Back Country Poems

‘ T O ALL me n a n d wome n wh o a r e fo r

t u n at e e n o u h t o v e b a c k i n t h e c o u n t r g li y ,

“ th e s e B a c k C o u nt r y P o e ms a r e d e d i c at e d by

A TH U O R .

C o r i h 1 8 2 b P o e r P u b l rs h i n p y g t , 3 , y t t g

’ ‘ Ti s 720 5 Me r ea i es l s i n er g g , W/z o fr i es Z/ze Zof l i es i f/zem es

‘ H e i s Me i r i t e o ér i ii er j y g ,

Wee l ei /s li i s s i m /es f d r ea m ﬁ s .

H e i s Me r ea fes i e el g p ,

Wee wi l l r en o u n ce a l l a r t ,

‘ A n d ta ke ki s k ea r i m i d s /z o zo i f

‘ T0 ever y o tker /i ea r i

W/z o wr i tes 7m [ea r n ed r i dd l e ,

‘ B i t e s i n s ki s s i m /es z r i m e g ﬁ ,

‘ Ta ke-s li i s k ea r i s Zr i i i g s f ar a

n d l a s ki s ea s i es i me A p y l l . TABLE OF CONTENTS.

P A G E DEDICATION D EDICATORY POEM T H E VO LU NT E E R O RGANIST T HE U N CANOONU C MOUNTAINS T HE R AILROAD T HROUGH THE FARM T HE GRAVE WITHIN THE G LEN

BOBO LINK PHILOSOPHY . T H E T O LLBRIDGE KEEPER T HE R OAD T o BOSTON W’ ’ “ E N M E LINDY T O L ME YE S . NE W YEAR R IGHT E OU SNE ss T HE PATH T HROUGH THE WOOD JIM ’ S FUTURE A CHILD ’ S QUESTION PATHS T HE MILKING OF THE Co w MEMORIAL DAY T H E BURSTING OF THE BOOM T HE CARVEN NAME

’ T HE E ASTER—MAIDEN S H YMN OF PRAISE

’ JOHN B IL L INGT ON S JOURNEY SPRING P OT E R Y T H E A GE OF L IGHTNING T HE FAc —WORK MAIDEN BOSTON AND G LORY T H E INVENTOR

’ T H E A UCTIONEER S G IPT

’ T H E A GRICULTURAL E DITOR S POEM T HE QUESTION T HE DIPPER AND THE SEA T H E WAY TO SL E E PT OWN MY A NARCHIST BOARDER T H E SONG THAT SILAS S U NG T H E POET AT PLAY

’ T HEY DON T MAKE CONNECTIONS A FATAL DISEASE T HE MEN WHO MISS THE T RAIN T H E SONGS OF THE CORN T H E BROOK BENEATH THE SNOW N o H OPE FOR E NGLISH L ITERATURE

T H E O L D MAN SINGS . T HE T URNPIKE R OAD WHERE THE SUN G OES DOWN

H U L L o I

T WO KINDS OF M EN COLUM BUS FATHER ’ S JOURNEY No FOREIGNERS NEED A PPLY

’ ’ STAN U P AN G IT H IT FAM ILY FINANCIE R IN G U NCLE E BEN ’ S CONSERVATISM T wo FRIENDS E MERSON CORRECTED

’ T HE E LDER S SERMON SHOR T E M SHY AND H ERBERT SPENCER SOMETIM E O R U T H E R WAITING FOR THE MAI L PETER ’ S QUESTIONS T HE L AND OF THE L E FT

T H E SIL L ICKM AN

T H E PIONEER

WOODCHU CKING DIVORCE A N U NAMBITIOUS MAN T HE U NPARDONA BLE SIN A FALL FROM G RACE T HE T RUNDLE BED V ALLEY

’ G OD—B E—G LORIFIED JONES MORTGAGE

’ T HE QUARTETTE S A NTHEM . H E WANTED T o KNOW A G REAT CONTROVERSIALIST T HE SPARE R OOM E NOCH AND CYRUS AND JERRY AND

’ T HE GOVERNOR S FATHER INGIN SUMMER

CHOR E s

T E D AND T OM T HE INKSTAND BATTLE SHE T ALKED T HE R AIL A ROUND TH E JAIL T HE L AND OF G IT —T HARE T H E CALF ON THE L AWN

’ SHO R T E M S QUESTION

’ T ELLIN WHAT T HE BABY L ID H US BAND AND H EATHEN T HE R ATTLE OF THE D OLLAR T HE L AND OF NE VE R WAS A PROSPEROUS COUPLE H E CAME T o STAY SEBASTIAN MOREY ’ S POEM T HE SHAPE OF THE SKULL T HEY SLANT IN THAT DIRECTION T H E H EAD AND THE H EART T HE T ARIFF FIE ND

’ T HE PRINCE S BOW AND A RROWS DROP YOUR BUCKET WHERE YOU A R E T ' TA B LE OF COA T E YVT S .

MATILDA ’ S AND NATURE ’ S SPRING CLEANING T HE MAN WHO BRINGS U P THE R EAR WHEN THE L EAVES T URN R E D U NCLE SET H ON THE CZ AR T HEN A GIN T HE VOICE NO SHOW

T HE G L A B B E R GA ST IKONIA K

SWEETS FOR THE SWEET No BEGGARS OR PEDLERS A LLOWED PO EMS BY SPECIALISTS T HINGS THAT DIDN ’ T O CCUR A N E CONOM ICAL MAN

’ SHAKESPEARE S G HOST T o IGNATIUS DONNELLY H OT WEATHER PHILOSOPHY L INES A G LANCE BEHIND AND A HEAD T WO SONGS T WO PRAYERS T HE BABY KING OF SPAIN WHEN SHAKESPEARE SLINGS H IMSELF T HE R EADY MADE MAN WALT WHITMAN A T RAGIC E ND T HE G R ASSVAL E R AILROAD T HE COSMIC POEM

LIST OF IL US RA I L T T ONS.

P A G E PORTRAIT OF A UTHOR

T H E V OLUNTEER ORGANIST

T HE MILKING OF T HE COW

T H E CARVEN NAM E

’ T H E A UCTIONEER S G IFT

T H E MEN WHO MISS THE T RAIN

” TTU L L O !

T H E U NPARDONABLE SIN

T H E CALF ON THE L AWN No SHOW

T WO PRAYERS

WALT WHITMAN .

BAC K C O UNTRY P O EMS .

TH E VOL UJVT E E R OR GA N I S Z

’ H E gret big C hurch wu z crowde d full u v broadcloth a n

u v S ilk ,

’ ’ ’ An satins rich a s cream thet grows on our 0 1 brindle s milk

’ l - Shined boots , bi ed shirts , stiff dickeys , an stove pipe hats

were there ,

’ ’ ’ An d o o d s ith t r o u se r l o o n s so tight they couldn kneel in

prayer .

his o o l it The elder in p p high , said , as he slowly riz

’ ’ O u r r o o m a ti z organist is kep to hum , laid up ith ,

’ ’ a s we h e V su b sti to o t An no , as brothe r Moore ain t he re ,

’ ’ Will some u n in the c o n ge r ga ti o n be so kind s to vol u nteer ?

’ a - - An then red nosed , drunken tramp , of low toned , rowdy

style ,

’ ’ G i n t e r d u c t r ive an y hiccup , an then stagge re d up the aisle ;

’ ’ T n c r e s i n he thro the holy atmosphere there p a sense e r ,

’ ’ ’ An thro thet air e r sanctity the odor u v o l gin . I VOL T E O A I S T 4 THE UN E R R G N .

’ T n D a ll he eacon Purin ton he yelled , his tee th sot o n edge

’ T i s u r fa n e s G o d I W sa k e r l e e I h man p the house e r y, this is g

’ ’ The tramp didn hear a word he said , but slouched ith

’ stumblin feet ,

’ ’ ’ An sprawled an staggered up the steps , an gained the organ

seat .

’ ’ ’ H a e wr i n . then went p thro the keys , an soon there riz a strain

T t l ec tr if he se e med to j est bulge out the heart , an y the brai n ; An ’ then he slappe d down on th e thing ’ ith hands an ’ head

’ an knees ,

e - hi h l ﬂ H slam d ashe d s u l body down k e r o p upon the keys .

’ ’ swe e i n The organ roared the music ﬂood went p high an dry,

’ l t sk swelled into the rafte rs , an bulged out into the y,

’ ’ ’ ’ 0 1 S The church hook an staggered , an see med to ree l an

sway ,

’ ” ’ An the e l d e r shoute d G lory I an I yelled out Hooray I

’ Ou r An then he trie d a tender strain thet melte d in ears , T he t brought up blessed me mories an ’ drenche d ’ em down

’ ith tears ;

’ ’ ’ We u v o l i T a bb An dreamed t me kitchens , ith y o n the mat ,

’ ’ ’ ’ U V I home an luv an baby days , an mother, an all that

’ — An then he struck a streak u v hope a song fro m souls forgiven ’ T t - a u v si n u v he burst from prison b rs , an stormed th e gates heave n ,

’ m o r n i n - The stars they sung togethe r, no soul wuz le ft

alone ,

’ We G o d I felt th e universe wuz safe , an wuz on his throne VOL U/VT E E R OA’ GA AU S THE T. 1 5

’ ’ u v An the n a wail deep despair an darkness come again ,

’ An long black crape h ung o n the doors u v all the homes u v

N o n O u v luv, no light , no j oy , hope , no songs glad delight ,

’ ’ An then the tramp , he staggere d down an reeled into the night I

’ ’ hi s But we knew he d tol story , though he never spoke a

word ,

’ An it wuz the saddest story thet our ears hed ever heard ;

’ ’ H e h e d his wu z tol own life history, an no eye dry

thet day ,

’ ’ W e n the elder rose an simply said My brethren , le t us ” pray . N C N TA L/V TH E UN CA N O O U U S .

HE Y stood the re in th e distance , myste rious and lone , E ac h with a h a zy vapor above its towering do me T hey stood like barriers betwe en the unknown and the

known ,

The U n c a n o o n u c Mountains wh ich I used to se e from home .

An d a wa s wa s far beyond the mount ins , I told , the world wide , And in fancy on the thither side it was my wont to roam , I saw the glorie s of the world upon the othe r side O f the U n c a n o o n u c Mountains which I used to se e fro m

home .

U n c a n o o n u c s On this side th e was an old , familiar scene , But f/ze} we re burnished pillars On which rainbows used to rest , O n this side th e U n c a n o o n u c s a l l was commonplace and m ean T/i ey we re red with sunset splendor at the threshold of the

West . T hey were Mountains of E nchantment that sto od guard at th e frontier

’ O f i the Bo rde rland of Mystery , bathe d in twilight s cr mson

foam .

And I longed to reach their summits , and pass on without

a a fe r, Through the U n c a n o o n u c Mountains which I use d to s e e

fro m home .

U n c a n o o n u c s e fa r I have passed the , and have travell d away Through the Borderland o f Myste ry upon a n e ndless quest ,

U n c a n o o n u c s But other , glimmering in the twilight gray , W Still lift their h a zy summits at the threshold of the est . T N CA N O ON U C M O TA I S HE U UN N . 1 7

One misty mountain ove rpasse d upon the march o f time ,

Another summit breaks in View , and onward still I roam

m e Another mountain in the mist which beckons to climb , L ike the U n c a n o o n uc Mount ains which I used to see from

home .

T hough beyond the U n c a n o o n u c s all th e glories that I seek

Fail to fashion to realities before my wistful eyes , — I still will chase the V ision see her standing on the peak

f t n c a n o o n u c O tha other U towering in the western skies .

I grasp my mountai n - climbing staff there yet is ample time For some other U n c a n o o n u c ever lifts its distant dome

’ ' W I l l c l imb ith my boyhood faith it , as I use d to long to Climb T h e U n c a n o o n u c Mountains which I used to see

home . TH E R A I L R OA D TH R OU H TH E FA R M G .

’ H E R E a b o m e r n a t io n m s S the t black , the t big loco otive there

’ iru t ﬂ a a th a i Its smoke tail like a p g, wavin through e r ;

’ ’ set a d a y I mus , twelve times , an neve r raise my arm ,

’ se e thet gret black mo nste r go a - sno r tin thro ugh my

’ ’ — I “ father s farm , my grandsir s farm , come of Pilgrim I stock

’ M — - - - to y great great great great grandsir s farm , way back Plymouth R ock ; f Way back in the sixte e n hundreds it was in our amily name ,

’ ’ II A no man dare d to trespass till that tootin railroad came .

“ ’ ’ Yo u I sez , can t go through this farm , you hear it ﬂat an plain I

’ An then they blabbed about the right of e m i n u n t domain . ’ “ Who s E mi n u n t Doma i n? Se z A I I wan t yo u folks to se e

’ ’ : T he t 0 11 this farmth ere a1 n t no m a n So e mIn u n t e z me .

’ ’ A II w e n their gangs begun to dig I went out with a gun , An ’ they rushed me off to prison till the ir wretched work

wuz done . ’ “ ’ ’ I u r te c t se z w m f I can t p my farm , I , y, then , it s y idee

’ ’ ‘ You d better she t off Callin this the country o f the free .

’ T . h ere , there , ye hear it toot agin an break the peaceful calm

’ I te ll I ye , you black monster, you ve no business on my farm

’ ’ An men ride by in stovepipe hats , an women loll in silk ,

’ ’ ’ A II sa o l , lookin in my barnyard , y, Se e thet codge r milk

T H E GR A VE WI T H I N TH E E GL IV.

OWN in a wild vine t angled glen Y H oung erman lived , re mote from men . The sile nce of the anc ie nt hills

' l Kept guard around the onely vale , U nbroke n but by laughing rills

And sad songs of the nightingale . T ’ hus , bright with morning s crimson glow,

H i s wa s a ll life free and his own ,

B u t , like a brook beneath the snow ,

Flowed on unnoted and unknown .

T he n came the rainbow dream of fame ’ w The world s applause for righted rongs,

T he glory of a sounding name , A ’ m grate ful nation s loud acclai ,

’ And mighty poets plausive songs . To Win th e me ed o f human praise H e vowed to dedicate his days

T o h gain the c e ers o f listening throngs ,

To shine the victo r o f debate ,

T o shape the councils of the state ,

Or make me n love him fo r his songs .

’ H e climbed th e valley s be etling walls

k m e To see the praise of foolish n, A n d left the rainbowed waterfalls

And sunset glories o f the G len . T R A E I II IN T II E GL E YV 2 HE O V W T . I

Young H erman found the way wa s long

No poet cheered him with his song ,

And for the thunder trump of fame ,

—ﬂo wn To bruit abroad his wide name ,

H e heard the hisses of the throng,

And loud and bitte r j eers of shame .

The hoary wrong that sapped the state ,

o By age and f rm grown venerate , H urled back the arrows of his hate . The creed he hunted to its death

That built its shrines on human fears ,

we t Its altars with human tears , R eviled him with its dying breath . E And rror, throned in regal state ,

o u t From her storehouse of the past , At him in wrathful menace cast

H e r imm m o Tia l wealth of e hate .

wa s O II And while his foot her neck ,

at She ﬂung him he r poisoned dart, The bitter name that rankle s sore H e e wore it , bleeding , in his h art .

Th e grand old name of heretic ,

That all the martyrs bore . I nstead o f words o f human praise

To cheer and light his stormy days , L ike mists fro m o ff a stagnant fen C ame curses fro m the hearts of men .

T n d h wa s he dea lier ate from hate born , H e gave his mockers scorn for scorn ;

H i s days were battles , and his life G rew weary of the unequal strife . 2 TI I E GR A VE WI TH I T GL E V 2 N HE I .

- H e sought his mountain guarded . glen

To die in p eace , remote from men ,

And through the gates of solitude ,

’ Where death s dark shadows overbrood, e w L aving his purposed ork unwrought ,

He found the silence that he sought .

m o u r n ful n i hti n a l e So , while the g g

h e r - Filled with dirge the solemn vale ,

‘ H i s - worn , world weary form found rest

’ II I the deep valley s ﬂowery breast .

B u t th e stern deeds that he had done R e mai ned and wor ked the ir perfect will , And time was faith ful to fulﬁl

’ T he work he purposed neath the sun ; G And the lone grave within the len ,

m e n O f him despise d and feare d of , B e came the shrine of saint and sage ,

’ ’ The patriot s boast , a nation s pride ,

T h e goal of loving pilgrimage ,

B y song and story gloriﬁed .

But Fame breathed fo rth h er votive breath

O n unrespo nsive lips of death , The chaplet crown of laggard Fate

Presse d O I I the pu lseless bro w too late . B OB OL I NE P H I L OS OR H Y

KNO ’ W a deep philosopher who s far too wise to think , e l That bubbling, bre zy b atherskite , the boisterous bobo

link .

o so - m a d S drunk is he with wine o f j oy, music with mirth ,

H i s tipsy carols of content rej uvenate t h e earth .

We feel the orient j oy of life with whic h our world began ’ i ' a r a n d . Tis summer in , the earth and in the heart of man

From what de ep fount of ﬂowing j oy does this mad minstrel drink T ? his babbling, breezy blatherskite , this boisterous bobolink

' Fro m ro unded a ppl e é bl o sso m cups where wild bees browse and boom 5 e — Fro m tig r lily beakers , and from c halices of bloom

e From strawberry gobl ts ﬁlled with dew , the ince nse of the

night ,

’ Caught fro m the sky s inverted urn e mbossed with starry light .

hi s Forth from blossom bed he leaps , and , laughingly and strong

All up and down the ringing earth he weaves his web of song,

And preaches boldly to the sad the folly of despair

And tells to whomit may concern that all the world is fair .

And to my heart his Wisdom ﬁ nds a surer welcome home

Than some that has been sanctioned by the sages of old R ome .

b That bubbling , breezy blathe rskite , the oisterous bobolink

’

I . s such a deep philosopher, he s far too wise to think TH E T OL L B R I D E R ' E E R E R G .

L IV E here by my tollbridge C a ontent , without a w nt ,

My bridge , that j oins these mighty Sta tes , H V N ew ampshire and ermont . Th e big Connecticut below Among its piers is whirl ed ; I ’ m acquainte d with the rive r

’ ’ That s acquainte d with th e . world .

O II For it goes wind ing and on ,

an d Through bowlde rs , h ills , sand , A crinkly silver watch Ch ain

11 0 the j acket of the land .

A n d I a ll , though live here alone

With in my cottage curled , I ’ m acquainte d with the river

’ That s acquainted with the wo rld .

- Through maple sugar orchards ,

And through the ﬁelds of hay , And down through the tobacco farms I t winds u pon its way ; And it sleeps in silent meadows When the twiligh t settl es down

Then winds its cool , soft arm around

The hot brows o f th e town .

The peo ple on the othe r side , I t is their o n ly care w To cross to this , hile people here A ll wish to cross to there ; T H E TOL L B R I D GE K E E P E R .

And after pondering long , I think

That , though the world is wide , I am the only man 0 11 earth

’ Who s wholly satisﬁed .

And Why should I not be content ? I sit here evermore While all the world to humor me

Goes riding by my door . And when the latest wheel at night

Across the bridge is whirled ,

’ I m - acquainted with the rive r

’ That s acquainted with th e world .

Why does my river hurry so ? ” What c a n its errand be ? “ And it says , I hear the music , H ” ear the anthem of the sea . Stay and talk to me of C ities

Where the many thousands be ,

But it says , I feel the magic ” Of the music of the sea .

Well I know the truth , my river,

That thou sayest unto me ,

For I , too , have felt the magic

Of the music of the sea .

Though I live far in the mountains , Still the Stream of Life is whirled

Toward the mist - enshrouded ocean

That encircles all the world . R A T B T T HE O D O o s o .

H E m little road goes past y house , goes winding like a k sna e ,

C U h W limbs P the ills of he mlock , and inds through e swamps of brak ,

I s i i t leap th e sweep ng r ver and climbs the mountain height , B d ends own into the valley, and goe s glimmering out of

sight .

B ut there are travellers tell me that the little road grows wide , i d And leads through many v llage s down to the ocean si e , And still ke eps stretching onward they have followed day by day d U ntil it reache s Boston town , two hun red miles away .

