same A GOLDEN WEDDING You see them, till the last ere this, The "Silver", and your wedded bliss Abated not ! for love appears Just silvered over with the years : Silver the grandchild's laugh you hear Silver his hopes, and silver-clear Your every prayer for him, and still Silver your hope, through good and ill Silver and silver everywhere, Bright as the silver of your hair ! But on your Golden Wedding ! Nay ^ What can I give to you to-day Who am too very poor indeed To offer what I so much need ? If gold I gave, I fear, alack ! I'd needs provide you gave it back, To stay me, the long years before I'd stacked and heaped five dollars more ! And so, in lieu and little worse I proffer you this dross of verse The merest tinsel, I admit, But take it I have more of it. 18 A PARTING GUEST WHAT delightful hosts are they Life and Love ! Lingeringly I turn away, This late hour, yet glad enough They have not withheld from me Their high hospitality. So, with face lit with delight And all gratitude, I stay Yet to press their hands and say, "Thanks. So fine a time! Good night." THE OLD DAYS THE old days the far days The ever dear and fair ! The old days the lost days How lovely they were ! The old days of Morning, With the dew-drench on the flowers And apple-buds and blossoms Of those old days of ours. Then was the real gold Spendthrift Summer flung; Then was the real song Bird or Poet sung ! There was never censure then, Only honest praise And all things were worthy of it In the old days. 20 THE OLD DAYS There bide the true friends The first and the best ; There clings the green grass Close where they rest : Would they were here ? No ; Would we were there ! . . . The old days the lost days How lovely they were ! 21 EVEN AS A CHILD CANTON, SEPTEMBER 19, 1901 as a child to whom sad neighbors speak In symbol, saying that his father "sleeps" Who feels their meaning, even as his cheek Feels the first teardrop as it stings and leaps Who keenly knows his loss, and yet denies Its awful import grieves unreconciled, Moans, drowses rouses, with new-drowning eyes Even as a child. Even as a child ; witH empty, aimless hand i Clasped sudden to the heart all hope deserts With tears that blur all lights on sea or land The lip that quivers and the throat that hurts : Even so, the Nation that has known his love Is orphaned now ; and, whelmed in anguish wild, Knows but its sorrow and the ache thereof, Even as a child. 22 THE SOLDIER . THE DEDICATION OF THE SOLDIERS AND SAILORS MONUMENT, INDIANAPOLIS, MAY 15, 1902 THE SOLDIER ! meek the title, yet divine : Therefore, with reverence, as with wild acclaim, We fain would honor in exalted line The glorious lineage of the glorious name : The Soldier. Lo, he ever was, and is, Our Country's high custodian, by right Of patriot blood that brims that heart of his With fiercest love, yet honor infinite. The Soldier within whose inviolate care The Nation takes repose, her inmost fane Of Freedom ever has its guardian there, As have her forts and fleets on land and main : The Heavenward Banner, as its ripples stream In happy winds, or float in languid flow, Through silken meshes ever sifts the gleam Of sunshine on its Sentinel below, 23 THE SOLDIER The Soldier ! Why, the very utterance Is music as of rallying bugles, blent With blur of drums and cymbals and the chants Of battle-hymns that shake the continent ! The thunder-chorus of a world is stirred To awful, universal jubilee, Yet ever through it, pure and sweet, are heard The prayers of Womanhood, and Infancy. Even as a fateful tempest sudden loosed Upon our senses, so our thoughts are blown Back where The Soldier battled, nor refused A grave all nameless in a clime unknown. The Soldier though, perchance, worn, old and gray; The Soldier though, perchance, the merest lad, The Soldier though he gave his life away, Hearing the shout of "Victory," was glad ; Aye, glad and grateful, that in such a cause His veins were drained at Freedom's holy shrine Rechristening the land as first it was, His blood poured thus in sacramental sign 24 THE SOLDIER Of new baptism of the hallowed name "My Country" now on every lip once more And blest of God with still enduring fame. This thought even then The Soldier gloried o'er The dying eyes upraised in rapture there, As, haply, he remembered how a breeze Once swept his boyish brow and tossed his hair, Under the fresh bloom of the orchard-trees When his heart hurried, in some wistful haste Of ecstasy, and his quick breath was wild And balmy-sharp and chilly-sweet to taste, And he towered godlike, though a trembling child! Again, through luminous mists, he saw the skies' Far fields white-tented ; and in gray and blue And dazzling gold, he saw vast armies rise And fuse in fire from which, in swiftest view, The Old Flag soared, and friend and foe as one Blent in an instant's vivid mirage . . . Then The eyes closed smiling on the smiling sun That changed the seer to a child again. THE SOLDIER And, even so, The Soldier slept. Our own ! The Soldier of our plaudits, flowers and tears, O this memorial of bronze and stone His love shall outlast this a thousand years ! Yet, as the towering symbol bids us do, With soul saluting, as salutes the hand, We answer as The Soldier answered to The Captain's high command. 26 HIS HEART OF CONSTANT YOUTH "And I never hear the drums beat that I do not think of him." Major Charles L. Holstein. TURN through his life, each word and deed Now sacred as it is How helped and soothed we are to read A history like his ! To turn the years, in far review, And find him as To-day In orchard-lands of bloom and dew Again a boy at play : The jeweled grass the sumptuous trees And flower and fragrance there, With song of birds and drone of bees And Springtime everywhere: 27 HIS HEART OF CONSTANT YOUTH Turn any chapter that we will, Read any page, in sooth, We find his glad heart owning still The freshness of his youth. With such a heart of tender care He loved his own, and thus His home was, to the loved ones there, A temple glorious. And, ever youthful, still his love Enshrined, all manifold, The people all the poor thereof, The helpless and the old. And little children Ah ! to them His love was as the sun Wrought in a magic diadem That crowned them, everyone. And ever young his reverence for The laws : like morning-dew He shone as counsel, orator, And clear logician, too. 28 HIS HEART OF CONSTANT YOUTH And, as a boy, his gallant soul Made answer to the trill Of battle-trumpet and the roll Of drums that echo still : His comrades as his country, dear They knew, and ever knew That buoyant, boyish love, sincere As truth itself is true : He marched with them, in tireless tramp Laughed, cheered and lifted up The battle-chorus, and in camp Shared blanket, pipe and cup. His comrades ! . . . When you meet again, In anguish though you bow, Remember how he loved you then, And how he loves you now. 29 THE DOCTOR [APRIL 29, 1907] "He took the suffering human race, He read each wound, each weakness clear; And struck his finger on the place, And said: ( Thou ailest here, and here!' " Mattfiew Arnold. WE may idealize the chief of men Idealize the humblest citizen, Idealize the ruler in his chair The poor man, or the poorer millionaire ; Idealize the soldier sailor or The simple man of peace at war with war ; The hero of the sword or fife-and-drum. . . Why not idealize the Doctor some ? The Doctor is, by principle, we know, Opposed to sentiment : he veils all show Of feeling, and is proudest when he hides The sympathy which natively abides 30 THE DOCTOR Within the stoic precincts of a soul Which owns strict duty as its first control, And so must guard the ill, lest worse may come. . . . Why not idealize the Doctor some ? He is the master of emotions he Is likewise certain of that mastery, Or dare he face contagion in its ire, Or scathing fever in its leaping fire ? He needs must smile upon the ghastly face That yearns up toward him in that warded place Where even the Saint-like Sisters' lips grow dumb. Why not idealize the Doctor some ? He wisely hides his heart from you and me He hath grown tearless, of necessity, He knows the sight is clearer, being blind ; He knows the cruel knife is very kind ; Ofttimes he must be pitiless, for thought Of the remembered wife or child he sought To save through kindness that was overcome. Why not idealize the Doctor some ? 31 THE DOCTOR Bear with him, trustful, in his darkest doubt Of how the mystery of death comes out ; He knows he knows, aye, better yet than we, That out of Time must dawn Eternity ; He knows his own compassion what he would Give in relief of all ills, if he could. We wait alike one Master : He will come. Do we idealize the Doctor some ? "OUT OF REACH"? You think them "out of reach," your dead ? Nay, by my own dead, I deny Your "out of reach." Be comforted : Tis not so far to die. O by their dear remembered smiles And outheld hands and welcoming speech, They wait for us, thousands of miles This side of "out-of-reach." 33 MY FOE MY FOE ? You name yourself, then, I refuse A term so dark to designate you by. To me you are most kind and true ; and I Am grateful as the dust is for the dews That brim the dusk, and falter, drip and ooze From the dear darkness of the summer sky. Vex not yourself for lack of moan or cry Of mine. Not any harm, nor ache nor bruise Could reach my soul through any stroke you fain Might launch upon me, it were as the lance Even of the lightning did it leap to rend A ray of sunshine 'twould recoil again. So, blessing you, with pitying countenance, I wave a hand to you, my helpless friend. 