’ And this little road , they tell me , grows to Boston s biggest

street , All lined by mighty houses tall— and some two hundred feet S Where monstrous crowds its idewalks throng , like armies on parade Where all the people of the world come down to buy and

trade .

i My boys and g rls when they grew up , they felt the heavy load O f this quie tude and dul ness and they travelled down the

road ,

’ And they wound across the rivers , and far o e r the mountains

gray ,

T o . the biggest stre et in Boston , two hundred miles away

VV ’ E N M E L I N D Y T OL ’ M E “ YE S

’ E ST fo r t n i t - t a fro m my fall out with my ﬁrst swee thear ,

L u c in d y, “ D id M e l i n d M e l i n d Ye s y, my y, tell me

th e ‘ a tm o s h e r e wa s wa P o ku m vill e And p windy , y from to I ndy ,

d e ta r n a l Win y with the breezy music of blesse dness .

’ ’ ’ A II sh e Ca l l said it fair an square ly , an not again , ” May be ,

’ ’ ’ N e w e r u sa l u m ﬁ e l An a J glory lit the an wilderness ,

’ r O II b An the sun bust out like laughte the round face of a ba y , ’ ’ “ ” M e li n d y M e l in d Ye s I W en , my y, tol m e

’ ’ - c o u n ti n L ike a twenty million o rchestra away beyon all ,

’ The b o b li n ks bubbled over in a music waterfall

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ - II m ti n sho u ti n An I felt j ust like a m o u n ti n O the e e house an ,

That Paradise was open , with admissio n fre e to all . ’ ’ ” IV E M E L I N D Y T OL JII E E S 2 N Y . 9

’ E m e d d e r Na t u r s ach grass blade in the was a string to ﬁddle , Thet wu z played o n by the zephyrs with a velvety caress

’ ’ ’ ’ A n Ol Na tu r s in ts sha sha e d j were limbered , an she y down

the middle ,

’ ’ M e l i n d M el i n d Ye s ! W en y, my y, tol me

’ so An the angels played bully, thet the music reached the

gateway,

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ An came spil lin through the o p n i n an a - singing down to

earth ,

’ C ame a - singin such a great way thet the universe straightway

’ ’ ’ Sho u t in in the glad r e d e m tio n of a holy secon birth ; ’ — A II I a - C I set straddle on the ridge pole of reation ,

’ ’ I II b An only ﬁt to holler my ootin happiness ,

’ ’ W e n M e li n d M e l i n d , y, my y, ﬁlled my heart ith j ubilation ,

’ ’ M e l in d M e l i n d Ye s I W en y, my y, tol me OU T New Y ’ t B ear s I grit my tee th , I brace my fee an” swear

’ ’ ’ The t I ll rastle with O I Satan an d o wn him e v e r v whe re

’ ’ ﬁtti n A chum for Baxte r s saints , a man o f heavenly worth ,

- I w r e d Wh . An angel ith iskers , will roam about th e earth

’ ’ - who a - l e e So I make a lunge for Satan , stan s e rin ther ,

’ ’ O II his An plant my righ t ﬁst his nose , my left han in hair

’ " A II a ma n t h e st gge rs like a drunke n , an totters , wi h a groan

’ fr i e n s i n th e I The of , foe of man, h e lies ther e overthrown

’ ’ ’ A n so O II V , January ﬁrst , neath irtue s so ft care ss , I ’ feel all soaked in sanctity, an ste eped in righteousness ,

’ ’ m e e ti n - si n - A sort e r walkin house , all born fears are ﬂed

" ’ y 0 a w : But the da y fter Ne Year s D a y; th e d e Vil IITOVGS his

e h ad ,

’ ’ A II I am a ll broke up to ﬁ nd the old scamp isn t dead

’ A II t he late r in afte rnoon , h e j est begins to blink ,

’ ’ ’ A II a n has the che ek to lift his head , cock his eye an wink .

’ An then o n January third h e starts to limp about, ’ ’ “ ’ A II sa I m se e I walk up an y to him glad to you out .

’ ’ ’ ’ A II fo r the n he j est hol s out his han me to co me an take it ,

’ A n a h . I , like a big , tarn l fool , j est waltz right up and s ake it E I H E O E IVE l V Y AR R G T USN SS . 3 1

Y ’ T hese little N ew ear s battles Satan thinks is only play , I t f you want to worst the devil , you mus trounce him every d ay ; ’ d ay e So , every , j est grit yer teeth , an brac yer feet , swear

’ ’ ’ O I v That you ll rastle with Satan , an down him e erywhere TH E P A TH TH R O U H TH E WO OD G .

’ ’ E N I wa s a kid I d r iV the cows to p a r stu r e every

d a y, ’ ’ ’ k An I d go and fetch em home at night, and thin

’ it on y play

’ B u t the k 0 1 sometimes , arter dark co me o n , where blac k hemloc s stood , I ’ d ’ I git so sca t that would ﬂy through the long , long path

through the woo d . "T was a long , long path through the wood ,

’ A II I tell yeou , That I j est ﬂew

o Through the long , long path through the wo d .

’ ’ ’ I k ﬁe l s ipped along by the open , an danced an scampe red

’ a n su n g, An ’ wh istled a toon thet j est kep ’ time with the too n the

cowbells rung .

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ A II Brindle an Whiteface u d fro lic an scoot se e me d s if they unde rstood

’ we a id e p U ntil co me to the g o f the swam an the long , long

path through the wood . M I y the long , long path through the wood I t wa s crowded with hosts O f ’ critters an ghosts ,

That long , long path through the wood .

’ ’ ’ u t B tain t on y boys the t drive the ir cows , but me n in country

and town ,

" ’ T t r a ve l sun he t a path the t is thick ith fears , long arte r the goes down ; T H E P A T H TH R O UGH TH E W0 3 3

many a man has trembled and shook , where the dark ,

black hemlocks stood ,

o i n sho k at the ghosts of his own dead days , his long ,

long path through the wood .

’ Tis a long, long path through the wood , With a dew of tears n r From the long go e yea s ,

O h . , the long,long path through the wood

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ u n e r sta n An there ain t no feet , as I , but mus travel the

path some day ,

’ ’ ’ ’ su n W e n the big sinks behin the hills , an the worl grows

’ ’ c o l an gray ;

h e ml o c k h ill s For we all git lost in the , where the big bla ck sha d d e r s brood

’ tu r r ib u l An are chased by the ghosts of fears , through the

long, long path through the wood .

Ah l On , the long , g path through th e wood , Through the path e r dread

Thet all must tread ,

The long, long path through the wood .

Ye s , we all hev to walk through the hemlock path , through the h“ pat that stretches far, ’ e ’ W en the silence er darkn ss comes down on the soul , an the midnight has no star ;

’ ’ str o n a n An we ﬁght in the awful dark alone , as g brave men

should , But there ’ s scars on the Soul w ’ en it comes at last through

the long , long path through the wood ;

Ah , the long , long path through the wood , An ’ scars thet will stay

’ d i n Till its y day , O h , the long, long path through the wood . I M ’ S FU T UR E j .

IM ” has a future front o f him ,

’ T sa hat s what they used to y of Jim , For when young Jim was o n l v te n

H e mingle d with the wisest men ,

W mix ith wise st me n h e use d to , And talk of law and politics

A n d everybody said o f J im ,

H e has a future front of him .

W wa s a e hen J im twenty years of g .

’ r e All costumed , ady fo r life s stage ,

’ H e had a perfect man s physique , And knew philosophy and G reek

’ H e d delved in every misty tome Of old Arabia and R ome ; b And every o dy said of J im ,

H e has a future front of him .

Whe n Jim was thirty years of age ,

’ H e d made a world - wide pilgrim age

’ ’ H e d walked an d studied neath the G Of erman unive rsities , And visited and ponde re d o n The sites of Thebes and Babylon ;

And everybody said o f Jim ,

H e has a future front of h im .

6 A CH I LD ’ S E S TI O 3 Q U N.

so we And climb the e ndless slope , Far up the crownless he ights of hope k And each o ne ma e s himself a Jim ,

And rears a future front of him .

A CH I ’ L D S Q UE S T/ ON .

H EN a the fr grant breeze was loaded with perfume ,

When the j oyous Maytime season , bright and fair,

Arrayed h erself in robes o f bud and bloom , And a storm of apple blosso ms ﬁlled the air T hen I watched a sturdy father in his prime

’ Bending low , his little daughte r s voice to hear

’ Why don t the birds sing , father all the time , And the apple blo ssoms blossom all th e year ?

Ah , thought I , were all as swee t and pure and good As this sunny little maid with golde n hair

' O u r lives would have no wintry solitude

I t would be summer always , eve rywhere .

We would live in an e ternal ﬂower clime , And th e storm that breaks in thunder none woul d fear

For the song birds would be with us all the time , ” a l And the apple blossoms blossom l the vear . H E path that leads to a L oaf of Bread

Wind s through the Swamps of Toil , And the path that leads to a Suit of Clothes

G - ﬂ o we r l e ss oes through a soil , t to the paths tha lead a L oaf of Bread .

a r the Suit of Clothes e hard to tread .

And the path that leads to a H ouse of Your

C O b o wld e r e d hill s limbs ver the , And the path that leads to a Bank Account Is swept by the blast that kills

But the men who start in the paths to - day L H In the azy ills may go astray .

H I n the Lazy ills are tre es of shade ,

s o f By the dreamy Brook Sleep ,

R a And the rollicking iver of Ple sure laughs , And gambolsdown the steep But when the blasts Of Winter come

The brooks and the rive r are frozen dumb .

I Then wo e to tho se in the Lazy H ills

n When the blasts of Winter moa , Who strayed from the path to a Bank Account

‘ And the path to a H ouse of Their Own ; h These paths are hard in the summer eat ,

But in Winte r they lead to a snug retreat . ' l/ H E TH E I I I L R I N G OF T C O W.

HE k s mil pail used to ver ify a mild and mellow metre , W I hen used to milk old Brindle in the yard , A n d the shinin g milk wa s swe eter unto me an d little ' Pete r T k han o riental perfumes of fran incense and nard ,

T h e sunset ﬂung its banners fro m the gilded hills about us , And the odors o f the evening seem ed to drop from every

bough , T here wa s peace and glad contentment both within us and

without us , l liﬂ w At the sweet m e u o u s milking of the c o .

k ’ And wandering , li e a me mory from the silent past s abysm , l I sme l the grateful odors o f the fragrant eve ning breeze ,

’ I h the twil i ht s l a d And bend to catc the chrism of g g baptism ,

And the outstre tched bene diction of the trees .

th e The glory of the summe r night , magic of the mountains , And the tinklings of t h e twilight O II the farm are with

m e now, But thro ugh all the mingling music stil l I hear those falling

fountains ,

T h e m e lliﬂ u o u s swe et milking o f the cow .

I h Still ear the j oyful rhythm of that titillating tinkle ,

And I smell the grateful odors of the placid , perfumed

night ,

O dors blown from glens a - sprinkle with wild - rose and peri W inkle ,

10 11 A nd fro m lakes where lazy lilies in languor for the light .

M E M R I A L A O D Y.

OT i as white sa nts without a blot , W hose souls were stainless of a spot ,

me n Were th ese plain o f average clay ,

B u t r k - mo tal , li e plain me n to day .

o f For always , in dark hours ne ed , A man is furnishe d for the deed ;

And always when the storm clouds lowe r ,

Strong me n are ready for the hour .

’ And thus , from earth s most common breed

f r Spring heroes ﬁt o e very need .

’ The se men were co mmon men , tis true ,

Just common men like me and yo u . T he plain man i s the basic clod Fro m wh ich we grow the demigod ; And in the average man is curled

The hero stuff that rule s th e world .

O II And so we deck , hill and glen ,

T h e hero graves of common men .

Plain , co mmon me n o f every day ,

Who left the ir homes to march away ,

b a ttl e To perish on th e plain , A s common men will do a gain ;

To lift a ghastly , glazing eye U p to a lurid strange r sky U ntil it sees a painted rag T h e same old common spangle d ﬂag A L D A III E III OR I Y. 4 3

And then to die , and testify

To all the ages , far and nigh ,

H o w commonplace it is to die .

I t is not m e r e l v now and then

m e n We ﬁnd such hearts in common , Such hero souls enwrapt away In swathing folds of common clay

But standing face to face with fate ,

All common men are always great . For men are cowards in th e gloom Of the ir own little , selﬁsh fears ,

Not when the thunde r - steps of doom

S u a tride thro gh the trembling ye rs . And i n an open ﬁght with fate

All common men are always great . TH E B UR S TI N G OF T H E B O OM

U R village was the b o o m i nge st rip - roarin g place you w eve r sa n ,

A n alder swamp , in thirty days , would grow into a

public lawn ,

ar stu r e s Scrub p grew to public parks, and frog ponds into trim

front yards ,

’ ’ e b o o l eva r s I An fox trails into public stre ts , an cow paths into d

’ ’ l ibr We had a y an high skule , two letter carriers for the mail ,

’ Four churches with four cho ir rows , two lawye rs , an a bang

u p j ail ,

T wo e d ite r s wh o Y e d ite r ﬁ t in style no N e w ork could beat , “ ’ ” ’ “ ’ n e O had a vile an scurrilous rag , an one a low an ” m easly sheet .

” “ What mad e the town die out ? you ask . I t was the

strangest thing, I swear,

’ ’ ’ ’ E c a t Smith s dog chase d ben Johnson s , an that s the whole of t h e affair

“ ’ ’ set hIm An J ohnson said Smith on , an Smith said Johnson

' wa s ia liar,

’ ’ se t a o i n So Johnson the ﬂame g , an Smith poured ile upon

the ﬁ re .

M r s . Then M r s . Smith perke d up h er nose at Jo hnso n in the

street ,

’ ’ The little Jo h n so n se s an Smiths wouldn t speak at a ll if they should me et ;

’ The sewing circle then took sides an soon broke up in wordy

ﬁghts ,

’ hn so n i te s . M rs . o For part took sides with Smith , an part were J T S T OF T R O OM HE B UR I NG HE . 4 5

’ ’ ’ i n stid The trouble got into the church , an then , o praise an

prayer, The pastor got his ﬁngers mixed in D eacon Peleg Putnam ’ s hair ;

’ The prayer - m e e t n broke up in noise ; next day the minister

resigned , An ’ D eacon Putnam he went roun ’ with one eye black an ’

’ t o ther blind .

’ Y Smi thite s t o hn so n ite s oung cour in J , broke off with their

u r s e c tive p p brides ,

’ ’ An soon there was two lunatics an the n three suicides ;

’ Then half the young me n moved from town , an soon were

followed by the ir pals , For what is life but j est a bore to bright you n g men without no gals I

Folks moved away, the stores failed up , the bottom dropped

out o f the boom ,

’ ’ ’ i n e x we d The b nk it busted , an we thought thing hear the

crack of doo m .

’ A II ’ now the grass grows in our streets , an the whole boom ha s falle n ﬂat

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ B u t Johns o n s C i t an Smith s old d o g are doin well an

’ gr o wi n fa t I TH E CA R VE N N A M E .

A NDE R E D W in the fo rest , whe n

My sated soul had tired o f me n , a i Till to a spre d ng beech I came , And on it idly carve d my name Then lightly threw myself across — A fore st couch of fragrant mo ss , Whe re soon I sank in slumber de ep

And so ftly e nte red , through the gleam

Of misty porticos o f Sleep ,

a The sh dowy Palace of a D ream .

I dreame d how through th e years would grow, t Alternate clo hed with leaves and snow , T ’ ’ hrough April s tears , October s ﬂame ,

The bee ch - tre e with the carven name And bird and squirrel overhead

Pee r down upon my name unread ,

While Solitude , upon his throne ,

’ Would reign in silence o e r his own , U ntil some hunter with his gun ,

’ O e r we a r i e d by the noonday sun , C ompanioned by his panting dog,

him 0 11 Would seat some mossy log ,

And , glancing up , a glad surprise — My carven name would mee t his eyes ; A n d he wouc see befo re him wrought

svmb o l The of a vanishe d thought , A silent inﬂuence t o bind

A severed be ing to his kind .

T A R VE /V AM E HE C N . 49

Then changed the scene , the years glide o n ,

- A quarter c e n tu r v has gone .

’ ’ Tis Mo m in Win ter ; o er the snows

The sturdy woodman taskwa r d goes .

The ground with fallen trunks he strews , And d own the forest avenues The echoes o f his axe are heard

By startled hare a n d wondering bird .

' N ew comrades j oin him , day by day And bravely hew their onward way ;

I II the kee n air their axes glance ,

’ - And chime , as to the wood nymph s dance ;

The music of the cross - cut saw

’ Breaks through the wood s cathedral awe ,

And Solitude , spoiled of his own a Goes forth to seek nother throne .

o But s on the patient woodmen reach ,

And pause beneath , the ancient beech ;

Then , in a backwoods parle , decide To leave the monarch in hi s pride For all unite with one acclaim

’ To spare it for the stranger s name .

Again a change before mine eye

There sways a shimmering plain of rye , wild And the winds , raving and fre e ,

s e a . Toss it , in billows , like the

the n But , in midst of ripe ed sheaves , The old beech wears its crown o f leaves ;

’ In Autumn s regal glory stands , The hierarch of the harvest lands A n d weary laborers are laid

I n noonday rest beneath its shade . O E M E S THE CA R V N NA .

Th e car ven name their curious eye s Question with many a vague surmise T ill an old man with locks o f snow

Tells how a dreamer , long ago , First carve d the name in idling mood

’ II I Nature s untrod solitude .

strange unto the ir fancy seems

Th is dreame r fro m a land o f dreams ,

Whose life , unknown for praise or blame , i H ad left no record but h s name . CA VE AM E THE R N N .

The vision widens on mine eye No longe r waves the ripene d rye ;

But 10 I within a play - ground neat

The schoolhouse of a village street . it Th e ancient beech before stands , _ Waving abroad yet mightier hand s And darting warblers fro m the tre e

Pour down their madrigals of glee .

a Beneath , the children at their pl y

n Are glad , are j ubila t as they . Ah I long Shall memory recall I This daily school - boy Carnival

To men and matrons , old and gray,

This sport shall see m but yesterday . For memory casts a rainbow screen

u Aro nd the years that intervene . And so the craggy heights of age L ook down directly on the smooth G reen vales of C hildhoo d ’ s heritage

Th e dewy meadow - lands o f youth I

The schoolboy with his favorite maid L ingers beneath the ancient shade , And fe els a rapture which the years With all their laughter and their tears

’ C a n from his m e m o r v ne er re move The rapture o f an earliest love I D ream on beneath the beechen shade , G ay barefoot boy and laughing maid

D se e ream on , nor soon awake to L ’ ife s stern and cold reality ,

Its tender buds of promise killed , Its morning visions unfulﬁlled CA R VE N IVA M E 5 2 THE .

D ream on , nor soon awake to learn I That dead loves n ever more return

T h e Vision heighte ns I behold , With silvery spires and do mes o f gold

n z Far, far beyo d my daz led eye s , A city towering to the skies ; And standing ’ mid th e din and glare

’ Of t r a fﬁc s thronging thoroughfare T h e same old carven be ech looks down

all O n the tumult o f the town . And h urrying merchants pause to mark

The moss - grown letters on its bark ;

Fo r many a legend , strange and fair,

a n d ' r a r e And many a story , old , And tale and song a n d minstrelsy H ave gloriﬁed the ancient tree . I t link s the c ity ’ s swarming brood With nature ’ s pathless solitude And j oins an age o f bard a n d sage

W ith olden ages , coarse and rude .

But se e I a light breeze from the farms H a s caught the old tree in its arms

I t falls , and round it in a ring

a s ﬁe fs M e n swarm , around a king

’ Who , of life s pageant weary grown , Falls dying from his totte ring throne I

But one is there whose soul - lit eye s S Bear the de ep blue of country kies ,

wh o A po et , in all things se es N ew meanings a n d new mysterie s ;

And near the tre e amid the throng, O utwells from him thi s artle ss song THE CA R VE N N A III E .

E nshrined amid the ancient wood ,

" n - L o g ages gone our beech tre e stood , U nchallenged king o f solitude I

I II slumberous summers lo n g ago It felt the woodland breezes blow i And toss ts branches to and fro .

’ It braved a hundre d winter s harms ,

’ th e It mocked tempest s wild alarms , And took the whirlwind in its arms ;

And beat by storms of snow and rain ,

A conscious Titan , in disdain

D e ﬁe d the pigmy hurricane .

’ M e n n n spared it for a stra ge r s ame , Who moulders now unknown to fame I Dust in the d u st from whence he came

V I

And years pass on , and age s roll And no man knows whe re roams the soul

That moved the hand to trace that scroll .

And no one knows , on land o r deep ,

Where nature holds him in her keep ,

The still place where he fell asleep . VIII

' what vo i d s And no one knows o f night , What starry domes of tre mbling light

H i s u soul has met pon its ﬂight .

And Fame no proud word of h im saith , H e only left his name a breath

B lown fro m the shoreless seas of death .

And years pass on , and ages roll And no man knows wh ere roams the soul T hat moved the hand to trace that scroll

j OHN B ]L L I N G T OIV’ S j O UR N E Y

HN IL L I NGT O N 0 11 m O B , April ﬁ rst , went forth fro O N ew rleans ,

D e - r ssed in a clean white linen suit , a well groomed

ma n of means .

H e wore a pair of russet shoes , a spotless white cravat ,

A . pair of thin silk stockings , and an excellent straw hat

H e travelle d up to Birmingham the mercury went down ,

And so he bought a woollen coat of good substantial brown . ” “ I t r IIc k m d a V hate superﬂuous , says h e , to lug fro day to

’ ” And so I ll put the thick coat on and throw the thin away .

T hen 0 11 to Chattanooga ﬂew th e limite d expre ss ;

H e felt his pantaloons were thin , and shivere d in distress

H e a bought thick black woollen pair, and still pursued his

quest ,

0 11 R a And j ourneyed to ichmond , where he bought nother vest .

When he reached Philadelph ia it raine d a pouring ﬂood , And hence he found his russet shoes we re poor things for the mud ;

H e - bought a stout dark leather pair to wade the watery ﬂoat ,

And j ourneyed onward to New York and bought an overcoat .

N ext day he went to Boston ; th e sh ive rs made him cre ep , The air wa s cold as G ree nland and th e sno w wa s four feet deep ;

But bravely did he sally forth , with ch ill and cold half dead H i s h a t O II . overcoat all buttone d up , a straw his h ead LL O ’ 0 E Y y OH /V B I ING T N s 7 URN . 5 7

- A straw hat and an overcoat , a snow storm and all that , The youngsters of that classic town all shouting Shoot that hat I

The strange concatenation made the cultured people smile ,

And young musicians whistle d shrill , Where did you get that tile ?

H e k H ub rushed and bought a seals in cap , stoppe d at the a And then resumed his j ourney on his southern homeward way 5

H e Y came to New ork city , found it very sultry there ,

A n d . threw away his overcoat , it was too warm to wear

H e a c a went to Philadelphi and dropped his sealskin p , H e portio n ed his apparel round to each place 0 11 the map

H i s a d coat and vest we re sc ttere on succe ssive sultry noons ,

- H e hung the lines of longitude with cast off pantaloons .

N e w O John Billington , on April twelfth , came back to rleans ,

D - o f ressed in a clean , white linen suit , a well groomed man means

H e v wore a pair of russet shoes , a spotless white cra at ,

A pair o f thin silk stockings , and an excellent straw hat . KIN ’ S out be hin the barn , the ﬁrst warm day in spring, ’ te r a - - a - - - o a . And go to rattlin p y out , ting ling ling

’ ’ b li sts vo l c an e r s a - I t , j e st like bust , an comes . rollin o ut,

’ I t r let I neve r y to hol it in , but allus he r spout

’ ’ ’ o te r b e tte r n An I like p y pie , or any kin e r sass ,

’ ’ ’ An hanker for t like winte r cows a - ha n ke r i n fo r grass

’ k the t s I t bubbles up li e yeast in spring in bread partly riz ,

’ a a m An gge r v te s yer siste like a case e r r o o m a tiz .

The angels pack their winter clo ’ es — their clo ’ es fro m head to feet ’ ’ ’ — ’ ’ An douse p e r fu m r y on e m at s w a t make s the air so sweet

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ﬂ i r ti n e l ti n The heavens , they sass the hills ith win s an p w sho e rs , ’ i l i ’ ’ h n i t . An the n the j olly , g gg hills , they sass right back ﬂowers

’ i n ts i r o o m a ti z The earth , whose j hez bee n so st ff ith frosty ,

’ J est sticks her sunshine plaste r o n , an goe s about h er biz ,

’ ’ ’ swa ll e r s u v wi n An N atur , she j est down he r tonic warm ,

’ Shakes off the blues , an then resolve s to try the thing agin .

’ ’ ’ The brook the t s be e n a - gr u mb l i n o n way u n e r n e a th the

SII O W ,

' l a fﬁ m a ﬂ Breaks into sich a n song it makes the y o we r s grow .

’ ’ ’ ’ L I W c a st ook here y shouldn t I blossom out , an off winter s gloom ?

’ ’ W y shouldn t I bust in p o te r y e z m a yﬂ o we r s bust in bloom ? TII E A GE OF L I GH T NI NG .

’ ’ e d d l i n o te r The brooks go p p y ; the robins strew it roun ,

’ ’ r e so u n The bobolink j est slings it, an make s the air

’ I II ﬂo wi n lines er crocuses , no man should dare to skip ,

’ Go d writes his purtiest p o te r y on his m e d d e r m a n u sc r ip

TH E A GE OF

H IS n is an age of lightni g,

0 11 wa The world hums its y, And lightning lights its lamp by And pulls its load by day

who And he seeks its prizes ,

’ The world s applause or gains,

Must stir the lightning in his blood ,

And mix it in his brains .

R ight on it spins , a whirling whizz W ith ﬁerce electric gleams , R ight down “ the ringing grooves o f change The blazing courser streams

The n watch your chance and j ump aboard , w Thro off your heavy chains ,

And stir the lightning in your blood ,

And mix it in your brains . ’ TH E P A N C Y l/VOR II TI A /D E N

’ ’ N so you kinder wa n ter know w y I broke off with Sal ?

’ ’ ’ I t warn t because she warn t a good an mighty purty g al :

’ For th ere ain t a bles sed star in h eave n shine s brighte r than s her eye ,

’ A II her cheeks are j est like peache s o n the tree s er Paradise I

’ An her smile is like the sunshine spilt upon a ﬂower bed ,

’ ’ An her hair like sp r o u ti n sunbeams O II the garding of her

head , An ’ her laff is like a singin ’ brook that bubbles as it passes

’ ’ ’ - u i e sm e l li n Thro the stuck p t ger lili s , an the purty

grasses .

’ her a s d a An I told her that I love d , much forty tim es a y,

’ ’ ’ On But she hadn t much time to bother, an kep with her crowshay ;

’ W e n I plumped right down afore he r, plumb upo n my Ve ry

knees ,

“ ’ ’ ’ G it O ff m - r u m l in m She said , y ric rac , an you re p up y

frieze .

’ ’ he r An I tried to talk of love , an things , an told I o I ld die

he U s . O h I nless smile d up on my soot She simply said , , my

’ ’ ’ Y n o ? ou ve to re my purty tidy down , an hain t ye got eye s

’ ’ You ve plante d the m b ig fe et 0 yourn on them air tapestries I n ’ OR /I III A I D E IV 6 1 THE FANC Y l V .

’ ’ s he ﬂ a m in o e s o n An wove in big g , snipes , an turkeys he r rugs ,

’ ’ ’ a l l e r An she painted y poodles o n her mother s lasses j ugs ,

’ A II sh e O II m a e n t a painted purple angels j colored plaques ,

’ ’ A II - ﬁve orange colored cherubs , with blue wings behin their

backs .

’ ’ ’ ’ A n I talked of love an stuff, she d talk of rugs an lace ,

’ m e m An ax would I take y feet from off thet Chiny vase .

’ ’ sa e O I I I d y, My heart s lov , , be mine be mine be wholly mine I ’ “ ’ Y u She d say , ou ve got yo r elbows mixed in that silk skein ” er twine . 6 2 A N D L O Y B OS T OIV G R .

’ ’ ’ A r iz o n a c o wb o s N ow I m goin to y for to do y work ,

’ D c ivil z a ti o n - riven forth fro m by th e cuss e r fancy work ,

But he r smile will allus hant me , allus in my visions play,

’ a - b ac k r o u n Framed in l test styles of ric rac , with a g of

crowshay .

L R BO' O W 't

B OS T ON L R G O Y.

I w o d m ke B o s ton b b f or —S A O N E s r o . M S u l a a u u gl y J .

A KE Boston a suburb o f glory, Sam Jones ? D o you know what such sacrilege means ?

I fear you have not read the story ,

Sam Jones ,

O f that c ity of culture and beans .

Yo u are sailing th rough breakers and rocks ,

Sam Jones , A dangerous sea you are tosse d on H ereafter be sure in your talks ,

Sam Jo nes , To make glory a suburb of Boston I

R ’ I TH E A U C TI ON E E S G FT .

H E 0 11 auctionee r leaped a chair, and bold and loud

and clear,

' H e p O II r e d his cataract o f words j ust like an

auctione er . a An auction sale o f furniture , where some hard mortg gee

’

e t . Was bound to g his money back , and pay his lawyer s fee

A humorist of wide renown , this doughty auctioneer,

H i s h - orse play raised the loud guffaw , and brought the answering j eer

H e hi s o n the scattered round j okes , like rain , unj ust and th e j ust “ Sam Sleeman said he l a ffe d so much h e thought that he ” would bust .

H e a n d knocked down bureaus , beds , and stoves , clocks and

chandeliers , “ And a grand piano , which he swore would last a thousand years

H e rattled out the crocke ry , and sold the silverware ,

’

y . At last the passed h im up , to sell , a little baby s chair

H o w ? ? i s much how much com e , make a bid ; all your money spent ? ”

a And the n cheap , facetious wag came up and bid , One

cent .

sa d - Just then a faced woman , who stood in silence there , “ ’ ! Broke down and cried , M y baby s chair My poor , dead baby ’ s chair

’ h - 1 1d Er o u h t t e rai se d t he IO II AE g r i n s g , eer a n d o k e On t he u ro u n d h is j e s , lik rain , njust

“ ‘ n ' o s we r e Wi n i e i ts t wi t i t h 2. a th usand

1 3

h e r th e A m a ke r s a n d sold t s ilve ware , ’

- r . ’ ab s a ‘A A u l b v C t d him p , to sell , a litt e h i

A B yo u r

a " “ e u a nd b id One « t iO u s wa g c a m p

d i n s I fat C t i Woman wh o s t o o ile nce there , d d ' « ! M e b a 2 ha ir y poor , ea Ind cri d , My by

H y“ “ ' I C l . I II

” I THE A U C T I ON E E A S G FT . 6 7

’ H m a d a m t ere , , take your baby s chair, said the so f ene d

auctionee r , I know it ’ s value all too well my baby died last year

And if the owner of the chair, our friend , the mortgagee ,

Obj ects to this proce eding, let him send the bill to me

G one was the tone of raillery ; the humorist auctioneer

' T u r n e d sha m e fa c e d from his audience to brush away a tear ;

wa s a The laughing crowd awed and still , no te rless eye was there the weeping woman reached and took he r little baby ’ s

chair . ’

TH E A C R J C UL T UR A L E D I T OR S P OE M .

’ OU L D ﬂ e e W from the city s rule and law ,

From its fashio n and form cut loose ,

e And go wh re the strawbe rry grows on its straw, WAnd the gooseberry grows on its goose here the catnip tre e is climbed by the cat , As sh e crouche s for he r prey

u r a t The guileless and nsuspecting ,

n O th e rattan bush at play .

I will watch at ease the saffron cow

c o wl e t And the in their glee ,

As they leap in j oy from bough to bough , O n the top o f th e cowslip tre e , Where the musical partridge drums on hi s

' A n d the woodchuck c hucks his wood , And the dog devours the dogwood plum

I n the primitive solitude .

Oh - , le t me drink from the moss grown pump

h n That was ew from the pumpkin tree , E at mush and milk fro m a rural stump (Fro m form and fashion free)

N ew gathered mush from the mushroom vine , A nd k w m ilk fro m the mil wee d s eet , With lusc ious pineapple fro m the pine Such food as the gods might eat I

HE orator gets up to speak

And starts out with an opening shriek , ” The question naturally arises .

Well , orator , as I surmise , These ques tions frequently arise

And stand up waiting for replie s .

The question naturally arises .

' r i e f o r I t come s in hours of g mirth ,

At the gates o f d eath , or the gate s of birth ; e The question naturally aris s , “ ? h ? ? The question , Where fore W ither Why

n sk The u answering earth , th e silent y,

h a ﬁn a d vo u c s . St n dumb , g no reply

The questio n naturally arises .

Fate crooks its questioning ﬁ nger j oint A huge interrogation point , The question naturally arises

I t motions o n the curious child , w The maid , ith trusting heart and mild ,

The youth , with passions ho t and wild ;

The question naturally arises .

It comes to greatest and to least , A guest unbidde n at th e feast .

Th e question naturally arise s . S I N 1 THE Q UE T O . 7

? ” What means it all the spectre saith ,

ﬁtfu l This , momentary breath , Choked in the icy grip of death ?

The que stion naturally arises .

We hear it on that awful shore , I t mingles with its sullen roar ;

The question naturally arises . W ” hat lies , it asks , beyond the mist, — d Those troubled waters , twilight kisse , T h e sunse t clouds of amethyst ? u The question nat rally arises . E held a d ipper in his hand ,

And bravely did he ply ,

With all the strength at h is command ,

To dip the ocean dry .

th e a y And all ships that sail , s s he;

And go from land to land , O n the dry bo t tom o f the se a

i Shall sink nto the sand .

T h e waves are powerle ss to resist ; Through m e ful fi lled shall be

The words o f the evangelist , ‘ l ' ’ There sha l b e no more sea .

l h i s i e And so he p ies d pp r fast ,

And does not cease to try ,

n s As long as stre gth and life shall la t ,

To dip th e ocean dry .

a And like th is madm n , even we , With little dippers t r y

se a To drain th e vastness of th e ,

And dip the ocean dry . The s e a o f knowledge with its (1111

u s a w e Before bre ks , and ,

We c thrust our little lippe rs in ,

’ And think we ve drained the s e a . ’ H D IP P E /t {4 e T E S . 4 THE E .

A n d w bound within a narro creed ,

Shut in by walls and towers ,

We deem we have no furthe r need ,

The truth of G o d is ours .

The n let the endless babblers be , Who fo r more wisdom c r v

’ e We ve thrust our dipp r s in the sea , n And draine d the ocea dry . TH E WA Y T O S L E E P T O WN

H E Sl e e to wn town o f p is not far, C I n Timbuctoo or hina ,

’ r B li n kto n C For it s right nea by in ounty, I n the State of D r o wsyli n a ’ I t s j ust beyond the Thingumbob h ills ,

No d vill e C Not far from entre ,

’ B u t t th e V Y you mus be drawn thro alley of awn ,

Or the town you cannot e nter .

And this is the way,

They say , they say . T hat Baby goes to Sl e e pto wn

H e C Od e a r m e starts from the ity o f ,

’ Thro Boo hoo street he totters , U ntil he come s to D o n tc r y Corners By the shore of the Sleeping Waters

- - U The n he comes to Johnny Jump p hills ,

T o d d l e b o m n And the nodding mou tains , ’ V H And straight does he go thro th e ale of eigho ,

And drink from the Drowsy Fountains .

And this is the way ,

sa They say , they y, That Baby goe s to Sl e e pto wn

’ B y Twilight Path thro the N ightcap H ills

The little feet must toddle ,

’ l a wa Thro the dewy gloom of F y y Forest , By the drowsy peaks of N oddle T IJE IVA Y TO S L E E P T O WN .

A n d never a sound doth Baby hear, '

For not a leaf doth quiver, From the L ittle D ream G a p in the H ills of Nap

n a To the Sn o o z e qu e ha n R iver . And this is the wa y

They say , they say , That l i a by goes to Sl e e p to wn

B l o w Away he ﬂies ove r y Bridge , L L Through ullaby ane to wander,

’ A n d on thro the groves of Moonshine By the hills of W a yo ffyo n d e r ' And then does the fairies ’ ﬂying horse The sleepy Baby take up U ntil they enter at Jumpoff Centre V e The Peekaboo al of Wakeup .

And this is the way,

sa They say, they y, T hat Baby comes from Sl e e p to wn M Y A N A R H I S T B OA R D E R C .

OU I . D n a I consort with A rchists ,

a nd n ? And mix , dri k and dine

e Oh , y s, I board an Anarchist

a i H e i s chum of m ne . m A ruthless en e y to law ,

This boarder that I mention ,

A friend to lawle ss unconstraint ,

A foe to all convention .

And though I diligently tr y

n To ke ep my home i trim , I harbor this wild Anarchist

And grow attached to him . H i s incoherent cree d by day - H e blusters and h e babbles ;

By night he howls it in our ears ,

Or garrulously gabbles .

Th e right of private ownership

H e ! strenuously denies , H e rends and tears my property Before my ve ry eye s ; And in his fi erce and lawle ss moods

’ H e ll beat us and belay u s

’ ’ Oh , he s confusion s champion , A hierarch o f chaos

TH E S ON G T HA T SI LA S S UN G .

E IG H B O R SILAS sung ’ a song E very day his whole life long , Sung it gladly ’ neath the cloud

’ That hung o er him like a shroud 3 O r when sunbeams with the ir play G leamed and gloriﬁed his way , Like a showe r of j oy o u tﬂu n g Wa s the song that S ilas sung

[ o f b o wl er s fro wl ,

A ml l ho n o wl en r oo wl ,

A ml i lz e r o wl er s r o wl g g ,

‘ l o r zz o n o 27 g /j g g g ,

' B M ool zz ml l lz o 722n 2‘

’ ' Tlz or o s a l ow o l z lz l p ] f g ,

A ml a ll m r / o g , ’ A n o kn o w i f

L ike the battle drum to me

Was that song of victory , Like the ﬂute ’ s exultant strain

’ Mid the wounde d and the slain, — Like the qu ick blood stirring ﬁfe

O n the battle - plain of life 5 Far and free the echoes rung O f the song that Silas sung :

L o l l lz o lz o wl or s lzo wl ,

A ml flz o S CO /W’ S‘ ZU s co wl ,

’ A n o fir e r o w/om r o wl g g ,

‘ A 7Z 1! tlzo gr zzjj ga ng go i t ; H S ON G T l f A T S A S S /VG T E IL U . 79

' ’ B lr o/zz n a l /zo n zgl z t

’ Tl zor o s a l on l o l z /z l p y f g ,

’ A n a a ll r z lz t g ,

’ A n a [ kn o w i f !

Silas ’ soul has taken ﬂight

Passed in music through the night , Through the shadow chill and gray And gone singing on its way ; But the quaint song that wa s his Cheers the saddened silence s ; Still glad triumph ‘ notes are flung From the song that Silas sung !

‘ L oz l lzo b o wl er s k o wl ,

’ A n a l lz o s co wl er s s oo wl ,

’ A n a Zko r o wl er s r o wl g g ,

’ ‘ - A n a l /z o r a a n o 27 g j g g g ,

' ’ E a t ook z n a l lz o n rgk z‘

’ Tkor o s a l en t o l z kl p y f g ,

’ ' ’ A n a oo or l /z z n s a l l r z li f y g g , ’ A n a [ kn o w i f ! A TH E P OE T A T P L Y.

wd SAW a poe t in the cro ,

H i s wa s - u voice gay , his la gh was loud

: I s Perplexed I que stioned this he , The laurelle d Priest of M i n st r e l sv ?

Fo r his swee t rhythmic words had stole

u m I n a strange m sic to y soul , As if from midnight deep‘s had rung

The accents of a S eraph tongue .