34 THE RAINY MORNING THE DAWN of the day was dreary, And the lowering clouds o'erhead Wept in a silent sorrow Where the sweet sunshine lay dead ; And a wind came out of the eastward Like an endless sigh of pain, And the leaves fell down in the pathway And writhed in the falling rain. I had tried in a brave endeavor To chord my harp with the sun, But the strings would slacken ever, And the task was a weary one : And so, like a child impatient And sick of a discontent, I bowed in a shower of teardrops And mourned with the instrument. 35 THE RAINY MORNING And lo ! as I bowed, the splendor Of the sun bent over me, With a touch as warm and tender As a father's hand might be : And, even as I felt its presence, My clouded soul grew bright, And the tears, like the rain of morning, Melted in mists of light. TO EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN THE AUTHORS CLUB RECEPTION, NEW YORK, DECEMBER 6, 1900 IT is a various tribute you command, O Poet-seer and World-sage in one ! The scholar greets you ; and the student ; and The stoic and his visionary son : The painter, harvesting with quiet eye Your features ; and the sculptor, dreaming, too, A classic marble figure, lifted high Where Fame's immortal ones are waiting you. The man of letters, with his wistful face ; The grizzled scientist ; the young A. B. ; The true historian, of force and grace ; The orator, of pure simplicity; The journalist the editor, likewise; The young war-correspondent ; and the old War-seasoned general, with sagging eyes, And nerve and hand of steel, and heart of gold. 37 TO EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN The serious humorist ; the blithe divine ; The lawyer, with that twinkling look he wears ; The bleak- faced man in the dramatic line ; The social lion and the bulls and bears ; These these, and more, O favored guest of all, Have known your benefactions, and are led To pay their worldly homage, and to call Down Heaven's blessings on your honored head. Ideal, to the utmost plea of art As real, to labor's most exacting need, Your dual services of soul and heart Enrich the world alike in dream and deed : For you have brought to us, from out the mine Delved but by genius in scholastic soil, The blended treasures of a wealth divine, Your peerless gift of song your life of toil. THE COUNTRY EDITOR A THOUGHTFUL brow and face of sallow hue, But warm with welcome, as we find him there, Throned in his old misnomered "easy chair," Scrawling a "leader/' or a book-review ; Or staring through the roof for something new With which to lift a wretched rival's hair, Or blow some petty clique in empty air And snap the party-ligaments in two. A man he is deserving well of thee, - So be compassionate yea, pay thy dues, Nor pamper him with thy spring-poetry, But haul him wood, or something he can use ; And promptly act, nor tarry long when he Gnaweth his pen and glareth rabidly. 39 AN EMPTY NEST I FIND an old deserted nest, Half-hidden in the underbrush : A withered leaf, in phantom jest, Has nestled in it like a thrush With weary, palpitating breast. I muse as one in sad surprise Who seeks his childhood's home once more, And finds it in a strange disguise Of vacant rooms and naked floor, With sudden teardrops in his eyes. An empty nest ! It used to bear A happy burden, when the breeze Of summer rocked it, and a pair Of merry tattlers told the trees What treasures they had hidden there. 40 AN EMPTY NEST But Fancy, flitting through the gleams Of youth's sunshiny atmosphere, Has fallen in the past, and seems, Like this poor leaflet nestled here, A phantom guest of empty dreams. HIS LAST PICTURE THE SKIES Have grown troubled and Hreary ; The clouds gather fold upon fold ; The hand of the painter is weary And the pencil has dropped from its hold : The easel still leans in the grasses, And the palette beside on the lawn, But the rain o'er the sketch as it passes Weeps low for the artist is gone. The flowers whose fairy-like features Smiled up in his own as he wrought And the leaves and the ferns were his teachers, And the tints of the sun what they taught ; The low-swinging vines, and the mosses The shadow-filled boughs of the trees, And the blossomy spray as it tosses The song of the bird to the breeze. 42 HIS LAST PICTURE The silent white laugh of the lily He learned ; and the smile of the rose Glowed back on his spirit until he Had mastered the blush as it glows ; And his pencil has touched and caressed them, And kissed them, through breaths of perfume, To the canvas that yet shall have blessed them With years of unwithering bloom. Then come ! Leave his palette and brushes And easel there, just as his hand Has left them, ere through the dark hushes Of death, to the shadowy land, He wended his way, happy-hearted As when, in his youth, his rapt eyes Swept the pathway of Fame where it started, To where it wound into the skies. 43 HENRY IRVING [OCTOBER 13, 1905] Tis Art reclaims him ! By those gifts of hers With which so nobly she endowed his mind, He brought back Shakespeare, in quick grief and glee- Tasting the world's salt tears and sweet ap- plause, For, even as through his master's, so there ran Through all his multitudinous characters Kinship and love and honor of mankind. So all mankind shall grace his memory In musing proudly : Great as his genius was, Great likewise was the man. '44 THE VOICE OF PEACE INDEPENDENCE BELL: INDIANAPOLIS, NOVEMBER 17, 1904 THOUGH now forever still Your voice of jubilee We hear we hear, and ever will, The Bell of Liberty ! Clear as the voice to them In that far night agone Pealed from the heavens o'er Bethlehem, The voice of Peace peals on ! Stir all your memories up, O Independence Bell, And pour from your inverted cup The song we love so well ! As you rang in the dawn Of Freedom tolled the knell Of Tyranny, ring on ring on O Independence Bell ! 45 (THE VOICE OF PEACE Ring numb the wounds of wrong Unhealed in brain and breast ; With music like a slumber-song Lull tearful eyes to rest. Ring ! Independence Bell ! Ring on till worlds to be Shall listen to the tale you tell Of Love and Liberty ! SOME IMITATIONS I POMONA (Madison Caiveiri) OH, the golden afternoon ! Like a ripened summer day That had fallen oversoon In the weedy orchard-way As an apple, ripe in June. He had left his fishrod leant O'er the footlog by the spring Clomb the hill-path's high ascent, Whence a voice, down showering, Lured him, wondering as he went. SOME IMITATIONS Not the voice of bee nor bird, Nay, nor voice of man nor child, Nor the creek's shoal-alto heard Blent with warblings sweet and wild Of the midstream, music-stirred; 'Twas a goddess ! As the air Swirled to eddying silence, he Glimpsed about him, half aware Of some subtle sorcery Woven round him everywhere. Suavest slopes of pleasaunce, sown With long lines of fruited trees Weighed o'er grasses all unmown But by scythings of the breeze In prone swaths that flashed and shone Like silk locks of Faunus sleeked This, that way, and contrawise, Thro' whose bredes ambrosial leaked Oily amber sheens and dyes, Starred with petals purple-freaked. SOME IMITATIONS Here the bellflower swayed and swung, Greenly bel fried high amid Thick leaves in whose covert sung Hermit-thrush, or katydid, Or the glowworm nightly clung. Here the damson, peach and pear ; There the plum, in Tyrian tints, Like great grapes in clusters rare ; And the metal-heavy quince Like a plummet dangled there. All etherial, yet all Most material, a theme Of some fabled festival Save the fair face of his dream Smiling o'er the orchard wall. 49 SOME IMITATIONS II THE PASSING OF A ZEPHYR (Sidney Lanier) UP from, and out of, and over the opulent woods and the plains, Lo! I leap nakedly loose, as the nudest of gods might choose, For to dash me away through the morning dews And the rathe Spring rains Pat and pet the little green leaves of the trees and the grass, Till they seem to linger and cling, as I pass, And are touched to delicate contemporaneous tears of the rain and the dew, That lure mine eyes to weeping likewise, and to laughter, too : For I am become as the balmiest, stormiest zephyr of Spring, With manifold beads of the marvelous dew and the rain to string On the bended itrands of the blossoms, blown And tossed and tousled and overthrown, 50 SOME IMITATIONS And shifted and whirled, and lifted unfurled In the victory of the blossoming Of the flags of the flowery world. Yea, and behold ! and a riotous zephyr, at last, I subside ; I abate ; I pass by ; I am past. And the small, hoarse bass of the bumble-bee Is my requiem-psalm, And I fling me down to a listless, loitering, long eternity Of amiable calm. Ill EF UNCLE REMUS PLEASE TER 'SCUSEN ME I (Joel Chandler Harris) DEY wunce wuz er time which I gwineter tell you 'bout it An' it's easy ter believe it sho'ly ez it is ter doubt it! 5' SOME IMITATIONS So des you pick yer "ruthers" whilse I tell how ole Br'er Rabbit Wunce know de time when he git de fightin' habit. Co'se he ain't no bragger, des a-rippin' an* a-rarin' An' a-darin' all de beestus an' a-des a-double- darin' Sich ez Mr. Jonus Lion, er Sir Mr. Twister Tagger, Er Sister Hisstopottomus, er A'nt Fer jinny Ja'gger ! Yit, des de same, he lay in' low an' know he got de muscle What sho' ter s'prise mos' any size what crowd 'im fer a tussle. But speshully he 'spise de Dawg, an' sight 'er one des make 'im Fergit hisse'f an' run 'em down an' grab 'em up an' shake 'em! An', mo' 'n dat, ef 'twuzn't fer de Dawg-law den ag'in it, He'd des a-kilt off ev'y Dawg dat's chasin' him dis minute ! 