I pictured him by woodland streams ,

n t ‘ A sil mystic , wrapped in dreams ,

a a s Who talked with mount ins with men ,

And wi th the voice s o f th e glen .

I dee me d that all his th oughts we re high As any star within the sky ; A s calm a s evening whe n caressed

By twilight breeze s from the west .

hi s Fo r far abroad songs had flown ,

L r s ike singing bi d , to every zone , And we a ry souls in toiling throngs

a a H d le rne d to love him for his song s .

’ ’ And they who sank neath fortune s frowns ,

Whose brows we re c rowned with iro n c rowns , Felt through the midnight of their wrongs

n d a y s n l i h ' The oon u g t o f his songs . A L A THE P OE T T P Y. 8 1

m i d a n d a But now, laughte r , mirth , pl y

H e sang a village roundelay , o f Forgetful his lette red fame ,

e tfu l hi s - n Fo r g of world love d ame .

H e led the children in their sports ,

h i o wa s T e r J y more than praise of courts ,

e And the glad laughter in their yes ,

’ Than ﬁckle fame s de lusive prize .

“ " And then I thought, Tis better so For he who sings should surely kno w

o The heart he sings t , and the soul l Be spread before him like a scrol . TH E Y D ON ’ T MA K E ONN E TI O S C C N .

’ E N I was a little kid ,

Not more than thre e feet high , I use d to try to the place « ﬁ nd h the k T e earth hitche d on s y.

’ ’ ’ Ye s r a n c i n , I d go p ro un to ﬁnd , I n frisky , childish m irth , The big suspender butto n by which

The sky held up the earth . ’ I ’ But tho waltze d aroun like sin ,

’ An searched in all directions ,

’ ’ I allus foun the earth an sky D ’ idn t see m to make connections .

’ Now w e n I see a man p u r t e n d s

—ﬁr e d To b e all good , An ’ most too pure an ’ j est to live I n our poor neighborhoo d ; W ’ e n h e parades his virtues roun ’

For everyone to note , T ill we expect to see hi s wings Sprout through his overcoat “ ’ I s a Ol e y, Slyboots , you re a fraud, In spite of your perfections ;

’ ’ ’ I ve allus foun the earth an sky D ’ on t see m to make conne ctions .

’ ’ W e n I ﬁght my b e se tti n 5 111 5 I have a tarnal rub , J est like Archangel M ichael

’ W e n he ﬁ t with Beelzebub . H E D ON ’ T M AK E ON N E T ON S T y C C I . 8 3

So w ’ en a man sez he is good

As any ancient saint ,

’ W y all the more he sez he is The more I say he ain ’ t

’ c a n For you box the compass roun ,

’ An go in all directions , You ’ ll allus ﬁ nd the earth an ’ sky D ’ on t seem to make connections .

’ s m M a til d Now, there y wife , y j ane ,

’ She hain t no monstrous sins , She ’ s allus tried totreat us fair

’ Me , Peter an the twins But get her on the rampage once

’ c o n sid bl e She makes dust,

’ We allus think w e n she explodes

’ The crack 0 doom has bust

’ so An , I say , go where you will ,

’ An search in all directions ,

’ ’ You ll allus ﬁnd the earth an sky D ’ on t se em to make connections . E was a man of giant length And stre ngth

With limbs strong as an iron rod , m d And health o f an i mortal go ,

With courage that deﬁ ed all troubles ,

’ And spirits sparkling o e r like bubble s

I f eve r was a healthy man ,

’ n Twas D a .

’ But full is ﬁ ckle fortune s smile O f guile ;

D a n u For bro ght home one day , alack

m e d i c m e A patent almanac , All full o f long a n d learne d theses U pon the symptoms of diseases ; D a n read th e symptoms great a n d small And had th em all

h i s Said he , the while breath came quick ,

’ I m sick .

For if the se sympto ms tel l me true ,

’ I ve - surely go t tic do uloureux , The gastric fever and bronchitis

- — And cerebro spinal meni n gitis . G o fetch a lawyer with a quill To make my will

“ ’ I ve go t conge stion of th e brain ,

’ T is p lain .

TH E [VE N WH O MI SS TH E TR A IN .

’ ’ L to OAF aroun the depo j est see the Pullman scoot ,

’ ’ An to se e the people scamper w e n they hear the e ngine toot ;

’ ’ ’ B u t W at makes the most impression o n my so m w a t active

brain , I s the careless me n who ge t there j est in time to miss the

train .

’ ’ ’ a c o m n An some cuss the railro d p y, an some loudly cuss

their stars ,

’ ’ An so me j est gallop down the track an try to catch the cars ; An ’ so me with a loud laff an ’ j oke will poultice up their

n pai , V ’ ’ ar us kin s er peo ple ge t there j est in time to miss the train .

’ ’ ’ i s d e e o s - ith o u t A n there many p an ﬂag stations name ,

’ Alo n g the G rand Trunk R ailroad thet leads t o wealth an

fame ,

’ d e e o s ﬂ y An men rush to these p , as fast as they can ,

’ — n A s the Train of Opp e r tu n i ty j est goe s a thu d e r i n by .

They rush down to the stations with their hai r all stood

e n d on ,

’ ’ A s the platform of th e tail - end car goes whi r l i n roun the ben d ;

' ’ ’ r A n so ni e . me n groan an cry aloud , an some conceal their

pain ,

’ W e n they ﬁn d the t th ey h a ve got there j est in time to miss

a the tr in .

" ? L A a r o u n t he d e t- i ie s to se e O F p the Pullman scoot ,

’ -\ n e x w he ' to see the p o p ie i a n th ey hear the e ngine too t ;

’ i : t i i l s i B u : w a t 11 12l 8 lﬁﬁ mo i j a n t} t active

n brai .

‘ r f u 2 m -t y z Is the care less m e n wh 2 . i f

" ’ ’ ’ s o m n ' m An ome c uss the railroad h p y, an so e loudly cuss h t t eir s ars ,

y ’ ’ An so me j est gallop d o wn th‘ e track an try to catch the cars

? ’ An so me wit h a l o a d l aff a n j ok e will poultice up their

’ ’ ” - " 1 [i i m any d e e p o s an fl ag statio n al l 1

’ Along th e G ran d 1 R a ilroad the t l e a to wealth an

’ A n s to s d e e o s a s t me n ru h the e p , fas as they can ﬂy , ’ - As the Tra i n of O ppertu n i ty j est goes a thu n d e r i ri by .

“ They ru sh down to t he stations with their hair al l stood

e n d on ,

' — ’ ’ As th e pl a tfo r m o f t he tail end car goes whir l i n r oun the bend

' ' A h - m e n a a n c r d a n some gro n y alou , some conceal their

pain ,

’ W e n they ﬁn d the t the v h a ve go t the re j est in time to miss the tra in

' /J O r S S IJE T H AI V THE J/ E zv l V Ai / T / . 89

’ ’ a - wh i r l i n b But the cars puff through the valleys , an go y

’ ’ fl fl a An oat their banners of w ite smoke , like gs of victory ;

’ ’ ﬁo wi n They leap the rivers , an through the tunnels grope . ’ D H An cross the Mountains of espair to the Tableland of ope .

G R The rand Trunk ailroad of Success , it runs through every

clime ,

C O e r tu n i t But the ars of pp y they go on schedule time , ’ é — ’ An n ever are th eir brakes reversed - they won t back up aga in

wh o To take the me n get there j est in time to miss the train . S ON GS OF TH E C ORN

H E R D A the corn at noonday , A n d all its rustling leave s T old summer tales , like swallows

That build beneath the eaves .

A s if it drank th e su n shine

And gave it fo rth in strong, U nfaltering , leafy accents Of multitudinous song

I o t sang a s ng of victory , O f triumph ove r fears And waved i ts silken banners l d And c ashe its leafy spears .

I heard the corn at midnight ;

n I n to e s of sad dismay , ' — I t sang like those who sing to d ay

o The s ngs of yesterday .

I heard the shadowy sobbings

O f unreturning hosts ,

The march of phantom soldiery,

The tread of viewless gho sts .

A n d I walke d with reverent footsteps

u Thro gh the maize ﬁeld in th e morn , I knew the spirits o f pain had wept

All night among the corn .

sand , By that glorious streak u v mel o dy that Wi ggles through the land

' The storm beat s hard ; the wi n d is hi gh I cannot hear i t blow

' n For I liste n to the music of brook beneath the s ow . OR E JV L JSH . L I TE R A T UR E N O H OP E F G .

’ ’ T the d e b a ti n club las night we all discussed a cure

’ ” E l it r a c hu r e Fer the debilitated state of nglish ,

’ ” ’ th e t s s Th e stuff writ fe r folks , I aid , don t move

’ ’ ’ em an delight em ,

’ Because the folks wh o write the things don t kno w enough to ” write em .

The folks who write they stuff their heads in some b ig

c c l o e d y p y ,

’ ’ ’ W ich a i n t no place fer mental food to feed the poor an needy

’ ’ ’ e m t 0 1 They re huntin on an y shelf, like poor Mother H ubbard , N t ’ And go right by the o pen doo r of Mother a u r s cupboard .

’ l ib e r n They crawl into some y, far from the worl s i spection ,

‘ Bury themselves in books be end all hope of re surrection ;

’ c su n - n o r They cry out from their tombs , in w i h no star can

glisten ,

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ An weep because the livin worl don t ﬁn no time to listen .

E n Ca n s e e st Then lde r Pette gill he asked , you j a cure

’ Fer the debilitated state of E nglish l it r a c hu r e ?

’ ’ Ain t none our authors ign o r u n c e is far too dark

’ l i hti n g ,

’ While we who know enough to write hain t got no time H E L l/ A N T O D r N SI GS .

’ H E R E S a wobble in the j i ngle and a stumble in the

me tre , And th e accent might be cleare r and the volume be

co mpleter, And there might be muc h improve ment in the stress and

n intonatio , And a polish m ight be added to the crude pronunciation ;

’ ’ But there s music , like the harper s playe d before the ancient

kings , When the old man take s the ﬁddle and goes fe eling for th e

strings , There is laughter choke d with teard rops whe n the old man

sings .

And we form a ri n g about him and we place him in the

middle , And he hugs up to his withere d c heek the poo r old broke n ﬁd dle ,

’ And a smile come s on his feature s as he h ears the strings

vibration , And h e sings the songs of long ago with falteri ng intonation

And phanto ms from the distant past his broken music brings , And trooping from their dusty grave s come long—forgotte n

things ,

Whe n h e tunes the ancient ﬁddle and the old man sings .

we le t the broke n man play on upo n the broken ﬁddle ,

And we pre ss around to hear h im , as he sits there in the middle

H E T UR N P JKE R A T O D .

’ E N I B want to go to oston , some thirty miles away ,

’ ’

a A M . I t . 0 hitch the mare 4 , an start at peep day ;

’ Thro cross - road lanes sh e pulls along as if sh e felt

h er load ,

’ don t get down to business till sh e strikes the turnpike

road .

’ ’ sh e w e n strike s the turnpike road , to trot is on y play ,

’ ’ sh e w e n sniffs a smell of Bosto n it s ﬁ fte en miles away ,

’ ’ ’ ’ fe r git s her heave s an spavins an do n t see m to min her

load ,

’ j est cracks thro the . atmosphe re along the turnpike

road .

’ An the rat - ta t o f her hoof- beats is lik e the rum - tum - tum

’ ’ W en armies m arch to v i c to r y ' b e hi n the battle drum ;

' ’ sh e n sh e n e e d s n o W en pints her ose to Boston , spur nor

goad ,

’ B u t whirls the worl beneath he r feet along the turnpike

road .

’ ’ 0 1 o — An me n are j est like my mare , al ng the cross road lanes ,

’ n They have no ginger in their blood , no light in in th eir brains

’ ’ ’ a t A n they get p to kick an balk , an groan beneath the ir

load ,

’ ’ o An l af an cuss their stars , unless they strike th e turnpike

r oad . R P I ’ E R A THE T U N A O D . 9 7

’ ’ ’ ’ But don t get discouraged , fellers , don t kick , an sheer an Shirk

The turnpike road i s j est b e - end the big swamps of H ard

Work . L L ’ ’ In azy ane an Whiskey Alley don t linger with yer load ,

’ They ll land you in the bogs at last , far from the turnpike

road .

’ ’

D . An don t try Mortgage Avenue , thet lands in swamps of ebt

’ ’ s e e u id eb o a r d s W e n you the ir flamin g , j est keep your peepers she t ; ’ ’ C An don t loaf on Pleasure ommon , but buckle to your load ,

’ ’ ’ ’ e i n An j est keep p gg thro the dust , an strike the turnpike

road .

’ ’ ’ D - on t linger at the cross roads , an loaf roun in the lanes ,

’ ’ The worl s highways are open to men of pluck an brains ;

’ ’ n Trot on an git yer second wind , don t mi d yer heavy load,

’ n An dash out with a spanki g pace upon the turnpike road . WZ WH ERE TH E S UN G OES D O V.

H E road that passed his father s door H e though t stretche d on forevermore h v d Throug fragrant ales o f tangle grass ,

’ e r n n O ma y a misty mou tain pass , O u t into wonders unexpressed

Beyond the cloudlands of the We st ,

Through lands and citie s of renown ,

n To whe re th e mighty su goes down .

’ And so he left his father s door

I . And said , will return no more

H e travelled forth be yond the bridge ,

H e climbed the lofty mountain ridge , H e passe d the river a n d the town To ﬁnd out where the su n went down ;

B u t whe n he sank at close o f day , T h e sunset still was far away .

H e trod through many a wind - swept glen I n mighty towns he mixe d with me n ; The breath o f many an alien breeze

’ Tosse d him o er unfamiliar seas ; H e breathed the spicy gale that blows

From Southern archipelagoes . And i n the quie t E astern calm

H e sought swe e t sle ep beneath the palm ,

d a But when h e looked at close o f y,

The sunse t still was far away .

H UL L O f ”

’ E N s e e m a n woe you a in , “ l Walk right u p and say hullo “ ” ’ “ ’ h h o w Say ullo , an d ye do

’ ’ ” H ow s the world a usin you ?

Slap the fellow o n his back ,

’ Bring your han do wn with a whack ;

’ ’ t a n d o n t Waltz righ up , go slow , ’ ’ l G rin an shake an s a y hullo

I s he clothe d in ra gs ? O sho l

’ ’ Walk right up a n sa y hullo l R ags is but a cotton roll

’ Jest for wr a ppi n up a soul ; An ’ a soul is worth a true ’ “ ’ H ale an h earty how d ye do D ’ o n t wait fo r the crowd to go , “ l Walk right up and say , hullo

’ W e n big vessels me et , they say ,

’ l o They s a o t an sail away .

’ j est the same are you an me , L one some ships upon a se a ; E ach one s a iling hi s own j og

Fo r a po rt beyond th e fog .

’ L e t s e a ki n your p trumpet blow, L ift your horn an ’ cry “ hullo I

“ II U L L O 1 0 3

’ ’ I Say hullo , an how d ye do

O ther folks are good a s you . W ’ en you leave your house of clay

’ - Wanderin in the Far Away, W ’ en you trave l through the strange C ’ ountry t other side the range , Then the souls you ’ ve cheered will

’ sa l Who you be , an y hullo T [47 0 K H VD S OF M E N

’ ’ OW ye r garding on a hillside the t s sl an ti n to the south Y ’ ’ t e ll raise such luscious garding sass , twill mel right in yer mouth

’ ’ ’ ’ An c a b bid ge s an c o wc u mb e r s an ev ry kine e r plant j est hump‘ theirselves an ’ grow like grass upon a southern

slant .

’ ’ ’ B ut o l w take the tough red oak tree , an it ill droop an blight U nless it has the col ’ north wind to wrastle with an ’ ﬁght

I t stumps the rough northeaster, deﬁe s the wind and rain ,

’ ’ ha r i a n ﬁ r c e . An grips the botto m of the hills , an ghts the

c a bb id e Some men are j est like garding sass , j est like the g

plant ,

’ T hey on y grow upon the h ills the t hev a southward slant

’ ’ They grow , like pigweeds in j uly , an on y live for fun ,

’ ’ ’ ’ m o n ths th e so u th An hol their up toward , , an j est ﬁll up ith

sun .

’ ’ A n some are like the to ugh red oak all seamed ith many a

scar,

’ By ﬁgh ti n storms thet smite the hills beneath the northern star w ’ The whirl inds see m to make em strong , the cyclones make

’ e m grow ;

’ ’ ’ t o They grow giants w ile they ﬁght the lightnin an the snow .

HE GO ES .

H E N father goes to G u nj i wu m p

H e keeps the family on a j ump .

j im hauls the wa go n in the yard . To grease the axle s up with lard ; H e rubs the old horse down with care And gets the wh i p i n good repair H e mends the harness up with string And makes it strong as anything

H e u cleans the wheels p at the pump ,

u n iwu m When father goe s to G j p .

H e scrapes and sco urs for hours and hours , H And its and ﬂutters on the j ump , For we all have to worry and hurry and skurry

u n iw m Whe n fathe r goes to G j u p .

When fathe r goe s to G u nj iw u mp

’ H e doesn t go like a n y gump ; H e has hi s boots greased up in style “ ” With the best kind o f linse ed ile .

i s This the task fo r little Joe , O f lame ntation and of woe H e bears on hard and rubs it in

s s in With mutte rings , which to peak were ;

H e give s the cowhide s many a thump ,

G u n iwu m And hate s the name of j p . ’ l -[E R 0 R E 1 0 FA T S f7 U N Y. 7

For it j ust doubles our toils and troubles , And masses them a solid lump ’ Tis an aggregation of tribulation

n iw m When father goes to G u j u p .

Whe n father goes to G u nj iwu mp

They gather round him in a clump ,

Matilda , Martha , Jane and Sue ,

Each with some special task to do .

Matilda trie s to part his hair,

-h s i Mart get his wh skers in repair,

Jane ﬁxes his suspenders right ,

’ And Sue she ge t s his collar tight ; They fuss and fuddle on the j ump

u n i w m When father goes to G j u p .

' k ‘ They ﬁx h is tackle , and coax and cac le , And gathe r round him in a clump ; T hey fasten and button whateve r he ’ s got

u n i wum When father goe s to G j p .

We all sink down , a helple ss lump ,

’ When father s gone to G u nj iwu mp

We only lie around and shirk ,

For we are all too tire d to work .

H e e But mothe r says , looke d as nic A s if he had been kept on ice Not many young swells look so trim

And d -i c kyd a n d yﬁe d as him ;

- u I To beat his get p , will stump ” u n iwu m Most any dude in G j p .

e Though bruise d and battered , we are all ﬂatter d

A self- congratulating clump ; In glowing phrases we sound his praise s

’ Whe n father s gone to G u nj iwu m p ; H E COM ES .

When fathe r comes fro m G u nj i wu mp

H e kee ps the family on a j ump .

L Ca ike esar o n his triumph car, Y him oung Tom e spies from afar, And j ubilantly runs fro m home

To bid him welcome into R ome .

H e spies him by the alder clump ,

T h e n iw m conqueror from Gu j u p .

With his trophies o f candy he makes himself handy ,

And on the new drum does he j oyously thump .

Like an army with banners , a host with hosannas,

n i wu m Does father come from G u j p .

Wh en fathe r co mes from G u nj i wu mp

u We run to meet him by the p mp ,

M atilda , Martha , j ane and Sue , E ach with he r special hullabaloo ; And quickly scoots out from the shed

Th e swift and spinning form of N e d . I t seems like Gabriel with h is trump

When father comes from G u nj iwu mp .

u We f ss and ﬂutter, and spurt and sputter,

All dull , domestic duties dump

’ T i s a j ubilation , a glad vacatio n

W f un iwu m hen father comes rom G j p .

Whe n father comes from G u nj i wu mp We gather round him in a clump ; M atilda gets a gi n gham dress

To aggravate her loveliness , M arth gets her shoe s ; a colore d skein O f cotton yarn for sister j ane .

’ H E - M c D o u a ll s Anti I mmigration club met at g store , And swore to keep all foreigners fro m fair Columbia ’ s shore

was M c C o H Sc hwa tz e n m e e r L u The re Pat y, ans y , Won ng ,

L e Monsieur Bounc e , And an exiled R ussian N ihilist whose name you couldn ’ t

pro nounce .

’ We ll ke ep the m bloody furriners , bego rra , whe re they be ,

A to th e r P a t M c G e e side the wather , sors , said Michael ; Dh o se D o o tc hm a n s mans moost shta y ava y und keep d i s

c o u n d t r o u d t y ,

’ “ H s hte a l Nor coom , said ans , to mine beer, or e at mine ” saue rkraut .

O u i n L e ( , messieurs , said Mo sieur Bounc e , lee s countree

e e s la belle ,

’ L a m a n iﬁ u e v e grande , la grosse , la g q , love it well , ver well

V e m y s kee p de French me n fro its shore and lec in quie t ea e ,

- Y v e And then , like true bo rn ankees , Vill eat our frogs in

"’ peace

bl a r ste d The Britisher must go , said J ohn Bull J inks , must go

a w d o n c h e r Faw we h ave no room , no space faw aliens , ” know . “ ’ C d l ive L e e John hinaman we ll away , said Sam Wing ,

and the n ,

l i a n l We M e c folks wil have no men but j ust u s M e l i c a n men . TA N ’ P A N ’ E T H I S U G T .

H IS life is a ﬁght that has got to be ﬁt .

’ ’ The best thing you can do is stan up an get hit ,

’ ’

L . a Stan up , like John , through the bruises an p in ,

’ ’ An not dodge and skedaddle an skulk , like Kilrain ;

r se t - Jest squa e off with fate for the to of life ,

’ An keep your ﬁsts clinched for the tug of the strife .

Je st tighten your belt , pull th e buckle a bit , ’ ’ ’ 1 Stagger back from the blow, an stan up an ge t hit

L l o r iﬁ e s r uck loves the hard hitter and g g it ,

’ ’ ’ An smiles on the man who stan s up an gets h it ; ’ ’ x Tho fate strikes out strong , with a blow twi t the

I t loves the stout soul wh o still ﬁghts and deﬁes .

The ﬁgh t is not gained by the strong or the ﬂeet ,

’ But by the grim chap who don t know he is beat .

This life is a ﬁght that has got to be ﬁt .

’ ’ The best thing you can do is stan up an get h it .

’ ’ ’ Vt e n se e you the blow comin , don t falte r and ﬂit ,

’ ’ ’ Jest strike back y e r se lf an stan up an get hit . Though fate is a ﬁghter that never will ﬂy Don ’ t thro w up the sponge till yer ready to die

’ Tho at times yer eyes swim , yer head whirls like a top

' ’ e r r e a d d Till y y ter die , don t get ready ter rop ,

’ ’ But feel thro the darkness , an brace up a bit

’ ’ ’ st r e n k J est pray for mo re , an stan up an get hit A N/ R Z F [L Y FJN A N CJE N G .

H E Y tell me you work for a dollar a day, ” H o w is it you clothe your six boys on such pay ?

o u t I know y will think it concei ed and quee r,

’ a u But I do it bec se I m a go o d ﬁnancier .

’ There s Pe te , John , Joe , Jim , William , and N ed ,

r A half doze n boys to be clothe d and be f d .

I buy for them all good , plain victuals to eat ,

But clothing I only buy clothing for Pe te .

’ fo r Whe n Pete s clothe s are too small him to ge t on ,

’ ’ My wife makes em over and gives em to John .

who When for John , is ten , they have grown out of date , h ’ h S e w o . j ust makes e m over for J im , is e ight

' ’ When for Jim they ve become too ragged to ﬁx ,

’

i s six . She j ust make s e m ove r for Joe , who

’ And wh e n little Joseph can wear e m no more ,

’

m wh o i s . She j ust akes e m ove r for Bill , four

And whe n for young Bill they no longe r will do ,

’

m fo r i s . She j ust ake s e m over N ed , who two

UZVCL E EB EN ’ S C ON SER VA TJSM

NCL E E B E N wa s care ful in all that h e said , H e wa s neve r pronounce d and d ogmatic ;

a s I f he was mad as a horne t at bay , l ’ H e cou dn t be sure and e mphatic .

H e w thought it was best to go sure and go slo ,

A nd always take tim e for h is whiskers to grow, And h is blam e or hi s praise would end with this ” I dunno as I know ; I dunno .

w Whe n his neighbors gre wild in political strife , And asked hi s opinion about it I I ’ dunno but it is , dunno but it ain t , “ H e would slowly declare but I doubt it .

’ T hi s hen he d paus e a lo ng time , scratch head and lay

Fo r it took quite a while for h is language to ﬂow,

sa wa ' But at length he wo uld y, i n a calm kind o f y ” I dunno as I know ; I dunno .

Y o u i hi m o u h im c m ght pelt with truth , y might stone with fa ts ,

Yo u d could crush him with strong e monstration ,

a And teachers and preache rs and l wye rs could talk , H e would have j ust the same hesitatio n

H e hi s d would still scratch head , unde ci e d and slow,

’ B u t h i s w o e r ﬂ o w no ﬂush of convictio n face ould ,

’ s a wa But slowly h e d y, in his old chronic y ” I a s I dunno know ; I d unno . N E EBEN ’ S COJVS E R VA T / S M U CL . 1 1 5

I I I dunno as know , I dunno as know ,

The refrain of his song of existence .

But we loved the old fellow - afte r he die d

i n And his soul wandered off the distance .

we The n we thought , were wiser and less fond of show, L ess weak and less proud of our work here below , L ike him we would say every day , every day ” I dunno a s I know ; I dunno . T PVO FR I E N D S .

L V E D I alone with in a mighty city , The crowds that co me and go

’ i ts the M id all throngs , foolish and the witty , f I had no rie nd or fo e .

The re were two men , within that mighty c ity , Came to me fro m the throng ;

O n e loved me with a love akin to pity , ’ w The oth er s hate a s strong .

The lover and the hater dwelt be side me , Passed through the selfsame gate

n - b And neither , in the ir passi g y, denied me

r The look o f love o hate .

So many months withi n that mighty c ity I love d my friend full well ;

I n o But him , my foe , for him fel t pity

But the deep hate of hell .

’ O n e morning , in the twilight , o er the city There cam e an icy breath

My friend had passed beyond my love and pity ,

- The border land of death .

I w Then was lonely , and the way gre dreary ; I grimly fought with fate , d And c herishe , with my loneliness aweary , D ead love and livinghate .

NTE R R R E TE E S ON C O C D .

’ E m so n M AN named , so they say,

G o t off a purty thing one day , — ’ About a chap I don t kno w who ” Who builded bette r than he knew .

’ E m so n I n spite of , now , I swan ,

’ H e was c u r u s built on a plan ,

’ A c c o r d i n to a strange idee

’ Thet d o n t at all resemble m e ; I n spite of all that I c a n do

’ I ve builde d worser than I knew .

I was a young and lazy lout , B u t had m y palace all planned out ; I t s beautie s never can be told

R m a h o e r n osewood , g y and gold ; I t wa s a scrumptious sight to se e

’ With all its gilt an ﬁligre e .

But my real house scarce stops the rain ,

’ An has an o l d hat in the pane ; I h I did the best t at could do ,

But builded worser than I knew .

I use d to build my stately ships An ’ launch ’ em gran ’ ly fro m the An ’ in my dreams did I behold

’ Their freight of ivery an gold . O h they swep ’ gran ’ ly roun ’ the

A n rode the ocean like a swan . V ’ E D E l ll E R S Or C OR t E C T . I 1 9

But the real ship I set aﬂoat k Was nothing but a lea y boat , Without the scantest thread er sail

’ I bale it with an o l tin pail ;

’ But for a ﬁshing smack twill do .

I builded worser than I knew .

’ Em o n Ye s . s , Mr , very few H ave builded better than they knew

’ ’ ho we e r we Tis ten to one , watch , ‘ ’ ’ w n e ll make a bungle a a botch . ’ I ’ It ain t because don t know how ,

se t m To the beams from ste to bow,

’ I vu m But my han trembles so , , I cannot get the timbers plumb ;

’ i s An so it , my life all through ,

’ I ve I builded worser than knew . TH E ELDER ’ S S E R ZII ON

w U R e st e r d a , e elder told us y y, had not learne d to live

’ U ntil we learned h o w blessed tis to pardon and forgive

e The dear, sweet , pr cious words he spake like heavenly mann a fell perfect peace they brought our hearts no human words

can tell .

L ove brings millennial peace , he said and , though my lips e wer dumb , “ I n L e t I still kept shouting in my soul , Ame , and it co me

‘ When men forgive all other men , the year of j ubilee W ” . 5 0 . ill dawn upon the world , h e said I said , let it be

he So love your neighbor as yourself, the n begun again , l And Silas Fitz , across the aisle , he shoute d out , Amen “ ” n - What right had he to yell A me , the low tone d measly hound !

m n w Who took y cow , my e milch cow, and locke d he r in the pound '

- - The low down , raw boned , homely crank , a lunkhead and a

lout , Whose love and grace and heart and soul have all bee n rusted o ut To s it the re in the sanctuary and holler o ut Am en

’ I f I could choke the rascal o nce he d ne ve r shout again I

' H W H E R B E R T P E zV E R S OR TE z SH Y A ND S C .

H O R T E M S HY plays round my knee I H Wh ile read e rbert Spencer, I But still the more read and read , My igno rance growl s de n ser ;

Sho r te m For Shy decries my taste , e And tells me ev ry minute , I ’ Say, papa , don t like that book ,

’ Th ere ain t no lions in it .

H Now erbert Spencer is a great ,

A wo rld - compelling thinke r ; No heavy plummet line of truth G oe s de epe r than his sinke r . But one man reads hi s work wa y through

For thousands that begin it ,

They leave one - half the leaves uncut

’ ” The re ain t no lions in it .

The a ge - old errors in their den D H oes erbert Spencer throttle ,

And ranks with N ewton , Bacon , Kant ,

And ancient Aristo tle .

“ The mighty hom age of the few The se towering giants win it

Th e n n - d millions shun their hu ti g groun ,

’ ”

There ain t no lions in i t . S H OR E /lf S TI Y D [TER BE R T SPE NC R m T A N E . ;

I leave this metaphysic swamp ,

Thick grown with sturdy scions , And roam the Meadows of R omance

ho r te m With S and his lions .

’ H e brings his gaudy Noah s Ark book And begs me to beg i n

H u bb u t Better than Pence r book,

’ That ain t no lions in it .

Now wead a bout the e fal u n t So big he scare s the people ;

’ An wead about the ka n ge r wo o

’ Who j umps up on the teeple . So I take up the Noah ’ s Ark book

And sturdily begin it, A n d read about the e fa l u n ts

And lions that are in it .

Sho r te m will grow in soberness,

H i s e life b come inte nser,

’ So me day he ll d rop his e fa l un ts H And take up e rbert Spence r . B u t life can have no happier years T han glad years that begin it , And life sometimes grows dull and tame

That has no lions in it .

W V j l/ A A TTH G FOR TH E JL .

IT H t anxious fea ure s , worn and pale ,

H e waits the co ming o f the mail .

E d a ach y he asks with ho pe and fear, e t ? My lett r , is my le te r here

E str ik e s him ach day the answer dumb , ” N ot yet , old man ; it has not come .

a a n d The harmless madm n , old gray , w No one ould j ee r or drive away . l ” “ Ah m e he sigh s , long years have passed, w ’ ” But it ill come , twill come at last .

so A nd h e waits , in silence dumb ,

The letter that will neve r come .

Th rough misty visions o f hi s tears

‘ H e - se es the long , far sundere d years ; The past co mes up before him there When he wa s strong and sh e wa s fair ;

O nce more he feels , in very truth , The leaping pulses of his youth a A strong , strange j oy he fe els ag in , Th e old wild feve r in his brain

An angry word , a careless tone ,

Then ﬁfty weary years alone .

u So long he waits , in silence d mb ,

The letter that will neve r co me .

‘ Alas his poor old wits are ﬂed , H e cannot know that sh e i s dead ;

’ ’ so And he asks it o e r and o er,

The same old question a s before . I OR T f f E l ll A l L IVA T HVG F . 1 2 7

H e -h sa wakes wit morning light to y, “ — l My letter, it will come to day

With totte ring limbs that almost fail ,

H e creeps each morning to the mail ,

And hears , with ever new regret ,

y e t . Not yet , old man ; not yet , not

And then he waits , in silence dumb ,

The letter that will never come .

we A h me poor madman , even Are dupe s o f fickle destiny ; In careless hope w e Waiting si t For missives that were never writ We wait to s e e the harvest grown From seed that we have never sown ; We seek the harbor mouth to hail The vessels that will never sail We wait to se e our garners filled With fruit of fi elds we have not tilled

We wait , in gathering stillness , dumb , For letters that will never come P E TI E TER as Q U S ON S .

H E N Pe ter was a sturdy lad H e move d f rom G r a ssva l e with his

And left behind him Joe and John , And little Jake and J efferson Four chum s of his by day and night

With whom he use d to play and ﬁght .

i s n N ow where is Joe , and where Joh , And where is Jake and J efferson ?

Ten yea rs passe d by and Pete came back With these four que stions in his pack : “ i s Now where Joe , and where is John , And where is Jake and J efferso n ? ” “ ’ Jo e digs his livin with his pick ,

’ ’ An John keeps store down to the ‘ Crick ;

I n Jake is away to school , thi k ,

’ A n Jefferson has took to drink .

And Pete came back in te n years more With the same questions as before “ Now where is Joe , and where is John , And where is Jake and Jefferson ? ” “ ’ Joe caught cold ditchin in the rain ,

’ ’ An - we shan t see poor Jo e again ;

’ ’ An Joh n is rich , an Jake is wise ,

’ An Jeff a scamp who m all d espise .

I n te n years Pe te r comes once m ore , And asking questions a s befo re

TH E L A N D OF TH E L E FT

‘ H E w e h big thoughts that t ought , but could pre ss 5

The laws we proposed , but never e nacted ;

T h e t we C love hat felt , but never onfessed

i we c The bus ness planned , but never transa te d ;

we The warp that wove and negle cted the weft, Are piled mountain high in the L and of the Left ; They are piled up so high

sk That they graze the blue y,

And burden th e earth in the L and o f the L e ft .

There is piled bottled thunder that never has burst ,

There is store d livid lightning that never has struck , L And th ere stands the ast who had hoped to be First , The lazy and luckless believ e r i n luck ,

we And the hopes of which all our lives were bere ft,

’ S talk proudly and grand thro the L and o f th e L eft 5 And our gay dreams are there L ooking wondrously fa ir

O n the moonshiny strand of the Land of the L eft .

A n d f we the o f ice run for, that evermore skips

’ From our grasp , like a shadow , we ll catch in that clime Fo r there cabine t portfolios and postmaste rships

- Are thick as mo squitoes in camp mee ting time . 1 THE LAN D OF THE L EFT. 3 1

For Salt R iver cargoes of wonderful heft Ar e dumped on the wharves of th e L and of the L eft ; There the ofﬁce we pr ize Will mate rialize L L We will ﬁnd it at last in the and of the eft .

Men left out in the cold will be pulled in to warm

Who all their lives long have chattered and shivered , m And their cargoes from Spain will sail in fro the storm , “ ” And the letter they long for be duly delivered . l I t will come safe and sound , with its seal still unc eft,

’ From the postmaster s hands of th e L and o f the L eft With a certiﬁed check That is worth a good speck

O n the N ational Bank of the L and of the L eft . K ZII A V TH E SI L L TC Z .

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ H E R E S var us questions ﬂ o a ti n roun bout how my

life began ,

’ ’ ’ A n how I clum fame s diz zy he ight an now am silli c k man 3

’ ’ wh o An fo r th e young men of the lan , afte r me shall come ,

I want to tell the story of the way that I have clum .

’ ’ ’ I m i se r bl e o nce was j est as poor an mean an as you ,

E t e z e z e z grub poor , wore duds mean all you fellers do ; ” “ “ e z But my indomitable will , the reporter said , ’ “ ” An my unt i ri ng e nergy hez br u ng me out ahead .

I e t e z s saved my money , corn bread , j est a cow eat grass , ’ I ’ I An neve r used no butter, an never sighed for sass ;

’ ’ ’ ? u n e r sta n Tough vittle s for a workin man Well , you must

’ ’ lli km a n I w y si c . f you think too much o f fodder, , you can t be

I neve r tried to be no dood , wore overalls about , An ’ w ’ e n the outside got worn thin I turned ’ e m wrong side out ,

’ ’ - — Seven thirty ﬁve a year for clo es this wa s my reg lar plan

’ ’ I m — il a n An now reaping my reward for I am s li c km .

I mi n u I Co zm z B l o w store d my ith seful facts , read the jy ,

’ b o r r i e I d . it o f neighbor N eal , didn t cost a cent , you know

’ " The G m s w a /e B a n n e r is a sheet th e t s full of spunk an Vim ’ ’ I b o r r i e d . An neighbo r Naso n took it , an it o f him

I M CR O KE R fa r live d in the woods , a solitary place ,

Where the bushes grew, like wh iskers o n his u n razored face 5

wa s r And the , black bear h is b o ther and the catamount his

chum ,

And Jim he lived and waited for the millions yet to come .

C n roker made a cleari g, and he sowe d it down with

wheat ,

he ﬁlled his lawn with cabbage , and he plante d it with be en And it blossomed with potatoes and with peach and pear and

plum ,

J im he live d and waited for the millions yet to come .

k hi s The n Jim he too ancient axe and cleare d a forest street , While he lived on bear and succotash and young opossum

meat ,

And his rhythmic axe strokes sounded , and the woods no

more were dumb , While h e cleared a crooke d highway for the millions yet to

come .

T a hen they came like aimless str gglers , they came from far

and near,

A little log - house settlement grew round the pionee r H R T E PI ON EE . 1 3 5

And the sound of saw and broadaxe made a glad industrial

hum , “ C Jim said , The oming Millions , they have j ust begun to ” come .

And a l ittle crooked rail way curved round mountain hill and

lake , C rawling toward the forest village , like an undulating snake

t he And one morn the locomotive puffed into wilderness , “ An d C Jim said , The oming M illions , they are coming by

express .

’ C r o k e r s And the village grew and prospere d , but Jim hair wa s grayer

n h a n d i m wa s Wh e t ey g o t a city charter old J chosen mayor,

But Jim declined the honor, and moved his household good s i Far away nto the forest , to the old primeval woods .

i Far and far into the fo rest moved the grizzle d p oneer, I There he reared his hut and murmured , will build a city

he r e .

‘ r - a n d And he hea s the woo d fox barking, he hears the

partridge drum ,

th e And old man sits and listens for the millions yet to come . WO OD CH U CK JN G .

H AV E chased fugacious woo dchucks ove r many leagues

o f land , But at last they ’ ve always vanished in a round hole in the sand ’ — A nd though I v e be en wOo d c hu c ki n g many time s upon my soul I have neve r bagged my woodchuck , for he always found his

hole .

’ wo o d c hu c ki n But tis fun to go g whe n a fellow is a boy,

Wh o en all muscular exertion is exhilarating j y,

’ ’ Tho u gh you can t ge t ne ar the woo dchuck so s to touch

with a pole ,

And the evane scent rascal always slide s into his hole .

" H o w I h c ase d the panting fugitive and raise d the battle cry, With a vision right before me of a chunk of woodchuck pie

With a vision right before me of this culinary goal , D id I reach to grab my woodchuck — and he vanished in

his hole .

And I often go wo o d c hu c ki n g I have chased h im he re and there k That lan , fugacio us woodchuck , like a long streak through the air 5

I a s I a For the proj ects have followed , neared the e ger goal , H ave made the mselves invisible , and vanished in their hole .

V D I OR CE .

’ ’

H E N . two nags won t hitch toge the r, but bal k an

u raise a rump s ,

’ ’ ’ u v A n bite , an throw their feet aroun to all pints

h e t compass , T I ’ he m hosses don t drive no mo re , attached to the same kerridge

’ ’ An I have j est th e same idee about divorc e an m e r r id ge .