52 SOME IMITATIONS IV A RHYME FOR CHRISTMAS IF Browning only were here, This yule-ish time o' the year This mule-ish time o' the year, Stubbornly still refusing To add to the rhymes we've been using Since the first Christmas-glee (One might say) chantingly Rendered by rudest hinds Of the pelt-clad shepherding kinds Who didn't know Song from b- U-double-1's-f oot ! pah ! (Haply the old Egyptian ptah Though I'd hardly wager a baw- Bee or a bumble, for that And that's flat!) But the thing that I want to get at Is a rhyme for Christmas Nay ! nay ! nay ! nay ! not isthmus The t- and the h-sounds covertly are Gnawing the nice auricular 53 SOME IMITATIONS Senses until one may hear them gnar And the terminal, too, for mas is rcms, So that will not do for us. Try for it sigh for it cry for it die for it ! O but if Browning were here to apply for it, He'd rhyme you Christmas He'd make a mist pass Over something o' ruther Or find you the rhyme's very brother In lovers that kissed fast To baffle the moon as he'd lose the /-final In fas-t as it blended with to (mark the spinal Elision tip-dipt as exquisitely nicely And hyper-exactingly sliced to precisely The extremest technical need) : Or he'd twist glass, Or he'd have a kissed lass, Or shake 'neath our noses some great giant fist- mass No matter ! If Robert were here, he could do it, Though it took us till Christmas next year to see through it. SOME IMITATIONS V VAUDEVILLE SKITS i SERENADE AT THE CABIN OH, my little Sadie Sue, I's a-serenadin' you Fer you's de onliest lady-love o' mine ; De White Folk's dance done over, I has still a chune er two Below your winder's mohnin'-glory-vine. Your good ole mammy's gyarden is, fer shore, a ha'nted place, Dis midnight whilse I's cropin' 'mongst de bloom; Yit de moon dah 'bove de chimbly ain' no fairer dan de face What's hidin' 'hind de curtain o' your room. Chorus Den wake, my colored blonde with eyes o' blue, An' lips ez red ez roses renshed with dew; Yo' hair ez fair an' fine Ez de skeins o' June sunshine, My little, light-complected Sadie Sue ! 55 SOME IMITATIONS In de "Gran's" old dinin'-hall, playin' fer de White Folk's ball, I watch deir pick o' ladies ez dey glide, An' says I, "My Sadie Sue she 'ud shorely best you all Ef she 'uz here a-waltzin' by my side !" Den I laugh all to myse'f-like, ez I swipe de twangin' strings An* shet my eyes in sweetest dreams o' you, Fer yo're my heart's own music dat forever beats an' sings My soul's own serenade my Sadie Sue ! Chorus Den wake, my colored blonde with eyes o' blue, An' lips ez red ez roses renshed with dew; Yo' hair ez fair and fine Ez de skeins of June sunshine, My little, light-complected Sadie Sue ! SOME IMITATIONS" VI CHUCK S KOODOOS CHUCK'S allus had de Koodoos bad ! Do what he kin to lose 'em, Dey track dat coon, by sun er moon, Des like dey cain't uxcuse 'im ! An' more he gyaurd 'em off, more hard Hit 'pear-like dat dey press 'im De onliest luck dey 'low ole Chuck Is dis enough to 'stress 'im ! He taken care no matter where He's walkin' 'long de street an' See any ladder leanin' there, Er cross-eyed man he's meetin' Dat eye o' his ketch wher' dey is, An', quick as "scat," Chuck's hittin' De curb outside, an' watch wile-eyed Fust lef '-han' place to spit in ! 57 SOME IMITATIONS He' got toenails o' bats ; an' snails Shet hot in deir shell-houses Wid sealin'-wax ; an' little backs O' turkles in his trouse's : A moleskin'-puY ; an' possum's han' Des ever' charm an' wonder An' barber-chair o' shore hosshair An' hoss-shoe hangin' under ! "An* yit," says Chuck, "I got no luck:- De Koodoos still a-bafflin' Dis po' ole saint what knows he ain't 'Twix' shootin' craps an' rafflin' ! No overcoat ner underwear, Right on de aidge o' winter I's up aginst de wust layout Dey's ever got me inter !" OUR LITTLE GIRU HER HEART knew naught of sorrow, Nor the vaguest taint of sin 'Twas an ever-blooming blossom Of the purity within : And her hands knew only touches Of the mother's gentle care, And the kisses and caresses Through the interludes of prayer. Her baby-feet had journeyed Such a little distance here, They could have found no briars In the path to interfere ; The little cross she carried Could not weary her, we know, For it lay as lightly on her As a shadow on the snow. 59 OUR LITTLE GIRL And yet the way before us O how empty now and drear ! How ev'n the dews of roses Seem as dripping tears for her ! And the songbirds all seem crying, As the winds cry and the rain, All sobbingly,- "We wantwe want Our little girl again !" 60 A GOOD MAN A GOGI. MAN never dies In worthy deed and prayer And helpful hands, and honest eyes, If smiles or tears be there : Who lives for you and me Lives for the world he tries To help he lives eternally. A good man never dies. II Who lives to bravely take His share of toil and stress, And, for his weaker fellows' sake, Makes every burden less, He may, at last, seem worn Lie fallen hands and eyes Folded yet, though we mourn and mourn, A good man never dies. 61 NICHOLAS OBERTING 'A hero of ancient mold is Nicholas Oberting, of Hardentown, Indiana, who, a few days ago, in saving three boys from being gored to death by his infuriated bull, performed a feat of daring comparable only with the valorous deeds of Ro- man gladiators Indianapolis Star, February 25, 1906. SING ! O Voice of Valor, sing ! Sing of Nicholas Oberting ! Giant of the strength of ten, Yet the gentlest of all men. He it was that loved the air, And the green fields everywhere Loved the meadow slopes and rills, And the cattle on the hills Loved all out-o'-doors, and took Off his hatj with reverent look, 62 NICHOLAS OBERTING 'As tHe balmy winds of Spring Waved the peach-bough, blossoming At the orchard edge, where he Paused to mark the minstrelsy Of the daring first redbreast, Whose lilt, at its loveliest, Was not lovelier to hear Than the laughter, ringing near, Of child-voices Truants, three Little stragglers, he could see, Crossing the near pasture-land Loiteringly, hand in hand, Laughing as they came. . . . Until Sudden ran a sickening chill Through the strong man's heart ! . . . He heard Scarce his own voice, afterward, For the maddened, bellowing roar Of the monster beast that bore Down upon the lads. . . . Out rang His quick warning. Then he sprang Forth to meet them, crying, "Run! Straight for me! Come on! Well done!" Praised them cheered them. "Good! Hooray! Now, Red-top, you throw away 63 NICHOLAS OBERTING That cap! but 'don't' And breathless Hung The sentence ; for a root had flung The youngster stunned prone on the ground . . . Then midst a trampling, thund'rous sound, The bellowing beast, with his big bent head, And great horns, white as his eyes were red ! Charged for the lad, as he helpless lay . . ^ There was a leap then ; and they say (For but one boy had swooned away) There was the leap and the laugh of a Man . . And the bravest war of the world began : Pinned by the horns in the Hercules grip Of his master the slavering jaws adrip, The foaming, steaming, sweltering, hot- Mouthed monster raged and charged and fought, But ever the great strong hands were set At their horny leverage, bloody-wet ; And ever steadier pressed the hold, And ever the wild eyes wilder rolled As the thick neck turned, and the great Hulk grew Like an o'er-fed engine, shuddering through 64 NICHOLAS OBERTING Yet the thick neck turned and turned and turned Till the raw tongue shot from the throat and burned The live air foul ; and the beast lurched dead Crunchingly. And the youngsters said That the big man just lay there and cried He was so sorry and satisfied ! THE ROSE-LADY TO THE ROSES I DREAM that you are kisses Allah sent In forms material, that all the earth May taste of you and guess of Heaven's worth, Since it can waste such sweetness with content, Seeing you showered o'er the Battlement By Angel-hands plucked ripe from lips of mirth And flung in lavish clusters, yet no dearth Of rapture for the Anthem ! . . . I have bent Above you, nestled in some low retreat, Pressing your velvet mouths against the dust, And, ever nurturing this old conceit, Have lifted up your lips in perfect trust Against my mouth, nor found them the less sweet For having kissed the dust beneath my feet. OURS LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY, DECEMBER 8, 1906 Read at Banquet in Honor of 'Henry Watterson Upon His Departure for Spain. HERE where of old was heard The ringing, singing word That orator and bard Alike set free To soar, through heights profound, Our land's remotest bound, Till all is holy ground From sea to sea Here still, with voice and pen, ONE cheers the hopes of men And gives us faith again This gifted one We hold here as the guest Most honored loved the best Wisest and worthiest Our Watterson. OURS His spirit is the Seer's For, though he sees and hears Through human doubts and fears, His heart is one With Earth's and the Divine With his home-hearts and mine And the child's heart is thine, Our Watterson ! Give us to touch and praise His worth in subtlest ways, Lest even our fondest gaze He fain would shun Laugh, though a mist appears The glad wine salt with tears Laugh, as we drain it "Here's Our Watterson!" 68 AMERICA SEPTEMBER 14, 1901 Thou, America Messiah of Nations! I IN THE NEED that bows us thus, America ! Shape a mighty song for us America ! Song to whelm a hundred years' Roar of wars and rain of tears 'Neath a world's triumphant cheers : America! America! II Lift the trumpet to thy mouth, America ! East and West and North and South America ! Call us round the dazzling shrine Of the starry old ensign New-baptized in blood of thine, America! America! 69 AMERICA III Dying eyes through pitying mists, America ! See the Assassin's shackled wrists, America ! Patient eyes that turn their sight From all blackening crime and blight Still toward Heaven's holy light America! America! IV High overlooking sea and land, America ! Trustfully with outheld hand, America ! Thou dost welcome all in quest Of thy freedom, peace and rest Every exile is thy guest, America! America! 