’ A n a t e r al man an wife should live in peace , the way of livin

’ ’ ’ I t ha n k s ivi n n one long holiday of luv , an ho no r an g 5

’ ’ h o r But w en they learn to hate eac other, an live a life

’ sn a r li n

’ ’ An wretc h it take s the place of dove , an brute the place of darlin

’ ’ W en ho me beco me s a battleﬁeld , a scene of ﬁght an scrim m age 5

’ ’ W en luv pulls down her household gods , an hate sets up his image 5

’ ’ An w e n n o powe r in heaven or earth can take the pair an m ate ’ e m

’ ’ ’

I t s . . time for the divorce court , then , to come an separate em

“ ? But how about the baby , hey , the blameless little prattler W’ l y, in a nest o f ratt esnakes , eac h snake becomes a rattler ;

’ ’ An if you want the child to mix with gentlemen an ladies , I t won ’ t improve his chances much to be brought up in II a d e s . DI VOR CE . 1 3 9

’ ’ ’ W e n his father an his mother ﬁght, it s better for the baby

a To be brought up by ch rity , than be brought up where they

be .

’ But they should never wed again I m sorry to deny it , b w ’ him But if a feller lunders once , y, le t rectify it .

’ ’ But. if all the men were j est like me , an all their wives like

M olly , ’ D ’ An all th e little boys like ick , an all the girls like Polly ,

’ ’ W y, all divorce courts would starve out , an each divorce attorney ’ hi Would pack his grip for happier climes , an start upon s

j ourney . A N UNA M B JTJ O US M A N .

0 n hot ambitio , wild and wan ,

D o ef rms my life so fair .

’ I d like to be a selec tman , And have folks call me “ squire ’ h But I d not climb the topmost e ight ,

’ ’ Fame s ﬁckle zephyr s sport ,

’ But ye t twould be no more than right, I went to G eneral Court ;

’ And so I d live and die conte nt

In modest , shy re tirement .

’ I Tis true , may move into town

Before my hair is grayer , A n d the n I hope to gai n renown And be electe d mayor ; But I would no t be grand a n d great

To make the people stare , I But were gove rnor of the state , I I think would no t care ,

’ No r let Fame s tempest - torn control

M a r my swe e t quie tude of soul .

’ I d live the most content of men ,

’ Far from Fame s maddening roar, I C And could go to ongress then ,

’ I a sk think I d no mo re .

TH E UNP A R D ON A B L E A/ S V.

CA H N ’ T endure the stoopid , wude ,

U n c u l c hawe d a ch p the vulgar boah , Who wears in the m a whn i n g the sam e pair of two use r s

w h fo a h He o a the day b e .

e v e wy c wo ss I t mak s me mad and ,

wi e f I wo a h With pain and g almo st , T o se e the next m awh n i n g the same pair of two u se r s H e wo a h the day b e fo a h

I h e And when mingle with t thwong,

D b stwe e t own to th e clu or on th e , I t makes me fwa n ti c that a man

Ca n so d o o c i d i n d i sc we e t be , So wough and we c kl e ss and so wude

I we a ll y want to spill h is goah , When he we a h s in the m a wh n in g the same two u se r s H e wo a h the day b e fo a h

I Now there are deeds cahn excuse ,

A n d I wongs cahn forgive , Bu t such a c wim i n a l as this

’ Shouldn t be allowed to live

id e a h I m o n s two u s Why , the the wetch

fu w wo a h With wage and y makes me , Who wears in the m a wh n i n g th e same pair two u se r s H e wo a h the day b e fo a h l

A FA LL FR O/II GRA CE

E allus uster to think Joe Bean a fairish sorter man ,

’ ’ ’ An built upon a purty plumb an p e r p e n d i c l a r plan ;

’ s ill i c km an We made him an squire , sent him to G eneral Court ;

Whatever post of trust he had he allus held the fort .

We so u ht a u v e r n ar a g g last year, we scoured the st te through

clean ,

’ ’ We couldn t ﬁnd no better man , an pounced on neighbor

Bean .

I n o m e r n a t e d e s h im myself, y , yelled out loud and plain — I n o m e r n a te old Joseph Bean a man without a stain

’ ’ ’ a An the n the big convention roared , hurr hed , an clapped an yelled I t took the c he e r m a n h alf an hour afore the noise wa s H qu e e d .

’ Y v ou d think , the way they eiled and roared and pounded

the re like sin ,

’ ’ Joe Bean he wa s a p erfect man a n angel G abriel s twin .

’ n e x day the papers hinted that his mothe r starved to

death , Joe wouldn ’ t give her food enough to keep her mortal breath 5 h t e n another paper said he uster beat his wife , h o w she hid out in the barn that s he m i ght save her

life . A FA F O/V R A 1 46 LL R I G CE .

’ They said he was an inﬁde l , an anarchist an snide ,

’ An said it looke d su sp 1c 1o u s that ar way his fathe r died

’ An then they sa id the hoss he d r iv should pain his guilty soul

B u tt e r ﬁ e l I t looke d exactly like the hoss N ed d had stole .

They said N ed Jones , the pedlar , found murde red o n the

gre en , The last time he wa s se en alive wa s se en with Joseph Bean ;

’ ’ T hey said the Baptis m e e t n house burned to the ground last May

’ — sa Was lighted by a certain man but they didn t like to y.

’ ’ l ec t e d u ve r n o r an But Joe was g , now he rules the state ,

I c a lke r l a t e But he wont never be th e same to me , ; I k ’ ’ uster thin him honest , an pure , an j est , an good ,

’ But n o w I m kinder shamed to live in the same neighbor

hood .

D —E E — L R I FJE D N E S ’ M R G O G O j O O T GA GE .

E 1 6 6 p bought in 5 a farm o f stum s and stones ,

H i s wa s G o d - B e - Gl o r iﬁe d hi s wa s nam e , surnam e it Jones

H e ! a a n put a mo rtg ge on the farm d then , in conscious pride ,

’ - B e - l ri ﬁ G d G o e d . I n twenty years I ll pay it up , said o

The mortgage had a hu n gry maw that swal lowed corn and wheat H e to ile d with patience night a n d day to let the monster eat ;

H e m slowly worke d himself to death , and on the cal hillside

’ - s G o d B e G l o r iﬁe d . T hey laid , beyond the monster reach , good

And th e farm with its incumbrances of mortgage , stumps and stones

I t fell to young M elchizedek Paul Adonira m Jones .

wa s Melchizedek a likely youth , a holy , godly man ,

And he vowe d to raise that mortgage like a noble Puri tan .

And h e went forth every morning to the rugged mountain side

A n d b e a s G o d - B e G dug , dug be fore him , poor old loriﬁed ;

’ H e raised pumpkins and potatoes down the monster s throat to pour

H e a n d gulped them down smacked his j aws , and calmly

asked for more .

H e h i s wa s h wa s worked until back bent , until his air gray O n th e h i llsid e through a snowdrift they d ug his grave one day l — z OM I E D 0N E 5 T GA GE G OD B E G F 7 . 1 49

H is ﬁ r s t - E born son , liphalet , had no time to weep and brood , Fo r the monster by hi s doorstep growled foreve r for his

food .

H e fed him on his garden truck , h e stuffed his ribs with hay ,

o And he fed him eggs and butter, but he would not g away ; E And liphalet he staggere d with the burden , and then died

- - And slept with old Melch izedek and G o d B e G l o r iﬁ e d .

Then the farm it fell to Thomas , and from Thomas fell to

John ,

h E l e a z u r T en from John to , but the mortgage still lived on ; R E l i Then it fell to alph and Peter, , Absalom and Paul , — Down through a ll the generations but the mortgage killed them all

a o About a score of years g , the farm came down to Jim

And Jim called in the mo rtgagee and gave the farm to him .

’ so There s no human heart empty that it has no ray of hope ,

So Jim gave up the ancient farm and went to making soap .

ﬁft — H e . grew a y millionnaire , a bloated , pampered nature

H e w owned ten railroads , t e nty mines , the whole State

legislature ,

A n d f u thousands did his gru f commands , and lived pon his bounty ;

And he came home , bought back the farm , and the entire

county . ’ T T A H E z TH E Q UA R E S N T W.

H I h e e r d t h e h , yes , anthem sung by the t big churc

quarte t ,

’ sh e I h My wife rave d about it , but kep my own mout she t ; “ ’ sh e se d No sweeter song , , is sung by any ange l s lip

’ ’ ’ I h e e r d . An sot still an he r talk , an neve r raise d a yip

’ ’ They sang , We shall be changed ; that s all ; that s all , or purty n l gh 5

—we We shall be changed , we shall be changed , shall be ” a s I changed . S y I f you p e r p o se all day an nigh t j est the m same words to

sm g, W’ I h w y should t ink a change ould be a ve ry proper thing .

“ ’ ’ The tenor sang We shall be changed ; an then struck in

the bass ,

we Who sang , We shall , shall be changed from the botto m of his face ;

The alto and soprano then both tried their vocal range , ’ “ An both emphatically expresse d the certainty of change .

wu z The absence of idees drowned in plenteousness of voice .

’ ’ e c o n e r m str a va a n c e What strict y of words , an g of no ise For they we re stingy of th e ir words and generous of their

strains ,

’ ’ An they were spe ndthrifts o f the ir lungs an misers of thei r

brains .

H E WA N TED TO K N O IV

E wanted to kno w how G o d made the worl

’ O u t er nothin at all , W’ ’ y it wasn t made square , like a block or a brick ,

’ Stid e r roun , like a ball ,

H o w m a n a e d r to it g stay held up in the air,

’ ’ ’ An w y it don t fall ;

’ ’ All sich kin e r things , above an below ,

H e wanted to know .

H e waii te d C to know who ain had for a wife ,

’ An i f the two ﬁt ;

Who h it Billy Patterson ove r the head , If he ever got hit ;

’ ’ An where Mose s wuz w e n the candle went out ,

’ A n if others were lit ;

’ ’ ’ w hi s I f he couldn ﬁ n the se out , y cake wuz all dough ,

’ An he wanted to know .

’ ’ An h e wante d to know bout original si n ;

0 An ’ about Adam ’ s fall I f the snake hopped aroun on the end o f his tail

Before doome d to crawl ,

’ ’ ’ An w at would hev h appe ned if Adam h e d n e t

’ The 0 1 apple at all ;

’ These ere kind e r things seemed ter ﬁll him ith wo e ’ w An he wanted to kno .

’ w ’ d An he want e d to know y some folks wuz goo ,

’ A n some folks wuz mean ,

’ ’ ’ \V m id d l i n y some folks wuz an some folks wuz fat ,

’ An some folks wuz lean , I A N T E D T O A’ N O W [ E IV . 1 5 3

’ ’ An some folks were very learned an wise ,

’ An some folks dern green ; All these kin ’ er things they troubled him so

That he wanted to know .

’ ’ so An h e ﬁ red conundrums aroun , For he wanted to know ;

’ ’ ’ u d An his nice crop er taters rot in the groun ,

’ ’ An his stuff wouldn t grow ,

' Fo r i t t o o k so much time to ask questions like these ,

’ H e d no time to ho e ;

H e wanted to know if these things were so ,

Course he wanted to know .

’ w An his cattle they died , an his horse s gre sick ,

’ ’ Cause they didn t hev no hay ;

’ his An creditors pressed him to pay up his bills ,

’ But he d no time to pay ,

’ ’ For he had to go roun askin questions , you know,

’ By night an by day ;

’ H e d so no time to work , for they troubled him ,

’ An he wanted to know .

now in the poorhouse he travels aroun ’

I n j ust the same way ,

’ asks the same questions right over ag in , By night a n d by day ;

’ ’ he haint foun no feller can answer em yit ,

’ ’ ’ ’ ’ 0 1 An he s an h e s gray,

’ these same o l conundrum s they trouble h im w w That he still ants to kno . A GREA T C ON TR O VE R SJA L I S T

U O fact ncle Jonas would take upo n trust ,

H e d i t woul cavil and que stio n and doubt ,

’ And would say to each log ical dogmatist s thrust

’ Waal , now , le t us arger about it . E ’ ’ very p int of the question he d marshal with care ,

And march all around and about it ,

sa And y, while h e stroked his last vestige of hair ” Waal . now, let us arge r about it .

O n faith , on pre destinatio n and grace ,

n O n election , and foreordinatio

’ ” H e d arger all day without eve r a trace

Of exhaustion or disinclination . hi m When the the pastor advised to think of his sins , “ Y ’ ” ” ou re a sinner , he said , none can doubt it ,

I U n t brought ncle Jo nas at o ce to his pins , ”

l . Waa , now, let us arger about it

And whe n h e wa s marri e d and led his young bride R ight up to the church and the altar,

’ H i s mind didn t see m to be j ust satisﬁed ,

wa E ve n then he s ready to falter . D o y o u take this young woman to be your own wife ?

U ncle Jonas was ready to ' doubt it ;

D o ? you take her fo r bette r or worse , and for life

’ ” Said Jonas , Let s arger about it .

T H E SP A RE R O OM

U R front roo m , it was furnished fair,

But close d to all the life of ho me 5. A reservoir of mouldy air, l A c o r pse e ss catacomb . A stern domestic quarantine

Scare d childish footsteps fro m its door, A s if a powde r magazine fl Were kept beneath the oor .

B u t when our folks had company,

T h e d unused doors were opene d wi e , And on the lavish luxury

- We feasted open eye d .

B u t we were strangers there , and hence A nervous terror ﬂushed each cheek ; B efore the grand m a gniﬁce nce k We dared not move o r spea .

sa t And so we in vague alarms ,

And sighed for some supporting pegs . For our unnece ssary arms And our superﬂuous legs ;

We - smile d our india rubbe r smile , A long , perfunctory , muscular grin , Whic h advertised to all outside

H o w bad we felt within . R O O/l/I T H E SP A RE . I S7

u r O hearts were in the barn at play , O r pl ayed at tag about the shed ;

Our bodies , statuettes of clay,

Sat in the parlor dead . I n moveless suffering we sat on

- And wept for back yard haunts to roam ,

As , by the brooks of Babylon ,

The H ebrews wept for home .

I n intellectual kitchens dole

Strong men their choicest life away, And keep the front ro o m s of the soul

U nopened to the day .

w - They kee p the pantry ell equipped ,

The cellar they will never scant , The parlor is a darkened crypt

Without an occupant .

H who ence , blest is he quits the quest

’ For wealth , or fame s receding goal , And every day returns for rest

To the front room of the soul . Who lets the tempest rave and roll

hi s Around him in glad re lease , Within the front room o f the soul

H e ﬁ n d e th perfect pe ace . R E H A YR S A N D E R Y A N B N . E N O C ND C U j D.

NO CH and Cyrus - and Jerry and Ben

Were babies together, four fat little men ,

Four bald - headed babie s who bumped the mselve s

blue ,

A n d . sprawled , grabbe d an d tumbled , as all babies do F ull of laughter and tears , full o f sorrow and glee ,

A n d . big , bouncing bungle rs , as all babies be All in the same valley live d th e se little men

E noch and Cyrus and Jerry and Ben .

E noch and Cyrus and J erry and B e n

Were fast little chums till th ey grew to be men . E ight bare little fee t on th e same - e rrands flew

’ Thro meadows besprinkled with daisi es and dew

a s a n d Th ey were aimless butte rﬂies , thoughtless free

- As the summer mad bobolink , drunken with glee . A wonderful time were those careless d ays the n

For E noch and Cyrus and J erry and B e n .

E noch and Cyrus and Jerry and Ben

G rew fro m babies to boys , and from boys into men . Too restless to stay in the circumscribed bound

O f the gree n hills that circled their valle v around ,

T o E the North and the South and the ast and the West , E ach departed alone o n a separate quest .

’ ’ a Ah , they ll ne er be the same to each other gain

E noch and Cyrus and Jerry and Be n .

TH E G O VE R N OR ’ S FA TH E R .

R T E R e r be proud e r N ed , y say “ ’ O n e the bigges me n e r the day ;

’ H e is a fa v r i te so n e r fate

’ ” The bigges gun in all th e State .

’ Wall , arter all is said an done

’ This ere smart man is my own s o n ’ I —I An allus dug the dirt ,

’ An allus wore an u n b il e d shirt ;

Allus stubbed round in cowhide boots ,

’ ‘ ’ An allus dressed in d r ill in suits O rt e r be proud e r h 1m D ear me I orte r wall I guess I be

- N ed wuz a roly poly kid , An ’ j est the cutest things he did H e j est sloppe d ove r with d elight

’ ’ An spilt roun sunshi n e day a n night ! H ’ u d eaven s b ng e r happine ss turne loose ,

’ An N ed h e j est drunk in the j o o se ;

H e gurgled in his baby gle e ,

’ ’ An gosh he thought the worl er me . At night I tucked hi m in hi s bed ’ “ ’ An said , I m proud er little N ed .

’ l a d An N ed grew up , a likely ,

’ An hoed p e r ta te r s with his dad ;

’ H e spread the hay , an milke d the cow, An ’ hoed the corn — I showe d him how i V R N R ’ S E A T IJE R THE G O E O . 1 6 1

’ An out here in the woods with me , H e bragged e r what he hoped to be ; “ ’ ’ H e : P r ha s said p , sometime , I ll be

’ ’ An be the guv nor of the State . ’ “ I : G o An sez ahead , my lad,

’ ” A n be an honor to yer dad .

’ But now he s grown to what you see , — — ’ f But wall he s grown away rom me . O rter be proud er him ? Ah me I — — I I orter wall guess be .

’ u Ned s brain is f ll e r mighty things ,

a s e r Sich thoughts ﬁll the skulls kings , ’ E 1 6 2 TH E G O VER N OR S FA TH R .

Thoughts fer big dictionary wo rds ,

’ I s While still think of cre am an curds ,

’ ’ O f e ho in taters , plantin corn ,

e z I Jest did when N e d wuz born . N o longer does my rosy lad Think j est the same thoughts as his dad ;

" ’ ’ A n I I v e mus be , ofte n said , A purty common man to Ned .

H o w n th e dista t in past they be , The m days wh en Ne d looke d up to

. Orter be proud e r h im ? D ear me ' I — I orter wall I guess be .

’ The worl a migh ty man hez won , — But I wall I have lost my so n 5 An ’ Fame may laff an ’ dance with j oy

’ I druther cry I ve lost m y boy I O rter be proud er h im Ah I orter wall I guess I

E D D OR CU M allus’ use d to say Whe n we asked him to come and play H ’ With us boys down to arry M ore s ,

’ ” I ve gotte r to stay and do the chores . No recreation would he take For all his weight in j elly cake N o glad fun in or out of doors ;

H e y had to sta and do the c hores .

We drove a woodchuck in the wall But J ed he paid no he ed at all ; A circus passed through L ower Town

’ But busy J ed he couldn t go down . The elephant went tramping by And shook the earth a n d touched the i The t ger howls , the lion roars ,

Je d st a ys at home and does the cho res .

Much l ike J e d D o r c u m are we all Who long for great things and do small ; We moil among the trivial so ds W ithin th e gardens o f the gods , While the dark clusters hang above

R a n ich with the j uice o f life d love .

We cannot reach and pluck them down ,

These fair pomegranates of renown ,

’ W hose j uice life s early hope re sto res ,

For we must work and do the chore s . R S CHO E . 1 6 5

Above us sternly loom forever E The mighty Mountains of ndeavor, And whoso on their summit stands

- L ooks on the sun kissed table lands . We grasp our mountain staff to climb

sk Their y enshrouded peaks sublime , U p where the crystal torrent pours w And then e pause to do our chores .

We start with co u rage in the heart To try the endlessness of art In hope that we may speak so me day

The word the Spirit bids u s say .

’ But e er we speak the word ar i ght

The shadows come and it is night .