70 AMERICA Thine a universal love, America ! Thine the cross and crown thereof, America ! Aid us, then, to sing thy worth : God hath builded, from thy birth, The first nation of the earth America! America! A HOOSIER CALENDAR JANUARY BLEAK JANUARY ! Cold as fate, And ever colder ever keener Our very hair cut while we wait By winds that clip it ever cleaner : Cold as a miser's buried gold, Or nether-deeps of old tradition Jeems January! you're a cold Proposition ! FEBRUARY You, February, seem to be Old January's understudy, But play the part too vaudeville^-y, With wind too moist and snow too muddy- You overfreeze and overthaw Your "Hos'ler Jo"-like recitation But hints that you're, at best, a raw Imitation. 72 A HOOSIER CALENDAR MARCH And, March, you've got no friends to spare Warm friends, I mean unless coal-dealers, Or gas-well owners, pipin' where The piper's paid above all spielers ; You are a month, too, of complex Perversities beyond solution A sorto' "loveliest of your sex" Institution ! APRIL But, April, when you kindo' come A-sa'nterin' down along our roadway, The bars is down, and we're at home, And you're as welcome as a show-day ! First thing we know, the sunshine falls Spring-like, and drenches all Creation With that-ere ba'm the poets calls "Inspiration." 73 A HOOSIER CALENDAR MAY And May! It's warmin' jest to see The crick thawed clear ag'in and dancin' Tear-like it's tickled 'most as me A-prancin' 'crosst it with my pants on ! And then to hear the bluebird whet His old song up and lance it through you, Clean through the boy's heart beatin' yet Hallylooya 1 JUNE June 'LI, I jest git doped on June ! The trees and grass all at their greenest The round earth swung 'twixt sun and moon, Jest at its so to say serenest : In country, stars and whipperwills ; In town, all night the boys invadin' Leadin' citizens' winder-sills, Sair-a-nadin*. 74 A HOOSIER CALENDAR JULY Fish still a-bitin' some; but 'most Too hot fer anything but layin' Jest do-less like, and watchin' clo'st The treetops and the squirrels playin' Their tail-tips switched 'bove knot and limb, But keepin' most in sequestration Leavin' a big part to the im- Magination. AUGUST Now when it's August I can tell It by a hunderd signs and over ; They is a mixed ripe-apple-smell And mashed-down grass and musty clover ; Bees is as lazy 'most as me Bee-bird eats 'em gap's his wings out So lazy 'at I don't think he Spits their stings out ! 75 A HOOSIER CALENDAR SEPTEMBER September, you appeal to all, Both young and old, lordly and lowly ; You stuff the hay-mow, trough and stall, Till horse and cow's as roly-poly As pigs is, slopped on buttermilk And brand, shipstuff and 'tater-peelin's- And folks, too, feelin' fine as silk With all their feelin's! OCTOBER If I'd be'n asked for my advice, And thought the thing out, ca'm and sober Sizin' the months all once or twice, I'd la'nch'd the year out with October. . . All Nature then jest veiled and dressed In weddin' gyarments, ornamented With ripe-fruit-gems and kissin' jest New-invented ! A HOOSIER CALENDAR NOVEMBER I'm 'feared November's hopes is few And far between ! Cold as a Monday- Washday, er a lodge-man who You' got to pallbear for on Sunday ; Colder and scolder every day The fixed official time for sighin', A sinkin' state you jest can't stay In, or die in ! DECEMBER December why, of course we grin And bear it shiverin' every minute, Yet warm from time the month rolls in Till it skites out with Christmas in it ; And so, for all its coldest truths And chill, goose-pimpled imperfections, It wads our lank old socks with Youth's Recollections. 77. AH AUTUMNAL TONIC WHAT mystery is it ? The morning as rare As the Indian Summer may bring ! A tang in the frost and a spice in the air That no city poet can sing ! The crimson and amber and gold of the leaves, As they loosen and flutter and fall In the path of the park, as it rustlingly weaves Its way through the maples and under the eaves Of the sparrows that chatter and call. What hint of delight is it tingles me through ? What vague, indefinable joy? What yearning for something divine that I knew When a wayward and wood-roving boy ? Ah-ha ! and O-ho ! but I have it, I say Oh, the mystery brightens at last,- 'Tis the longing and zest of the far, far away, For a bountiful, old-fashioned dinner to-day, With the hale harvest-hands of the past. A HUMBLE SINGER A MODEST singer, with meek soul and heart, Sat, yearning that his art Might but inspire and suffer him to sing Even the simplest thing. And as he sang thus humbly, came a Voice :- "All mankind shall rejoice, Hearing thy pure and simple melody Sing on immortally." 79 THE LITTLE WOMAN MY LITTLE WOMAN, of you I sing With a fervor all divine, For I know the clasp of the hands that cling So closely here in mine. Though the rosy palms I used to press Are faded and worn with care, And tremulous is the old caress That nestles in my hair, Your heart to me is a changeless page ; I have read it bit by bit, From the dawn of love to the dusk of age, And the tale is Holy Writ. Fold your eyes, for the twilight bends As a mother o'er her child Even as when, in the long-lost Then, You bent o'er ours and smiled. . . 80 THE LITTLE WOMAN ( Nay, but I spoke all unaware ! See ! I am kneeling, too, And with mine, dear, is the rose's prayer, With a blur of tears and dew.) But O little woman, I often grieve, As I think of the vanished years And trace the course of the cares that leave Your features dim with tears : I often grieve, for the frowns I wore When the world seemed all untrue, When my hard, proud heart was sick and sore And would not come to you ! I often grieve, as I hold your hand As I hold your hand to-night, That it takes so long to understand The lesson of love aright ! But sing the song that I taught you once, Dear little woman, as then Away far back in the golden months ; Sing me the song again ! 81 THE LITTLE WOMAN For, as under the stars we loved of yore When the nights of love were long, [Your poor, pale lips grow glad once more And I kiss them into song : 'My little woman's hands are fair. r As even the moonHowers be 'When fairies creep in their depths and sleep 'Till the sun leaps out o' the sea. 'And her eyes, they are spheres of light So brighter than stars are they. The brightest day is the darkest night When my little woman's away. For my little woman has ever a tear r And a sigh when I am sad; 'And I have a thousand smiles for her When my little woman is glad. But my little woman is strong and brave, For all of her tears and sighs, Her stanch little heart knows how to behave Whenever the storms arise. 82 THE LITTLE WOMAN My little woman, of you I sing With a fervor all divine, For I know the clasp of the hands that cling So closely here in mine. A SPRING SONG AND A LATER SHE sang a song of May for me, Wherein once more I heard The mirth of my glad infancy The orchard's earliest bird The joyous breeze among the trees New-clad in leaf and bloom, And there the happy honey-bees In dewy gleam and gloom. So purely, sweetly on the sense Of heart and spirit fell Her song of Spring, its influence Still irresistible, Commands me here with eyes ablur To mate her bright refrain, Though I but shed a rhyme for her As dim as Autumn rain. THE CHILDREN OF THE CHILDLESS THE Children of the Childless ! Yours and mine. Yea, though we sit here in the pitying gaze Of fathers and mothers whose fond fingers twine Their children's locks of living gold, and praise With warm, caressing palms, the head of brown, Or crown Of opulent auburn, with its amber floss In all its splendor loosed and jostled down Across The mother-lap at prayer. Yea, even when These sweet petitioners are kissed, and then Are kissed and kissed again The pursed mouths lifted with the worldlier prayer That bed and oblivion spare Them yet a little while Beside their envied elders by the glow Of the glad firelight ; or wresting, as they go, 85 THE CHILDREN OF THE CHILDLESS Some promise for the morrow, to beguile Their long exile Within the wild waste lands of dream and sleep. Nay, nay, not even these most stably real Of children are more loved than our ideal More tangible to the soul's touch and sight Than these our children by Divine birth- right. . . . These these of ours, who soothe us, when we weep, With tenderest ministries, Or, flashing into smiling ecstasies, Come dashing through our tears aye, laughing leap Into our empty arms, in Fate's despite, And nestle to our hearts. O Heaven's delight ! The children of the childless even these! 86 LINCOLN THE BOY O SIMPLE as the rhymes that tell The simplest tales of youth, Or simple as a miracle Beside the simplest truth So simple seems the view we share With our Immortals, sheer From Glory looking down to where They were as children here. Or thus we know, nor doubt it not, The boy he must have been Whose budding heart bloomed with the thought All men are kith and kin With love-light in his eyes and shade Of prescient tears : Because Only of such a boy were made The loving man he was. WHAT TITLE? WHAT TITLE best befits the man We hold our first American ? Or Statesman ; Soldier ; Hero ; Chief, Whose Country is his first belief ; Or sanest, safest Leader ; or True Patriot ; or Orator, Heard still at Inspiration's height, Because he speaks for truth and right : Or shall his people be content With Our Republic's President, Or trust his ringing worth to live In song as Chief Executive ? Nay his the simplest name though set Upon him like a coronet, God names our first American The highest, noblest name The MAN. GENERAL LEW WALLACE FEBRUARY 15, 1905 NAY, Death, thou mightiest of all Dread conquerors thou dreadest chief,- Thy heavy hand can here but fall Light as the Autumn leaf : As vainly, too, its weight is laid Upon the warrior's knightly sword ; Still through the charge and cannonade It flashes for the Lord. In forum as in battlefield His voice rang for the truth the right- Keyed with the shibboleth that pealed His Soul forth to the fight : The inspiration of his pen Glowed as a star, and lit anew The faces and the hearts of men Watching, the long night through. 89 GENERAL LEW WALLACE A destiny ordained divine It seemed to hosts of those who saw His rise since youth and marked the line Of his ascent with awe : From the now-storied little town That gave him birth and worth, behold, Unto this day of his renown, His sword and word of gold. Serving the Land he loved so well Hailed midsea or in foreign port, Or in strange-bannered citadel Or Oriental Court, He honored for his Nation's sake, And loved and honored for his own Hath seen his Flag in glory shake Above the Pagan Throne. 90 THE HOOSIER IN EXILE THE Hoosier in Exile a toast That by its very sound Moves us, at first, to tears almost, And sympathy profound ; But musing for a little space, We lift the glass and smile, And poise it with a royal grace The Hoosier in Exile ! The Hoosier in Exile, forsooth ! For though his steps may roam The earth's remotest bounds, in truth His heart is ever home ! O loyal still to every tie Of native fields and streams, His boyhood friends, and paths whereby He finds them in his dreams ! Though he may fare the thronging maze Of alien city streets, His thoughts are set in grassy ways And woodlands' cool retreats ; 91 THE HOOSIER IN EXILE Forever, clear and sweet above The traffic's roar and din, In breezy groves he hears the dove, And is at peace within. When newer friends and generous hands Advance him ; he returns Due gratefulness, yet, pausing, stands As one who strangely yearns To pay still further thanks, but sighs To think he knows not where, Till like as life with misty eyes He sees his mother there. The Hoosier in Exile ? Ah, well, Accept the phrase, but know The Hoosier heart must ever dwell Where orchard blossoms grow The whitest, apples reddest, and, In cornlands, mile on mile, The old homesteads forever stand "The Hoosier in Exile I" 92 CHRISTINE "Two strangers meeting at a festival; Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall/' Tennyson. MOST quaintly touching, in her German tongue Haply, had he but mastered that as well As she his English, this were not to tell : Touring through her dear Fatherland, the young American first found her, as she sung "Du bist mir nah und dock so fern," while fell Their eyes together, and the miracle Of love and doom was wrought. Her father wrung The lovers from each other's arms forever Forgive him, all forgiving souls that can ! She died that selfsame hour just paused to write Her broken heart's confession thus: "I never Was oh so loving in a young gentleman Than yet I am to you. So ist' Good night." 93 YOU MAY NOT REMEMBER In the deep grave's charmed chamber, Lying tranced in breathless slumber, You may haply not remember. You may not remember whether It was Spring or Summer weather ; But / know we two together At the dim end of the day How the fireflies in the twilight Drifted by like flakes of starlight, Till o'er floods of flashing moonlight They were wave-like swept away. You may not remember any Word of mine of all the many Poured out for you there, though then a Soul inspired spake my love ; But / knew and still review it, All my passion, as with awe it Welled in speech as from a poet Gifted of the gods above. 94 YOU MAY NOT REMEMBER Sleeping here, this hour I grieve in 1 ,; You may not remember even Any kiss I still believe in, Or caress of ecstasy, May not even dream O can't you ? That I kneel here weep here want you - Feign me in your grave, to haunt you, Since you come not back to me ! Vain ! ah, vain is all my yearning As the West's last embers burning Into ashes, slowly turning Ever to a denser gray ! While the fireflies in the twilight Drift about like flakes of starlight, Till o'er wastes of wannest moonlight They are wave-like swept away. 95 THE REST V. K. NATURALIST HE RESTS at last, as on the mother-breast The playworn child at evening lies at rest, For he, a buoyant child, in veriest truth, Has looked on life with eyes of changeless youth : Has loved our green old earth here from the hour Of his first memory of bud and flower Of morning's grassy lawns and dewy trees And orchard-blossoms, singing birds and bees : When all the world about him was a land Elysian, with the mother near at hand : With steadfast gaze of wonder and delight He marked the miracles of day and night : Beheld the kingly sun, in dazzling reign By day; and, with her glittering, glimmering train Of stars, he saw the queenly moon possess Her throne in midmost midnight's mightiness. 96 THE REST All living least of things he ever knew Of mother Earth's he was a brother to: The lone rose by the brook or, under, where The swaying water-lilies anchored there; His love dipped even to the glossy things That walked the waters and forgot their wings In sheer insanity of some delight Known but to that ecstatic parasite. It was enough, thus childishly to sense All works since worthy of Omnipotence As worshipful : Therefor, as any child, He knelt in tenderness of tears, or smiled His gratefulness, as to a playmate glad To share His pleasures with a poorer lad. And so he lived : And so he died? Ah, no, We'll not believe that till he tells us so. A CHRISTMAS GLEE FEIGNED AS FROM ELIZABETHAN COMEDY WITH a hey ! and a hi ! and a hey-ho glee ! O a Christmas glass for a sweet-lipped lass To kiss and pass, in her coquetry So rare ! And the lads all flush save the right one there So rare so rare! With a hey ! and a hi ! and a ho oh ! The Christmas holly and the mistletoe! II With a hey ! and a hi ! and a hey-ho wile ! As he lifts the cup and his wan face up, Her eyes touch his with a tender smile So rare! Then his hands grasp out and her own are there 98 A CHRISTMAS GLEK So rare so rare! With a hey ! and a hi ! and a ho oh ! The Christmas holly and the mistletoe! CHORUS With a hey ! and a hi ! and a hey-ho-ho ! The wind, the winter and the drifting snow! With a hey ! and a hi ! and a ho oh ! The Christmas holly and the mistletoe ! 99 WE MUST BELIEVE "Lord, I believe: help Thou mine unbelief." I WE must believe Being from birth endowed with love and trust Born unto loving; and how simply just That love that faith ! even in the blossom- face The babe drops dreamward in its resting-place, Intuitively conscious of the sure Awakening to rapture ever pure And sweet and saintly as the mother's own, Or the awed father's, as his arms are thrown O'er wife and child, to round about them weave And wind and bind them as one harvest-sheaf Of love to cleave to, and forever cleave. * Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief. 100 WE MUST BELIEVE II WE must believe Impelled since infancy to seek some clear Fulfilment, still withheld all seekers here; For never have we seen perfection nor The glory we are ever seeking for : But we have seen all mortal souls as one Have seen its promise, in the morning sun Its blest assurance, in the stars of night ; The ever-dawning of the dark to light ; The tears down-falling from all eyes that grieve The eyes uplifting from all deeps of grief, Yearning for what at last we shall receive. . . . Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief. Ill WE must believe : For still all unappeased our hunger goes, From life's first waking, to its last repose : The briefest life of any babe, or man Outwearing even the allotted span, 101 WE MUST BELIEVE Is each a life unfinished incomplete : For these, then, of th' outworn, or unworn feet Denied one toddling step O there must be Some fair, green, flowery pathway endlessly Winding through lands Elysian! Lord, receive And lead each as Thine Own Child even the Chief Of us who didst Immortal life achieve. . . . Lord, I believe: Help Thou mine unbelief. 102 LIFE AT THE LAKE THE green below and the blue above ! The waves caressing the shores they love: Sails in haven, and sails afar And faint as the waterlilies are In inlets haunted of willow wands, Listless lovers, and trailing hands With spray to gem them and tan to glove.- The green below and the blue above. The blue above and the green below ! Would that the world were always so! Always summer and warmth and light, With mirth and melody day and night! Birds in the boughs of the beckoning trees, Chirr of locusts and whiff of breeze World-old roses that bud and blow. The blue above and the green below. 103 LIFE AT THE LAKE The green below and the blue above ! Heigh! young hearts and the hopes thereof !- Kate in the hammock, and Tom sprawled on The sward like a lover's picture, drawn By the lucky dog himself, with Kate To moon o'er his shoulder and meditate On a fat old purse or a lank young love. The green below and the blue above. The blue above and the green below ! Shadow and sunshine to and fro. Season for dreams whate'er befall Hero, heroine, hearts and all ! Wave or wildwood the blithe bird sings, And the leaf-hid locust whets his wings Just as a thousand years ago The blue above and the green below. 104 WE MUST GET HOME WE MUST get home! How could we stray like this? So far from home, we know not where it is, Only in some fair, apple-blossomy place Of children's faces and the mother's face We dimly dream it, till the vision clears Even in the eyes of fancy, glad with tears. We must get home! With heart and soul we yearn To find the long-lost pathway, and return ! . , . The child's shout lifted from the questing band Of old folk, faring weary, hand in hand, But faces brightening, as if clouds at last Were showering sunshine on us as they passed. We must get home home to the simple things, The morning-glories twirling up the strings And bugling color, as they blared in blue- And-white o'er garden-gates we scampered through ; The long grape-arbor, with its under-shade Blue as the green-and-purple overlaid. 