Put out the light and close the doors,

’ Fo r good or ill we ve done our chores . TE D A N D T OM

E D m and Tom were brothers , born in the same old far

house ,

i n Played the same green meadows , ﬁshed in the same wild stream s d Both cha ed the same red woo chuck , both shirked in the s ﬁ ame corn e ld ,

Made love to th e same schoolgirl , and dreame d the same

swee t dream .

w w ’ Te d wandered off at t enty , passe d the orld s misty moun

tains , And traced h istoric rivers through legendary lands

H e n sailed te mpestuous oceans , by traili g tropic islands ,

Basked in irriguous valleys and toiled through d esert sands .

h a ﬁe l d s Tom lived at ho me till e ighty , mowed the ance stral y ,

h is s And reape d annual harve sts , and watched h is hen and bees ; H e toiled on in his birthplace until th e mourners bore h im

’ To th he reditary graveyard beneath the maple tre es .

a n d But Ted , he lived in dreamland , eve rywhere he wan dere d

H e saw o ld i the gre en meadows , the wav ng ﬁ elds of corn ,

The big rock by the pine woods , the huckleberry pasture ,

wa s. The red ho use in the valley , the house whe re he

born .

T H E H VK TA N D B A T TL E S .

E are making smokele ss powder

A n d b i , g bombs to throw a mile , That will blow the foe to chowder

I n the tru e dynamic style .

Talk no t o f the bloody red man ,

( And the foe hi s arrow drops E very ball , it m eans a dead man E very bulle t means a corpse I

We ’ ve a whirling gun yo u spin it

t And the myriad bulle s fly, And a hundre d me n a minute

R ' a n oll the ir stony e ye s d die . h Make your swat of dead m e n deeper,

Thus the modern Spirit saith , Start me up th is rattling reaper

n O th e harvest ﬁelds of death .

Let us stop this wild death ’ s revel

’ n L so t i s M arti uthe r, said Threw h is inkstand at the devil

And the black ﬁend turne d and fl ed .

’ Smite your world - wrong ; don t combat

' With a fusillade of lead ; Simply throw your i nkstand at it ;

- i Come to morrow : i t s de a d . [N /( S T A N D L THE T E . 1 69

Whe n the world upon the brink stan ds Of some crisis steep and dread , L ike brave soldiers seize your inkstands ,

’ H url them at the devil s h ead ;

Pour your ink - pots in a torrent

Till the strangling demon sink , Till the struggling ﬁend abhorrent D rown in oceans of black ink .

’ For the m an who s born a ﬁghter For the brain that ’ s learned to think There i s dynamite and nitre

I n a bottle of black ink .

u w Tho gh it makes no eeping nations .

And it leaves no gaping scars , ’ E ’ Placed neath rror s strong foundations ,

’ Twill explode them to the stars . H E TA L K' E S D .

H E C C talked of osmos and of ause ,

And wove gree n elephants in gauze ,

she And while frescoe d earthen j ugs , H e r tongue would never pau se i On sage s wise and esoter c , And bards from Wendell H olme s to H errick T ’ ’ hro time s proud Pantheon she walked , An d talke d a n d talke d and talked and talke d

she And wh ile talked she would croche t ,

And make all kinds o f macrame , O r paint gre en bobolinks upon

’ H e r mother s earthe n tray ; She ’ d decorate a smelling bo ttle Wh ile she conversed 0 11 Aristotle

’ While fame s proud favorites round her flocked , She talked and talke d and talked and talked

She talke d and made embro idere d rugs , ’ e She talked and painted lass s j ugs ,

And worke d ﬁve se a - green turtle doves

’ O n papa s shaving mugs E E With merson or pictetus ,

Plato or Kant , sh e use d to greet us

She talked until we all were shocked , And talke d and ta lke d and talke d and talked

H TH E RA I L A R O UN D T E j A JL .

’ O N T you hold your h e ad so high

’ O r you ll bust holes in the sky ;

When you walk , the big earth j ars ,

’ e r An v whiskers swe ep the stars ,

’ u An ye r ﬁll p the hull street , W ’ ’ hirl the worl roun with yer feet , An ’ re fuse to speak to me

’ wh o Guess yo u don t know I be .

’ “ sa So you won t y howdy do ,

’ But I m j est e z good e z you ;

’ May hev less orig nal sin ,

’ I f I hain t no diamond pin ; Ain ’ t no line divides a man

’ From his fellers , understan Ain ’ t no line except the rail

’ f the a il O the fence aroun j .

E f I ke ep outside the rail O f ’ this fence aroun the j ail ,

’ I m a great gun , ﬁ t te r bang H I n the big Four undred gang .

’ ’ An the president , understan , I s but j est m y hired man ; An ’ I watc h and boss w ’ ile he

’ Does the nation s chores for me . ’ T H E R A IL A RO UN D T H E I 73

’ " o i to d o b What we re g n imeby, ,

’ F th e u v o ore ni erse g e s dry ,

’ I s. to make no diff ra nc e see

’ ’ Twixt sich chaps e z yo u an m e

’ O n e e z d e z be j est goo t oth er , Both in love ’ ith one anothe r

’ W ile we ke e p o u tside the rail f ’ O the fence aroun the j ail .

’ Yo u o t n o b hain t g luer blood ,

’ An ye r made e r the same mud ;

’ r o r An yer vittle s , f esh stale ,

m a — Come s fro the s me dinne r pail .

’ " T he t s a good nough creed for m e

’ Thet was taught in o l Jude e Me n are b r u th e r s ; good enough

’ Men are b r u th e r s ; th e t s the stuff

’ ’ An the time is goin to be

’ ’ we ll m e e ee W en co to th t id , Thet all m e n out sid e the rail " O f f th e a il the ence aroun j ,

’ l i i n r a l h Will all mix ke g doug , An ’ love ’ s yeast will make it grow

’ ’ An by thet time N a tu r s cak e

Will be riz . eno ugh to bake V — TH E L A Z D OF GI T TH A R E .

H E R E are p u rple grapes in the L and of G i t - Thare

c a n d i Whose clusters limb higher h gher, I n each rounded breast is the vintage of re st

h 1n ﬁn i te That tones the lax nerves wit an zest ,

And thrills the dull brain with new fire . fl Through musical rushe s the streams ow along , D And the valleys resound with the aughters o f Song , And flaunt with the ir floating attire

i s There shade , and cool fountains , and music to spare ,

- i - I n the mountain he mmed vales of the L and of G t Thare .

A n d the branch es bend down with pomegranates of peace

That ooze with the j uice of delight , T G hrough the odorous Pass o f the Spangle d rass ,

L - L To th e ily Pad ake , that is cleare r than glass ,

D ream zephyrs ﬂoat down from the h eight .

‘ u They are heavy with perf mes and odorous smells , That rise from the grots of the Daffodil D ells

Where the noonday is mixe d with the night . There i s perfume and song and sweet music to spare

- I n the ve rdurous vales of the L and of Gi t Thare .

But you cl imb the tall mountains of Precipice L and

E r e you come to the L and of G it t - Thare And you cross the White L and of Poisonous Sand T ill you reach the black shore o f the Shipwreck Strand ,

th e o - By bl od red Sea of Despair .

TH E CA LF ON TH E L A WN .

’ ’ M go 1n to hitch this ere young caff out he re in my front

lawn ,

’ ’ ’ H e ll stay right here an chaw the grass till the hull thing

is chawn ,

’ ’ H t - e t e ll chaw the corne r off to day , until he s it bare ;

’ ’ - Te r I . morre r will move his stake , an h e ll chaw over there

’ b a d sa se e Looks , ye r y, to a caff out in a man s front yard ,

’ ’ b l a tti n - d b o o l e va r d An , like a barn yar , on this stylish But thet air caff shall eat the t grass until I get him fat

’ ’ ’

bl a tti n w I . An if he fe els like , y, reckon he will blat

’ I r W en fust took my farm out he re this was a country oad ,

’ wa a r stc hu r e s Across the y was p lan , whe re huckleberrie growed

’ My caff wuz then hitch ed in my yard fer the hull town s i n

s e c ti o n p ,

’ ’ ’ An n o a e n te r r i si n Cu m . d rn , p dood roun to make obj ection

’ W e n a this road growe d a vill ge stre et , my caff was in the

yard ,

’ ’ An n o w the stre e t it swells ith styl e a ci ty b o o l e va r d But I will hitch this e re you n g caff out he re in my fron t

lawn . H e ’ l l stay right he re an ’ chaw the grass till the hull th ing is

chawn .

’ 1 ﬁ r s t} to “ a se e a c a i n ar d , s 3 , to ff out a man s front y ,

13 111 211211 l e n a d o n s b o o ev ar d , ik a bar y r , this tylish l

But a i r f h e a t t r s u I him ta t thet a ca f s all he t g a s ntil ge t ,

’ ’

A n i f e ls i bla tt i n 1vv I he a . he f e l ke , r eckon will bl t

' Acros s the way was pa r s t c hu r e run kl eb e r t ies

’ “ My c alf wa r t h e :1 hi tc he d 1n m y y a r d the hull tow n s i h

s e o (11 1 11 p , ,

’ ’ ' t i An no da r n e ms pr i sm o o d t u m roun to make obj ection .

’ W e n s a d o we d a e a ff 1n thi ro gr a vill ge str et , my c was the yal d

’ ’ A n n o w the st r e e t it swel ls ith s ty 1e a ci ty b o o l e va r d

B ut I will hi tc h t hi s e re young caff o ut he re in mv front

a l wn .

’ ’ H e l l stay right here an chaw the gmss ti ll the h u ll thing is ch a wn

T H E CA L F ON T H E L A WN . 1 79

Yo u say the wa y I carry on m akes the hull city laff ’ ’ ’ m f Wall , let em laff, this ere s my lawn , an this ere is y caf , An ’ things hez reached the purtiest pass the worl ’ hez ever

sawn ,

’ ’ E f 01 an duff can t let his caff chaw grass o n his own lawn .

’ ’ u t Wall , le t e m laff ; this ere yo ng caff shall s ay here anyhow ,

’ ’ ’ ’ I o u t t h e o l An if hear e m laff too hard , I ll trot cow ;

’ ’ I ll hitch e m both to the same stake , right here in my front

lawn , ’ em stay an ’ chaw the grass till the hull thing is chawn S H OR TEM ’ S Q UESTI ON

U G SHO R T E M h a s O N he much to learn ,

’ r And though he s ound and fat , H e stubs to everything he se e s “ ’ ? And points a nd says , Wot s zat

Th e tre es , th e grass , the sticks , the stones ,

The horse , the dog , th e cat ,

n They all are wo ders o f the wo rld , And so he asks “ Wo t ’ s zat ? ”

Young Sho r t e m sits upon m y kne e And in my knowledge basks I n my omniscient wisdom I

Ca n answer all h e asks . H e thinks the fount of le a r n ing springs From j ust beneath my hat ; H e comes right to the fo unta i n h ead ’ ? And asks and asks , Wot s zat

NVe Sho r te m s all are large r grown ,

Who roam with curious eye , “ ’ sa ? And when we cease to y, What s that

’ Why , then it s time to die . L ’ ife s bafﬂ ing , endless myste ry We wonde r much thereat ; Before the riddle of the world

’ n sa ? We o ly y, What s that

" T E L L / N WH A T T H E A Y J B B D D .

w N the cosy t ilight h id ,

’ e' T llin what the baby did , d Sits Matil a every night , ’ T w ’ ixt the darkness an the light , Tells me in he r cutest way

’ A l l hi st r the y o f the day , G ’ ive s me all ; leaves nothin hid ,

’ T ellin what the baby did .

B eats the whole decline an ’ fall f R E 1 O the oman mpire . G O 1 William Sha ksp e a r e never he d C ute r thoughts than baby said ,

’ A n he hez , to sing his thoughts ,

Swe e te r word s than Isaac Watts .

’ ’ T she s ildy , leave nothin h id ,

’ T ellin what the baby d id .

Pooty hard schoolmarm is fate m ’ To he r sc holars , s all an great ; I h ev felt upon my han ’ T ingle of he r sharp rattan ;

B u t sh e pities o ur distress ,

’ An s he gives a glad recess W he n Matilda sits , half hid ,

’ T ellin what the baby did . ’ E L L / TV WI T -1 T BA B Y D I D T THE . 1 8 3

Trudge off with my dinne r pail

’ E very m o r n i n without fail

Work , with hardly time for breath C ome home , tired half to death ; But I feel a p erfect rest m Settle down upon y breast ,

’ Settin , by the twilight hid , H ’ earin what the baby did .

I Sometime s cannot resist ,

’ An I shake my doubled ﬁst

an d In the face of fate swear, “ ’ Yo u don t treat a fellow fair

Then , when I go home at night ,

My whole system full of ﬁght ,

’ she Tildy , sits there , half hid ,

’ Tellin what the baby did .

Then I j est make up with fate ,

’ An my happiness i s great ;

’ But if fate should lay i ts han

’ O n that baby, understan ,

’ ’ Through the worl I d sulk a part With red murder 1n my heart ;

sh e If sat no more half hid ,

’ Tellin what the baby did . H USB A N D A ND H EA THEN

’ E R the me n of E thiopia sh e would pour he r cornu

copia ,

l n And showe r wealth and p enty o n the people of Japa ,

' Send down j elly cake and candies to the I ndi a ns of the

Ande s , A n d a cargo of plum pudding to th e men of H industan

’ And s he said sh e loved em so

n E . Bushma , Finn and skimo I f she had th e wings o f eagles to the ir succor s he would

Loaded down with j am and j elly ,

Succo tash and vermicelli ,

Prunes , pomegranates , plums and pudding , peaches , pine

apples and pie .

She would ﬂy with speedy succor to the natives of Molucca w With whole loads of quail and salmon , and ith tons of

fricassee , A n d give cake in fulle st me a sure To the men of Australasia And all the archipelagoes that d o t the Southern se a ;

And the Anthropo phagi ,

All their live s deprived of pie ,

w a : She would satiate and satisfy ith custard , cre m and mince 5 And those mise rabl e Australian s

B Or r io b o o l a hal i a n s And the g ,

a “ She would gorge with cho icest j elly , raspberry , currant , gr pe

and quince .

TH E D L L A R TTJE RA TTL E OF O .

H E air it tastes like nectar ooze d from heaven ’ s own

laboratory , And the sunshine fal ls like o intment o n the forehead

of a king , a fl u Whe n man feels in his pocket , ushed with f ll ﬁnancial

glory ,

h e And hears the nickles rattle , and h ears the quarters

ring .

Though winter storms assaul t h is path , and drift his way and .

block it , I n his h eart he feels the sunshine o f an endle ss summer

For he liste n s to the m usic of the money in his pocket

To the rattle of the dollar and the j ingle of the dime .

The famous violinists ,

ﬁd d l e r s And the and cornettists , And the mighty organ players O f every age and clime ,

Make a slow and droning music ,

Full of discord and of j angle ,

When you match it with the rattle ,

With the rattle of the dollar and the j ingle of the dime .

‘ a The n the star o f hope rises , and in glittering ascendance ,

I t lights the rugged pathway and the labyrinth of gloom 5 . For we feel the swelling maj esty of perfect independence ; “ And though the universe is large , we shout , More roo m more room 1” T/{E A T T E F LLA R R L O THE D O . 1 8 7

d ’ The pangs of penury are har , howe er the sages talk it , — And poverty is perilous the borderland of crime ; But there ’ s courage in the clatte r of the coin within p o c k e g I n the rattle of the dollar and the j ingle of the dime L ike the music of King David

O n the dulcimer and taber,

O n m the harp whose strings were any ,

In that old melodious time , I s the music o f the clinking

Of a the j olly h lves and quarters ,

And the ringing re sonant rattle , The rattle o f the dollar and the j ingle of the dime

And the time we hope i s coming whe n the m i llions and the masses May hear this merry music with no interval between ;

L fo r a n d ife c ease to be an endless quest meal for molasses ,

And a long unanswered proble m o f coal and kerosene . — And we hear it in the distance wo e to him who tries to

block it , Tries to block the onward p 'rogress o f the struggling march

of time , f When all shall hear the music of the rattling o the pocket ,

H ear th e rattle of the dollar and. the j ingle of the dime . And the patient w ives and babies

a n o t Sh ll starve for lack of money , Shall not dress in ra gs and tatters In that happy coming time ; For the world shall ring with music f b O a billion ulging pockets , E ach one ringing with the rattle

With the rattle of the dollar and the j ingle of the dime . TH E A N E V L D OF N E R WA S .

H E R E are all those shi ning valleys which we used to

sing and rhyme , Purple with th e clustere d fruitage o f the harvest ﬁ elds of time ?

Wh , ere are all those young ambitions , framed in rainbows , aureoled With a halo mist o f glory wove n from the sunse t ’ s gold ? G one before the ir realization , l ike effects without a cause . V anishe d in the misty limbo of the L and o f N e ve r wa s

. Whe re a r e all those topplin g castles turre t - tipped with moon

lit glows ,

’ Ga y with youths and laughing maide ns , thro the ir ech o ing portico es ? Where are those aerial brownstones wi t h their ga rgoyles of

red mist , T ouched with sa r d o n vx and topaz and with gold and amethyst ? The y have floated o n the summe r clou ds that never wait nor

pause , Down below the dim horizon o f the L and o f N e v e r wa s

' Where are all those golde n galleons ﬂoat i ng on the tideless

seas , ' H With their sendal sails d istended , bound for the esperides ,

’ ’ Sailing thro the dashing dolphins , th ro th e archipelago es ,

’ Whe re e a ch wafted breeze is h eavy with the cinnamon and rose ?

A R P E R O S C O P L E P OS U U .

’ ’ 1 A L L i t s a o , wife , ﬁfty years g se nc e yo u an me wuz

tied , An ’ we hev clum the hills e r life together side by

side ,

’ we r d ? he v , p ospere , hain t we , wife an how well off we be

’ ’ w e W e n we wuz spliced we owne d one cow , an now , gosh ,

own three .

h n I owe d ﬁve undre d on this farm , ﬁve hundred dollars the ,

’ h ' n But I hev prospere d far beyo nd t e ge l run e r men .

a A kindly Providence hez sh pe d the rough course o f events ,

’ ’ w — - An now I o e four twe nty ﬁv e an thirty seve n odd cents .

’ Twas only ﬁ fty years ago yo u only had one dress To a gge r va t e your beauty and increase your loveliness

’ ’ No w you ve got two scrumptious dresses , an a most tre

n mendo s bonnet ,

’ ’ ’ n t h r i l - With a m o s o u s o t c u t r a l fair a fl o u r i shi n upon it .

’ - a o Thre e chairs wuz in our sittin room but ﬁfty years g .

’ ’ ’ wo n d e r f l fi But we hev prospere d y, an now there s ve , you

know .

’ ’ u d d i n We ve gaine d a lamp , a p dish an extra yoke er ste ers ,

’ ’ r in sto n e A g , an a dingle cart , an all in ﬁfty years H E CA R/ E S T A 1 9 1

’ ’ ’ a - I t s all true w at our pastor said , the worl moves f st to day ,

’ ’ s i n n i n An with a quick , electric whiz goe s p on its way ;

’ s i n n i n It j est goes p on its way until its work is done ,

’ ’ e z But there s few spinners , my dear wife , who ve spun we

have spun .

STA Y

E e b o w entered the shop lik a shaft from a , “ H ” “ And , ere are some tickets , he said , to

show , And who are there here who proposes to go ? ”

I I , cried the boss and th e journeyman lad ,

— — b a d Th e sweet girl accountant , the errand boy 5 ” ” w — h e I , I , cried the orkme n gave all he had ;

n And a shout profound , in a tumult o f sou d ,

Broke over his gloriﬁed head .

a - And here is a bill I h ve brought to day , A n d wh o is the man I shall look to for pay ?

I would like it cleared up and out of the way .

No t wa s wa s a sound made , not a tone heard ,

Not a muscle moved , not a ﬁnge r stirred ,

And never a man spake a single word . l And stillness sate , ike the presence of fate

And a silence profound , for its absence of sound , Wa s h eard for miles and for le a gues around “ ”

W I s it . hen he said , will down and wait SEB A STI A N TWOR E Y ’ S P OE /ll

’ ’ ’ ’ H E L E C a n H antic an N ew ngland , th e entury arper s ,

’ ’ ’ u v e m i s s e t Scribner s , an all the rest , all a er

sharpe rs .

f , 7 7 “ h e ﬁ so n e n u i s — i en t y n a er g an a regular ten str ke poe t ,

’ ’

3 . h A n close c um er the muse s , they hain t se nse e nough to

know it .