105 WE MUST GET HOME The rows of sweetcorn and the China beans Beyond the lettuce-beds where, towering, leans The giant sunflower in barbaric pride Guarding the barn-door and the lane outside; The honeysuckles, midst the hollyhocks, That clamber almost to the martin-box. We must get home ! There only may we find The little playmates that we left behind, Some racing down the road ; some by the brook ; Some droning at their desks, with wistful look Across the fields and orchards further still Where laughs and weeps the old wheel at the mill. We must get home ! The willow-whistle's call Trills crisp and liquid as the waterfall Mocking the trillers in the cherry-trees And making discord of such rhymes as these, That know nor lilt nor cadence but the birds First warbled then all poets afterwards. We must get home again we must we must ! '(Our rainy faces pelted to the dust) 106 WE MUST GET HOME Creep back from tHe vain quest througH endless strife To find not anywhere in all of life A happier happiness than blest us then. . * . We must get home we must get Home again ! 107 DIALECT, CHILDISH, AND LIGHTER LINES THE HIRED MAN'S DOG- STORY "Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame Forgathered ance upon a time." Burns. DOGS, I contend, is jes' about Nigh human git 'em studied out. I hold, like us, they've got their own Reasonin' powers 'at's theirs alone Same as their tricks and habits too, Proving by lots o' things they do, That instinct's not the only thing That dogs is governed by, i jing! And I'll say furder, on that line, And prove it, that they's dogs a-plenty Will show intelligence as fine As ary ten men out o' twenty ! Jevver investigate the way Sheep-killin' dogs goes at it hey? Well, you dig up the facts and you Will find, first thing, they's always two Dogs goes together on that spree in THE HIRED MAN'S DOG- STORY O' blood and puore dog-deviltry ! And, then, they always go at night Mind ye, it's never in daylight, When folks is up and wide awake, No self-respectin' dogs '11 make Mistakes o' judgment on that score, And I've knowed fifty head or more O' slaughtered sheep found in the lot, Next morning the old farmer got His folks up and went out to feed, And every livin' soul agreed That all night long they never heerd The bark o' dog ner bleat o' skeerd And racin', tromplin' flock o' sheep A-skallyhootin' roun' the pastur', To rouse 'em from their peaceful sleep To that heart-renderin' disaster ! Well, now, they's actchul evidence In all these facts set forth ; and hence When, by like facts, it has been foun' That these two dogs colloguin' roun' 'At night as thick as thieves by day Don't go together anyway, 112 THE HIRED MAN'S DOG -STORY And, 'pearantly, hain't never met Each other ; and the facts is set On record furder, that these smart Old pards in crime lives miles apart Which is a trick o' theirs, to throw Off all suspicion, don't you know ! One's a town-dog belongin' to Some good man, maybe or to you ! And one's a country-dog, or "jay" As you nickname us thataway. Well, now ! these is the facts I' got (And, mind ye, these is facts not guesses) To argy on, concernin' what Fine reasonin' powers dogs p'sesses. My idy is, the dog lives in The town, we'll say, runs up ag'in The country-dog, some Saturday, Under a' old farm-wagon, say, Down at the Courthouse hitchin'-rack. Both lifts the bristles on their back And show their teeth and growl as though They meant it pleasant-like and low, In case the fight hangs fire. And they THE HIRED MAN*S DOG-STORY Both wag then in a friendly way, The town-dog sayin' : "Seems to me, Last Dimocratic jubilee, I seen you here in town somewhere?" The country-dog says: "Right you air! And right here's where you seen me, too, .Under this wagon, watchin' you !" "Yes," says the town-dog, "and I thought We'd both bear watchin', like as not." And as he yawns and looks away, The country-dog says, "What's your lay ?" The town-dog whets his feet a spell And yawns ag'in, and then says, "Well, Before I answer that Ain't you A Mill Crick dog, a mile or two From old Chape Clayton's stock-farm say?" "Who told you?" says the jay-dog "hey ?" And looks up, real su'prised. "/ guessed" The town-dog says "You tell the rest, How's old Chape's mutton, anyhow ? How many of 'em's ready now How many's ripe enough for use, And how's the hot, red, rosy juice?" "'Mm!" says the country-dog, "I think 114 THE HIRED MAN'S DOG -STORY I sorto' see a little blink O' what you mean." And then he stops And turns and looks up street and lops His old wet tongue out, and says he, Lickin' his lips, all slobbery, "Ad-drat my melts! you're jes' my man! I'll trust you, 'cause I know I can!" And then he says, "I'll tell you jes' How things is, and Chape's carelessness About his sheep,^fer instance, say, To-morry Chapes '11 all be 'way To Sund'y-meetin' and ag'in At night." "At night? That lets us in! 'Better the day' " the town-dog says " 'Better the deed.' We'll pray ; Lord, yes ! May the outpourin' grace be shed Abroad, and all hearts comforted Accordin' to their lights !" says he, "And that, of course, means you and me." And then they both snarled, low and quiet Swore where they'd meet. And both stood by it ! Jes' half-past eight on Sund'y night, Them two dogs meets, the fawn-dog, light O' foot, though five mile' he had spanned O' field, beech-wood and bottom-land. But, as books says, we draw a veil Over this chapter of the tale ! . . . Yit when them two infernal, mean, Low, orn'ry whelps has left the scene O' carnage chased and putt to death The last pore sheep, they've yit got breath Enough to laugh and joke about The fun they've had, while they sneak out The woods-way for the old crick where They both plunge in and wash their hair And rench their bloody mouths, and grin, As each one skulks off home ag'in Jes' innardly too proud and glad To keep theirselves from kindo' struttin', Thinkin' about the fun they'd had When their blame wizzens needed cuttin' ! Dogs is deliber't. They can bide Their time till s'picions all has died. The country-dog don't 'pear to care Fer town no more, he's off somewhere When the folks whistles, as they head 116 THE HIRED MAN'S DOG- STORY The team t'ords town. As I jes' said, Dogs is deliber't, don't forgit! So this-here dog he's got the grit To jes' deprive hisse'f o' town For 'bout three weeks. But time rolls roun' ! Same as they first met : Saturday Same Courthouse hitchrack and same way The team wuz hitched same wagon where The same jay-dog growls under there When same town-dog comes loafin' by, With the most innocentest eye And ginerl meek and lowly style, As though he'd never cracked a smile In all his mortal days ! And both Them dogs is strangers, you'd take oath! Both keeps a-lookin' sharp, to see If folks is watchin' jes' the way They acted that first Saturday They talked so confidentchully. "Well" says the town-dog, in a low And careless tone "Well, whatch you know?" " 'Knoiif?" says the country-dog "Lots more Than some smart people knows that's shore !" And then, in his dog-language, he 117 THE HIRED MAN*S DOG- STORY Explains how slick he had to be When some suspicious folks come roun* A-tryin' to track and run him down Like he'd had anything to do With killin' over fifty head O' sheep ! "Jes' think ! and me" he said, "And me as innocent as you, That very hour, five mile' away In this town, like you air to-day!" "Ah!" says the town-dog, "there's the beauty O' bein' prepared for what may be, And washin' when you've done your duty ! No stain o j blood on you or me Nor wool in our teeth ! Then" says he, "When wicked men has wronged us so, We ort to learn to be forgivin' Half the world, of course, don't know How the other gits its livin' 1" 118 PERVERSITY You have more'n likely noticed, When you didn't when you could, That jes the thing you didn't do Was jes the thing you should. 119 HER POET-BROTHER OH ! what ef little childerns all Wuz big as parunts is ! Nen I'd join pa's Masonic Hall An' wear gold things like his ! An' you'd "receive," like ma, an' be My "hostuss" An', gee-whizz! We'd alluz have ice cream, ef we Wuz big as parunts is ! Wiv all the money mens is got We'd buy a Store wiv that, 1st candy, pies an' cakes, an' not No dry goods 'cept a hat- An'-plume fer you an' "plug" fer me, An* clothes like ma's an' his, 'At on'y ist fit us ef we Wuz big as parunts is ! 120 HER POET-BROTHER An* ef we had a little boy An' girl like me an' you, Our Store'd keep ever' kind o' toy They'd ever want us to ! We'd hire "Old Kriss" to 'tend to be The boss of all the biz An' ist "charge" ever'thing ef we Wuz big as parunts is ! 121 I' GOT TO FACE MOTHER TO-DAY! I' GOT to face Mother to-day, fer a fact ! I' got to face Mother to-day ! And just how I'll dare to, an' how she will act, Is more than a mortal can say ! But F got to face her F got to ! And so Here's a' old father clean at the end of his row! And Pink and Wade's gone to the farm fer her now And I'm keepin' house fer 'em here Their purty, new house and all paid fer ! But how Am / goin' to meet her, and clear Up my actchully he'ppin' 'em both to elope? ('Cause Mother wuz set and wuz no other hope !) 122 l' GOT TO FACE MOTHER TO-DAY ! I don't think it's Wade she's so biased ag'in, But his bisness, a railroadin' man 'At runs a switch-engine, day out and day in, And's got to make hay while he can, It's a dangersome job, I'll admit, but see what A fine- furnished home 'at he's already got ! And PinkWy, the girl wuz just pinin' away, So what could her old father do, When he found her, hid-like, in a loose load of hay, But jist to drive on clean into The aidge of the city, where singular thing! Wade switched us away to the Squire, i jing ! Now a-leavin' me here they're driv off, with a cheer, On their weddin'-trip which is to drive Straight home and tell Mother, and toll her back here And surrender me, dead er alive ! So I'm waitin' here not so blame' overly gay As I wuz, 'cause F got to face Mother to-day 1 123 GRAMPA'S CHOICE FIRST and best of earthly joys, I like little girls and boys : Which of all do I like best? Why, the one that's happiest. 124 A LITTLE LAME BOY'S VIEWS ON 'Scursion-days an* Shows an' Fairs They ain't no bad folks anywheres ! On streetcars same as you Seems like somebody allus sees I'm lame, an' takes me on their knees, An' holds my crutches, too An' asts me what's my name, an' pays My fare theirse'f On all Big Days ! The mob all scrowdges you an' makes Enough o' bluffs, fer goodness-sakes ! But none of 'em ain't mad They're only lettiri on. I know ; An' I can tell you why it's so : They're all of 'em too glad They're ever' one, jes glad as me To be there, er they wouldn't be ! "5 A LITTLE LAME BOY'S VIEWS The man that sells the tickets snoops My "one-er" in, but sorto' stoops An' grins out at me then Looks mean an' business-like an' sucks His big mustache at me an' chucks Too much change out again. He's a smooth citizen, an' yit He don't fool me one little bit ! An' then, inside fer all the jam Folks, seems-like, all knows who I am, An' tips me nods an' winks ; An' even country-folks has made Me he'p eat pie an' marmalade, With bottled milk fer "drinks" ! Folks all's so good to me that I Sometimes I nearly purt'-near' cry. An' all the kids, high-toned er pore, Seems better than they wuz before, An' wants to kindo' "stand In" with a feller see him through ;I26 & LITTLE LAME BOY'S VIEWS The 'free lay-out an' sideshows, too, An' do the bloomin' "grand" ! On 'Scursion-days an' Shows an' Fairs- They ain't no bad folks anywheres! 127 RABBIT I S'POSE it takes a feller 'at's ben Raised in a country-town, like me, To 'predate rabbits ! . . . Eight er ten Bellerin' boys and two er three Yelpin' dawgs all on the trail O' one little pop-eyed cottontail ! 'Bout the first good fall o' snow So's you kin track 'em, don't you know* Where they've run, and one by one Hop 'em up and chase 'em down And prod 'em out of a' old bresh-pile Er a holler log they're a-hidin' roun', Er' way en-nunder the ricked cord-wood Er crosstie-stack by the railroad track 'Bout a mile Out o' sight o' the whole ding town ! . Well ! them's times 'at I call good ! 128 RABBIT Rabbits ! w'y, as my thoughts goes back To them old boyhood days o' mine, I kin sic him now and see "Old Jack" A-plowin' snow in a rabbit-track And a-pitchin' over him, head and heels, Like a blame' hat-rack, As the rabbit turns fer the timber-line Down the County Ditch through the old corn- fields. . . . Yes, and I'll say right here to you, Rabbits that boys has earnt, like that Skinned and hung fer a night er two On the old back-porch where the pump's done froze Then fried 'bout right, where your brekfust's at, With hot brown gravy and shortenin' bread. Rabbits, like them er I ort to a' said, I s'pose, Rabbits like those Ain't so p'ticalar pore, I guess, Fer eatin' purposes ! 129 A VERY TALL BOY THE ONE LONE LIMERICK OF UNCLE SIDNEY'S SOME credulous chroniclers tell us Of a very tall youngster named Ellis, Whose Pa said, "Ma-ri-er, If Bubb grows much higher, He'll have to be trained up a trellis." 130 THINKIN' BACK I'VE ben thinkin' back, of late, S'prisin' ! And I'm here to state I'm suspicious it's a sign Of age, maybe, er decline Of my faculties, and yit I'm not feelin' old a bit Any more than sixty-four Ain't no young man any more ! Thinkin' back 's a thing 'at grows On a feller, I suppose Older 'at he gits, i jack, More he keeps a-thinkin' back ! Old as old men git to be, Er as middle-aged as me, THINKIN' BACK Folks '11 find us, eye and mind Fixed on what we've left behind Rehabilitatin'-like Them old times we used to hike Out barefooted fer the crick, 'Long 'bout Aprile first to pick Out some "warmest" place to go In a-swimmin' Ooh! my-oh! Wonder now we hadn't died ! Grate horseradish on my hide Jes' a-thinkin' how cold then That-'ere worter must 'a' ben! Thinkin' back W'y, goodness me ! I kin call their names and see Every little tad I played With, er fought, er was afraid Of, and so made him the best Friend I had of all the rest ! Thinkin' back, I even hear Them a-callin', high and clear, Up the crick-banks, where they seem Still hid in there like a dream And me still a-pantin' on 132 The green pathway they have gone ! Still they hide, by bend er ford Still they hide but, thank the Lord, (Thinkin' back, as I have said), I hear laughin' on ahead! 133 NAME US NO NAMES NO MORE SING, oh, rarest of roundelays ! Sing the hilarity and delight Of our childhood's gurgling, giggling days ! When our eyes were as twinkling-keen and bright And our laughs as thick as the stars at night, And our breasts volcanoes of pent hoo-rays ! When we grouped together in secret mirth And sniggered at everything on earth But specially when strange visitors came And we learned, for instance, that their name was Fishback or Mothershead or Philpott or Dalrymple or Fullenwider or Applewhite or Hunnicutt or Tubbs or Oldshoe ! " 'Oldshoe!' jeminy-jee!" thinks we "Hain't that a funny name! tee-hee-hee !" Barefoot racers from everywhere, We'd pelt in over the back-porch floor For "the settm'-room," and cluster there Like a clot of bees round an apple-core, 134 NAME US NO NAMES NO MORE And sleeve our noses, and pinafore Our smearcase-mouths, and slick our hair, And stare and listen, and try to look Like "Agnes" does in the old school-book, Till at last we'd catch the visitor's name, Reddinhouse, Lippscomb, or Burlingame, or Winkler or Smock or Tutewiler or Daubenspeck or Throckmorton or Rubottom or Bixler " 'Bixler I' jeminy-jee!" thinks we "Hain't that a funny name! tee-hee-hee I" Peace ! Let be ! Fall away ! Fetch loose I- We can't have fun as we had fun then! Shut up, Memory ! what's the use ? When the girls and boys of 8 and 10 Are now well, matronly, or old men, And Time has (so to say) "cooked our goose!" But ah ! if we only could have back The long-lost laughs that we now so lack And so vainly long for, how we could Naturely wake up the neigh-ber-/&00d, 135 NAME US NO NAMES NO MORE over the still heterogenious names ever un- rolling from the endless roster of ortho- graphic actualities, such names for fur- ther instance of good faith simply such names as Vanderlip or Funkhouser or Smoot or Galbreath or Frybarger or Dinwiddie or Bouslog or Puterbaugh or Longnecker or Hartpence or Wig- gins or Pangborn or Bowersox " Bower so x" 7 Gee! But alas! now we Taste salt tear sin our "tee-hee-heel" 136 THE RAGGEDY MAN ON CHILDREN CHILDERN take 'em as they run You kin bet on, ev'ry one ! Treat 'em right and reco'nize Human souls is all one size. Jevver think? the world's best men Wears the same souls they had when They run barefoot 'way back where All these little childern air. Heerd a boy, not long ago, Say his parents sassed him so, He'd correct 'em, ef he could, Then be good ef they'd be good. 137 LIZABUTH-ANN ON BAKIN'-DAY OUR Hired Girl, when it's bakin'-day She's out o' patience allus, An' tells us "Hike outdoors an' play, An' when the cookies 's done," she'll say, "Land sake ! she'll come an' call us !" An' when the little doughbowl 's all 1st heapin'-full, she'll come an' call Nen say, "She ruther take a switchin' Than have a pack o' pesky childern Trackin' round the kitchen!" 138 "MOTHER" I'M gittin' old I know, It seems so long ago So long sence John was here ! He went so young ! our Jim J S as old now 'most as him, Close on to thirty year' ! I know I'm gittin' old I know it by the cold, From time 'at first frost flies. Seems like sence John was here Winters is more severe ; And winter I de-spise! And yet it seems, some days, John's here, with his odd ways . . . Comes soon-like from the corn- Field, callin' "Mother" at Me like he called me that Even 'fore Jim was born ! 139 When Jim come La ! how good Was all the neighborhood ! And Doctor ! when I heerd Him joke John, kind o' low, And say : Yes, folks could go Pa needn't be afeard ! When Jim come, John says-'e A-bendin' over me And baby in the bed And jes us three, says-'e 'Our little family!" And that was all he said . . . And cried jes like a child ! Kissed me again, and smiled, 'Cause I was cryin' too. And here I am again A-cryin', same as then Yet happy through and through ! The old home's most in mind And joys long left behind . . . Jim's little h'istin' crawl 140 "MOTHER" Acrost the floor to where John set a-rockin' there . . . (I'm gittin 9 old -That's all!)' I'm gittin' old no doubt [(Healthy as all git-out!) But, strangest thing I do, I cry so easy now I cry jes anyhow The fool-tears wants me to I But Jim he won't be told 9 At "Mother" 's gittin' old! . , . Hugged me, he did, and smiled This morning, and bragged "shore?' He loved me even more Than when he was a child ! That's his way ; but ef John Was here now, lookin' on, He'd shorely know and see : "But, 'Mother'," s'pect he'd say, "S'pose you air gittin' gray, You're younger yet than me!" 14* "MOTHER" I'm gittin' old, because Our young days, like they was, Keeps comin' back so clear, 'At little Jim, once more, Comes h'istin' 'crost the floor Fer John's old rockin'-cheer ! O beautiful! to be A-gittin' old, like me ! . . . Hey, Jim! Come in now, Jim! Your supper's ready, dear! (How more, every year, He looks and acts like him!) 142 WHAT LITTLE SAUL GOT, CHRISTMAS Us PARENTS mostly thinks our own's The smartest childern out! But Widder Shelton's little Saul Beats all I know about ! He's weakly-like in p'int o' health, But strong in word and deed And heart and head, and snap and spunk, And allus in the lead ! Comes honest by it, fer his Pa Afore he passed away He was a leader (Lord, I'd like To hear him preach to-day!) He led his flock ; he led in prayer Fer spread o' Peace and when Nothin' but War could spread it, he Was first to lead us then ! So little Saul has grit to take Things jes' as they occur; And Sister Shelton's proud o' him As he is proud o' her ! 143 WHAT LITTLE SAUL GOT, CHRISTMAS And when she "got up" jes' fer him And little playmates all A Chris'mus-tree they ever'one Was there but little Saul. Pore little chap was sick in bed Next room ; and Doc was there, And said the childern might file past, But go right back to where The tree was, in the settin'-room. And Saul jes' laid and smiled Ner couldn't nod, ner wave his hand, It hurt so Bless the child 1 r And so they left him there with Doc And warm tear of his Ma's . . . Then suddent-like high over all Their laughture and applause They heerd : "I don't care what you git On your old Chris'mus-tree, ^ 'Cause I'm got somepin' you all hain't I'm got the pleurisy !" 1144 GOLDIE GOODWIN MY old Uncle Sidney he says it's a sign All over the WorF, an' ten times out of nine, He can tell by the name of a child ef the same Is a good er bad youngun ist knows by their name ! So he says, "It's the vurry best sign in the Worl' That Goldie Goodwin is a good little girl," An' says, "First she's gold then she's good an' behold, Good's 'bout '\eventy-hunnerd times better than gold!" 145 SYMPTOMS I'M NOT a-workin' now ! I'm jes' a-layin' round A-lettin' other people plow. I'm cumberin' the ground ! . . . I jes' don't keer! I've done my sheer O' sweatin'! Anyhow, In this dad-blasted weather here, I'm not a-workin' now! The corn and wheat and all Is doin' well enough ! They' got clean on from now tel Fall To show what kind o' stuff 'At's in their own dad-burn backbone ; So, while the Scriptur's 'low Man ort to reap as he have sown I'm not a-workin' now ! 146 SYMPTOMS The grass en-nunder these- Here ellums 'long "Old Blue," And shadders o' the sugar-trees, Beats farmin' quite a few ! As feller says, I ruther guess I'll make my comp'ny-bow And snooze a few hours more er less. I'm not a-workin' now ! BUB SAYS THE moon in the sky is a custard-pie, An' the clouds is the cream pour'd o'er it, An' all o' the glittering stars in the sky Is the powdered-sugar for it. JOHNTS he's proudest boy in town 'Cause his Mommy she cut down His Pa's pants fer Johnts an' there Is 'miff left fer Another pair 1 ONE time, when her Ma was gone, Little Elsie she put on All her Ma's fine clothes an' black Grow-grain-silk, an' sealskin-sack; Nen while she wuz flouncin' out In the hall an' round about, 148 BUB SAYS Some one knocked, an' Elsie she Clean forgot an' run to see Who's there at the door an' saw Mighty quick it wuz her Ma. But ef she ain't saw at all, She'd a-knowed her parasol ! GRAN'PAS an' Gran'mas is funniest folks ! Don't be jolly, ner tell no jokes, Tell o' the weather an' frost an' snow O' that cold New Year's o' long-ago ; An' then they sigh at each other an' cough An* talk about suddently droppin' off. 149 THE POOR STUDENT WITH SONG elate we celebrate The struggling Student wight, Who seeketh still to pack his pate With treasures erudite; Who keepeth guard and watch and ward O'er every hour of day, Nor less to slight the hours of night, He watchful is alway. Though poor in pence, a wealth of sense He storeth in excess With poverty in opulence, His needs wax never less : His goods are few, a shelf or two Of classics, and a chair A banjo with a bird's-eye view Of back-lots everywhere. In midnight gloom, shut in his room, His vigils he protracts, E'en to the morning's hectic bloom, Accumulating facts : 150 THE POOR STUDENT And yet, despite or wrong or right, He nurtureth a ban, He hath the stanchless appetite Of any hired man. On Jason's fleece and storied Greece He feeds his hungry mind ; Then stuffs himself like a valise With "eats" of any kind : With kings he feigns he feasts, and drains The wines of ages gone Then husks a herring's cold remains And turns the hydrant on. In Trojan mail he fronts the gale Of ancient battle-rout, When, 'las the hour ! his pipe must fail, And his last "snipe" smush out Nor pauses he, unless it be To quote some cryptic scroll And poise a sardine pensively O'er his immortal soul. UNCLE SIDNEY'S RHYMES LITTLE Rapacity Greed was a glutton : He'd eat any meat, from goose-livers to mutton ; All fowl, flesh, or sausage with all savors through it You never saw sausage stuffed as he could do it ! His nice mamma owned, "O he eats as none other Than animal kind ;" and his bright little brother Sighed, pained to admit a phrase non-eulogistic, "Rap eats like a pardon me Cannibalistic." "He eats like a boor" said his sister "a shame- less Plebeian, in sooth, of an ancestry nameless !" "He eats," moaned his father, despairingly placid And hopeless, "he eats like he eats like an acid!" 152 'BLUE-MONDAY" AT THE SHOE SHOP [IN THE EARLY SEVENTIES] OH, if we had a rich boss Who liked to have us rest, With a dime's lift for a benchmate Financially distressed, A boss that's been a "jour." himself And ain't forgot the pain Of restin' one day in the week, Then back to work againe ! Chorus Ho, it's hard times together, We've had J em, you and I, In all kinds of iveather, Let it be wet or dry; But I'm bound to earn my livelihood Or lay me down and die! 153 "BLUE-MONDAY" AT THE SHOE SHOP Poverty compels me To face the snow and sleet, For poor wife and children Must have a crust to eat. The sad wail of hunger It would drive me insane, If it wasn't for Blue-Monday When I git to work againe ! Chorus Ho, it's hard times together, We've had 'em, you and I, In all kinds of weather, Let it be wet or dry; But I'm bound to earn my livelihood Or lay me down and die ! Then it's stoke up the stove, Boss, And drive off the damps : Cut out me tops, Boss, And lend me your clamps ; Pass us your tobacky Till I give me pipe a start. . . Lor', Boss ! how we love ye For your warm kynd heart ! 154 Chorus Ho, it's hard times together, We've had 'em, you and I, In all kinds of weather, Let it be wet or dry; But I'm bound to earn my livelihood Or lay me down and die! 155 THE THOUGHTS OF YOUTH THE BOYS' THE lisping maid, In shine and shade Half elfin and half human, We love as such Yet twice as much Will she be loved as woman. THE GIRLS' The boy we see, Of two or three Or even as a baby, We love to kiss For what he is, Yet more for what he may be. 156 IT'S GOT TO BE "WHEN it's got to be," like I always say, As I notice the years whiz past, And know each day is a yesterday, When we size it up, at last, Same as I said when my boyhood went And I knowed we had to quit, "It's got to be, and it's gain' to be !" So I said "Good-by" to it. It's got to be, and it's goin' to be ! So at least I always try To kind o' say in a hearty way, "Well, it's got to be. Good-by!" The time just melts like a late, last snow, When it's got to be, it melts ! But I aim to keep a cheerful mind, Ef I can't keep nothin' else ! I knowed, when I come to twenty-one, That I'd soon be twenty-two, So I waved one hand at the soft young man, And I said, "Good-by to you!" 157 IT'S GOT TO BE It's 'got to b"e, and it's 'goin 9 to bV! So at least I always try To kind o' say, in a cheerful way, "Well, it's got to be. Good-by!" They kep' a-goin', the years and years, Yet still I smiled and smiled, For I'd said "Good-by" to my single life, And I had a wife and child : Mother and son and the father one, Till, last, on her bed of pain, She jes' smiled up, like she always done,- And I said "Good-by" again. It's got to be, and it's goin' to be ! So at least I always try To kind o' say, in a humble way, "Well, it's got to be. Good-by!" And then my boy as he growed to be Almost a man in size, Was more than a pride and joy to me, With his mother's smilin' eyes. IT'S GOT TO BE He gimme the slip, when the War broke out, And followed me. And I Never knowed^till the first fight's end . . . I found him, and then, . . . "Good-by." It's got to be, and it's goiri to be ! So at least I always try To kind o' say, in a patient way, "Well, it's got to be. Good-by!" I have said, "Good-by ! Good-by ! Good-by !" With my very best good will, All through life from the first, and I Am a cheerful old man still : But it's got to end, and it's goin' to end ! And this is the thing I'll do, With my last breath I will laugh, O Death, And say "Good-by" to you! . . . It's got to be ! And again I say, When his old scythe circles high, I'll laugh of course, in the kindest way, As I say "Good-by ! Good-by !" 159 HOOSIER SPRING-POETRY WHEN ever'thing's a-goin' like she's, got-a-goin' now, The maple-sap a-drippin', and the buds on ever' bough A-sorto' reachin' up'ards all a-trimblin', ever' one, Like 'bout a million brownie-fists a-shakin' at the sun! The childern wants their shoes off 'fore their breakfast, and the Spring Is here so good-and-plenty that the old hen has to sing! When things is goin' thisaway, w'y, that's the sign, you know, That ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go! Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go! Old Winter's up and dusted, with his dratted frost and snow 160 HOOSIER SPRING-POETRY The ice is out the crick ag'in, the freeze is out the ground, And you'll see faces thawin' too ef you'll jes look around ! The bluebird's landin' home ag'in, and glad to git the chance, 'Cause here's where he belongs at, that's a settled circumstance ! And him and mister robin now's a-chunin' fer the show. Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go! The sun ain't jes' p'tendin' now! The ba'm is in the breeze The trees'll soon be green as grass, and grass as green as trees ; The buds is all jes eechin', and the dogwood down the run Is bound to bust out laughin' 'fore another week / is done; The bees is wakin', gap'y-like, and fumblin' fer their buzz, 161 HOOS1ER SPRING-POETRY A-thinldn', ever-wakefuler, of other days that wuz, When all the land wuz orchard-blooms and clover, don't you know. . . . Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go! 162 THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ This book is due on the last DATE stamped below. To renew by phone, call 429-2756 Books not returned or renewed within 1 4 days after doe date are subject to billing. Series 2373 3 2106 00865 0811 ul (Bttcr