’ ’ I n L writ a roaring po em o ce an I sent it to th e antic .

’ ’ N e x u d r iv mail , f ll ch isel it come back an nearly me frantic .

se e h o w w I se nt it th en to all the rest to they ould ﬁnd it , But th ey with the ir durned printed slips “ respectfully de ” c li n e d it .

’ \V e n afﬁa tu s I got up that poe m in a wild divine ,

’ My hull brain wa s runmin ove r liked a heaped - u p hill

taters ,

’ ’ ’ ’ e r m i sc u s - a t a r tic l a r A n I rushe d aroun p like an not all p ,

’ ’ - W ith my coat tails horizo n tal an my hair a p e r p e n d ic l a r .

’ ’ iz e n I tore aroun in frenzy , like a dog that s take n p ,

’ ’ I feared I d knock the stars out an co llide with the horizon ,

’ ’ - o l For all out doors warn t big enough fer Sebastian M o rey ,

For I could shin a rai n bow wa y up to the streets of glory .

’ I t come out in the turnip patch , an I , I se eme d to walle r

’ u v swa ll e r I n an ocean forgetfulne ss until I couldn t , The bung to heaven ’ s gre t music box got loose an ’ out it

bounded ,

’ T h e music splashed an spilt itself till I wuz nearly drownded .

SEBA S TI AN IlI OR E Y ’ S P OE 1 94 /ll .

he s T birds , the frog , the grasshoppers , all sung their loud h o z a n n e n

’ ’ ' i a n An every single fores tree turned into a p n e r .

The poe m took me like the c ramp : I felt my eyes a - bright nin ’ W ’ s ’ ith a gran celestial vi ion , w e n I winke d they spurted lightnin ’

’ I m a n grabbe d y pe ncil , crunche d my teeth , te rribly in

’ e a r n e s

I — n j est threw off thet poe m re d hot fro m th e ﬁe ry fur ace .

I I f the re eve r wuz a poe m writ he d a chance to git it ,

’ ’ ’ All heaven wuz bilin in my soul w e n I so t down a n writ

’ ’ Th e angels tol m e every word , an it would make m e famous

’ I f eve ry tarnal editor warn t sich an ignoramus .

’ Wal , let e m print their sappy stuff, but I can do without it ,

’ ’ ’ I ve shet off my subscriptio n an n o w let em squirm about it ;

’ ’ ’ ’ L a E H Th e antic n N ew ngland the Ce ntury an arper s ,

’ ’ ’ Scribner s an all the rest u v e m i s all a se t e r sharpers . TH E SH A P E OF TH E S K UL L .

S a man stupid , or brilliant or wise , Surpassingly able or dull ?

It all depends on his cranial bumps , Depends on the shape of his skull ; And there are some things that some men cannot

’ L e t the m struggle and try till they re dead

“ U nless the y can build a big L on their brain

And alter the shape of the ir head .

. Then do not atte mpt those impossible feats ,

And struggle until you are gray ,

O n tasks for which you were never designed ,

’ When your skull isn t shaped the right way .

For the world is ﬁlled with irrational men Who struggle and try to attain

- The cloud bannered peaks of impossible heights ,

r Without the ight bulge of the brain . For th e plastic skull o f the man i s shape d By a fate that i s greater than he And he must j udge by the shape of hi s head

‘ T h e t r e n d of his destiny .

Then j udge by the ﬁt o f your cranium case ,

’ D n on t squa der your powers I pray , In reaching for unattainable things

’ When your skull isn t shaped the right way . ’ ’ O tell w y me n is so an so

I s u m ch too hard for me , I t i s the wa y ‘ th e critte rs grow The t make s the m what they be ;

’ I only s ay th e reason w y

So many men is all awry , An ’ full of imperfection I s simply j est because they can ’ t Gi t any other kind of slant

They slant in the t direction .

I do not try to make it plain W’ y men are proud or meek , Or with a mighty swe ep e r brain O r vast expanse e r cheek ;

' I t i s e n o u gh fer me to know I t i s the way th e critte rs grow

’ I n every town an section ;

i s Th ere so me power thet gives a cant , So me mighty skid ” thet make s ’ e m slant

All slant in the t direction .

An ’ I don ’ t blame men overmuch

’ An o n their vices rant , Till I look up their traits an ’ such To ﬁ n ’ the way they slant

T E D t D ALK to him o f Jupi e r and ian ,

’ The ancient gods wh o thronge d Olympus h l l l '

B u t o ff he switched on duties on pig iron ,

’ o i n l And talked ab ut M c K e y s tariff bill .

H e a r H sked , the while I told of T oy and ome r,

What lowering of the tariff rates would do , ’ w And what e ffect t o uld have upon T aco ma, C O n Kankakee , Mauch hunk and Kalamazoo ; T hen talked about the duty on alpaca ,

O n f . turpentine , and tin oil and tobacco

T hen I digresse d upon predestination , a Talked Scripture , like theologic dean ,

H e asked , if, in my candid estimation ,

’ There shouldn t be higher rates o n kerosene . And the n I talke d of poetry and beau ty

H e said all sections should together pull ,

A n d E if the ast got hide s exempt from duty , The West should ask a highe r rate o n wool

y And if the sugar men should ge t a bount ,

So should the l u mbe rers of Aroostook county .

I talked of Scie nce probing earth and star, C d alm Science , by her han maid Truth atte nde d H e said our pre se nt tariff rate o n tar

At once should be materially ame nded . T E TA F FI E TVD II RIF . I 99

’ I still talked Science , scattering e rror s mist , Making the whole earth fairer and completer H e said that salt should go on the free l ist

And so should sodium , soft soap and saltpetre .

And then he talked of tins and zincs and coppers ,

O f revenues and E uropean paupers .

of I talked history , literature , and art The thoughts of most inspired songs and sagas ;

But when I stopped to breathe , he made a start

n ax A d said a t should go on rutabagas .

I soothed him with a sentimental strain, And told the j oys of love and pure affection H e said the rates for Mic higan and Maine

- Were not the rate s for every other section .

I left him , and in smothered wrath went stalking ;

When I returned next day he still was talking . T H E R N E ’ S l V A N D A R R W/ P I C B O O S .

H E R E was a little Prince of Spain L ived very long ago , Who said the big horizon H e would bend it like a b o w H i s arrows i n the form of ships

’ H e d shoot and make them go To many undiscovered lands

Where gold and diamo nds grow . And so this little Prince of Spain L o nged for the years to go U ntil his arm wa s strong e nough hi To bend s mighty bow .

so And this little Prince of Spain , L ike little boys you know, A s the advancing years went o n i D d marvellously grow . And he became the Ki n g of Spain And made him ships to go To many undiscove red lands

Where gold and diamonds grow . H is arrows in the form o f ships d Swung i ly to and fro , For tho u gh h is a r m wa s very strong

e H could not be nd his bow .

We all are princes of the blood Who build our ships to go To many undiscove red lands Where gold a n d diamonds g r ow

R P Y UR B K T W'H Y D O O UC E ERE O U A R E .

” H I r , ship ahoy ang out the cry ,

u s Oh , give water or we die

’ fea m e A voice o er the waters far, “ ” Just drop your bucket where you are . And the n they dipped a nd drank the ir ﬁll O f wate r fresh from m ead and h ill ; A n d then they knew they sailed upon

The broad mouth of the Amazon .

O ’ er tossing wastes we sail and cry

u s a Oh , give w te r or we die

O n high , relentless wave s we roll Through arid climates for the soul

’ N eath pitiless skies we pant for breath

the Smit with thirst that drags to death ,

And fail , while faint for fountains far, w To drop our bucke ts whe re e are .

’ O h h y , ship a oy l ou re sailing o n A The broad mouth of the mazon , Who se mighty current fl ows and sings O f mountain streams and inland springs , O f — ’ night kissed morning s dewy balm ,

’ O f - heave n d ropt eve ning s twilight calm , O f nature ’ s peace in earth or star

Just d rop your bucket where yo u are . ’ D R P YO U R B U CA E T WII E R E Y O U A R O E . 20 3

Seek not for fresher founts afar , Just drop your bucket where y o u are And while the ship right onward leaps U plift it from exhaustless deeps ;

Parch not your life with dry despair ,

The stream of hope ﬂows everywhere .

n sk So , u der every y and star

Just drop your bucket where you are . A TI L A ’ S A N D N A T RE ’ S FR I V V M D U S IVG CL E A I I I G .

D FI N the world , outside my , house , is often all awry m But y house hold is a model to direct the planet by , — E xcepting in spring cleaning time my home is then destroyed

’

a n d . Ti s made a primal chaos then , without a form void

’ T i s scoured from the rafte r to the bottom cellar stair — I d ’ And I , leave beh in all hope whene er I ente r the re ;

wa shb r u sh w For the , like a whirl ind , devastate s the peace ful scene

For Matilda is the cleane st of the cleanest of the cle a n .

’ But Matilda s j ust like Nature , for early every spring

D u t oes Nature get h er scrub brush o , h er duster and he r wing

sh e With he r mighty soap and bucke t does travel all about , And swashe s through the unive rse and cleans the old thing

o ut .

And she puts up new lace curtains in the windows of the

sk y, d fl M ade o f white cloud mixe with sunshine , oating ﬁlmy

tape stry , Whe n the gorgeous su n at sunse t fi nds the clo u d s a bout him

curled , And he sticks his j ewelled h a irpin through the back hair of

the world .

H E M A N W'H B R I P T H E REA R E N T O N GS U D .

O L KS watch the drum maj or and say s e e him come

f wh o And the ellow plays on the ﬁfe ,

And the rub - a - dub man who beats the big drum

And th e bugle r who blows for dear life . T hey go with the music ; they march with the noise ;

va n For the chief in the they all hunt ,

T i s here smiling of maidens and shouting of boys ,

— l n And cheering o f me n the front .

’ B u t there s never a chee r that gladdens the ear , f Nor the sh out o f a brothe r o r riend ,

wh o ha s va n For the mud spattere d man dropped fro m th e ,

m n For the a who brings up the rear end .

Not a bravo is heard , not a word , not a word , A s they se e him stub on round the bend ; , Not a che er from the churls _ no t a smile from the girls , Fo r th e man who brings up t he rear end

T he re are shouts for the victor whose name like a star , R f ose red ro m the hot clouds o f fame ,

’ wa r Thro the battle smoke o f a lurid ,

To climb up the heaven of fame .

hi s And ears are beset with a tumult o f tongue s ,

n That prate of the da ge r he braved . With a chorus o f praise fro m the lusty lu n gs

Of the me n of the land he has saved .

n who h a s va n But I si g of the man droppe d from the ,

n From the front he could neve r de fe d , Who could neve r await the harsh volleys of fate The m a n who brings up the rear end T E l /A A ’ IVII O BR I N S UI ’ T E R A R E A ’D II i G II E .

Then a good strong shout in the rear of the rout , And the brotherly cheer of a fri end ; h A cheer that shall start from the core of the eart ,

n For the man who bri gs up the rear end .

And who are the men wh o bring up the rear end ? The laggards too weak to be great ?

’ Time s water - logge d timber too rotten to mend ? Abortions a n d weaklings of fa te ?

s o h Not T ere are poets whose songs are unsung ,

And singers of wonderful tone , R eformers whose thunderous words might have stung To the roots of a tottering throne

The n shout your huzzas and your loudest hurrahs , U ntil the loud welkin shall rend ;

L e t your loud plaudits grace the world - weary face O f the man who brings up the rear end I

W i m a n r Then shout thout fear for the in the rea ,

L e t your heave n - scali n g plaudits ascend C r y aloud l cry aloud I you me n there in the crowd I For the man who brings up the rear end

wh o si t There are plebeian souls on a throne , And Kings wh o wear neve r a crown ;

— who n There are long gowned priests are devils unknow , And saints in the frock of the clown - ’ ’ There are hearts that are black neath the Ki n g s purple

’ ’ And white neath the swain s drilling frock , And the laborer ’ s coat may be armor the best

’ For meeting adversity s shock .

a n d Then a cheer a roar , and three cheers more , For the man most in need of a friend ;

m a n who G ood cheer for the has dropped from the van , The man who brings up the rear end I ’ IVI I E A T E EA VES R I V R E D II L T U .

T hi s hen shout your che er righ t into ear , L e t your vo m e s i n un i ty blend ;

O n e o f loud , long shout in the rear the rout , For the man brings up the rear e nd

V WH E IV TH E L EA ES T UR N R E D .

’ H E R E i s a purple peace fulness that cove rs nature s

features ,

’ ’ L - - ike a many colo red be d quilt o e r a baby s trundle bed ,

r a N ature cove rs all us child en , nervous , tire d little cre tures ,

N ervous , tire d little children , whethe r princes , popes o r preachers ;

When the leave s turn red .

’ A balm that s full of sleepiness envelops h ill and rive r,

’ ’ A n air that s full of sweet content o er all the earth is spread ;

w e we We know dream , and yet pray to be awakened never,

’ For tis the prayer of every soul to dream right on foreve r ;

W hen the leaves turn red .

TH EN A G ’ I IV

’ I M B OVVKE R e f a , h e said he d had a f ir show,

n h hi s w And a big e oug town for talents to gro ,

’ a n And the least bit ssista ce in hoein h is row, a Jim Bowker , he s id ,

’ H e d ﬁlled the world full of the sound of his name , An ’ clim the top round in the ladder of fame It may have be en so ; I dunno ; Jest so it might be en The n ag ’ in

’ ’ e v e r thi n a But he had tarnal luck y went g in him ,

’ The a r r e r s er fortune they allus u d pin him 5

’ w wa s So he didn t get no chance to show off hat in him , Jim Bowker he said

’ ’ ’ E f wh e r e h e d he d had a fair show , you couldn t tell come ,

’ ’ ’ a - a - c l u mb An the feats he d done , and the heights he d I t may have be en s o ; I dunno ;

so Jest it might be en , The n ag ’ in

’ But we re all like Jim Bowker , thinks I , more o r less C harge fate for our bad luck , ourselves for succe ss ,

’ a An give fortune the bl me for all our distress ,

A s . J im Bowker , he said

’ ’ ’ m a i i If it hadn been for luck an isfortune sich ,

’ a - a n i a - We might be e n famo us , m ght bee n rich , I THE VO CE . 2 1 1

It might be j est so ; I dunno ;

Jest so it might been ,

’ Then ag in

TH E V I O CE .

the silence of the desert and the thunder of the shore ,

’ u I n the lonesome midnight watches , in the market s lo d

uproar, Comes the nameless vo ice whose music soundeth on fo r

evermore . G iving strength to all aweary , giving hope when life is dreary ; G iving fervor to our dullness , giving patience , peace and

power .

’ Tis the song the singer sings not , but the song he hopes to sing 5

’ n o t G o d Tis the word the prophet brings , but the word bade him bring

But its import is too heave nly for human uttering .

’ H - ence the south wind s sounding motion , and the surf wash

of the ocean ,

’ And the pine s moan on the mountains is i t s ﬁtting rendering . N O SH O l V

’ O E B E A L u d s e t upon a kai g

’ ’ Down to the gr o c r y store an throw

’ O n e l a i i l a i g r ght ove r t othe r g,

’ ’ An swear he d n e ver had no show ; “ O h no , said Joe ,

’ H ain t hed no show . The n shift his quid to t ’ other jaw ’ ’ ’ h w An chaw , an chaw , an c a , an chaw .

H e said he got no st a rt in life

’ D m hi s idn t ge t no oney fro m dad ,

’ The washin took in b y his wife E arned all the funds b e eve r had Oh ” no , said Joe , ’ w H ain t hed no she . An ’ then he ’ d look up at the clock

’ ’ ’ ’ An talk , an talk , an talk , an talk .

“ ’ ’ I v e l e s se e waited twenty year ,

’ Ye s - , twenty four , an never struck ,

’ ’ ’ so t Altho I ve roun patiently ,

The fust ta r n a shi o n streak e r luck . O h ” no , said Joe H ’ ain t hed no show .

a Th e n stuck like mucil ge to the spot ,

’ ’ ’ ’

so t so t so t . An , an , an , an sot

1 A " ’ . ’ l ve y ea r l e s se e

‘ ’ ’ f ft it hu I ve so t: w i m a t ieml p y,

' ' ' l l se fi rs ta ri im io n k e r u t h strea l ck . ” O h n o s ai d . o J e ,

T h en n e c k 11119 m u c il age to the spo t;

L A B B E R A T I K IVI A IC TH E G G S O .

L D crazy Kate roams through the hills

Where all th e rocks are dumb ,

' “ And to th e str e a m s and silent woods

Tells of the wrath to co me . E a t r She cries , ach heart sh ll break wi h g ief

A n d e ve r y soul shall groan , When th e Gl abb e r ga stiko n i ak hi Shall co me unto s own .

And then shall laughter turn to

r And honey tu n to gall , T h e blackness of e ternal night Shall then be over all ; And in a starless wilderness

E a w ch soul shall alk alone , Whe n th e G l abb e r ga stik o n i ak

Shall come unto his own .

G e a r ive , give ear , cries crazy Kate , The time i s drawing near ' When all the mountains of the world w Shall reel and quake ith fear ,

' And men wh o r a il and scoff and laugh

Shall gnash their tee th and groan , When the G l a bb e r ga s tiko n iak ” Shall come unto hi s own . TIIE 2 1 7

So Kate proclaims the phantom wild H e r j a n gled brain ha s reared But her G l a b b e r ga stiko n i a k

H a s . never yet , appeared

sh e But still waits the coming time ,

There in the wilds alone , When the Gl a bb e r ga s tiko n i a k

Shall come unto h is own .

We rear our phantoms of the mind ,

n w Stra ge , shado y shapes o f fear, O u r G l ab b e r ga stiko n ia ks

Are ever drawing near .

su n o But every morn the breaks f rth ,

’ The night s dark mists uproll , We se e no more the for ms that vexed

The twilight o f the soul .

And men pursuing beckoning fears

’ O e r phantom moors and fells , Have pictured awful j udgment days And lurid burning hells ; But a s the world wheels into light This truth is understood

The universe is always safe ,

For G o d is always good .

And lapped i n the e ternal law

’ There s no such thing as fear, O u r Gl a b b e r ga st iko n ia ks

Will never more appear . 2 1 8 S IVE E T S FOR S ZVE E T THE .

Sail forth serene into the dark , E e xultant , fearle ss , fre , The G l ab b e r ga stiko n i a k

Shall neve r to thee .

S WE E TS TH E S WE E T .

e thes rondeaus and triolets are pretty violets ,

’ They re dainty , artistic and neat ; ’ G They re allic , Parisian , and pinks of precision ,

And veritable swee ts for the sweet .

They give a soft pleasure to young men o f le i sure Those beautiful fe minine men

’ Who on literature s border crochet and embro ider,

- And do fancy wo rk with the pen .

d r The ir saple ss aridities , their y insipidities ,

I n statuesque beautyare wrought ,

’ But twould be unconventional to express an intentional

Wilful original thought .

y R E CI A L I T P OE M S E S S S .

NE JU .

BY A FA RM E R .

H E breachy year has hawed and gee d

a n d b a il Through rain , , and snow , But now plump in a bank of ﬂowers The driver hollers whoa I

Th e months , like wild , unruly steers

H n w a n d ave pra ced through sno mud , But J une is like a peaceful cow

Who calmly chews h er cud .

She stands there while a deathless grace

Beams from he r lustrous eyes ,

While round her hum the honey bees ,

And ﬂit the butterﬂies .

O h , gentle st mooly o f the year ,

Thy charms too soon shall cease , Y our luscious butte r of content , Your milk of perfect peace

W R INT E .

BY A N A CT O R .

T HE snow - flake s ﬁ lling all the air

Fall slowly all the day , L ike progra mmes dropped by gallery gods Down o n to the parquet ; I S B S I A LI S S 2 2 1 B OE / I Y PE C T .

The leaﬂess b r anches cracking loud

’ Above the tempest s ro a r Sound like the beat of countless hands

That call for an enc ore .

The Storm King down th e wintry blast In mighty paces glides

In tragic , histrionic steps , L ike H e nry Irving ’ s strides The snow upon the froze n ground

y I s l ing dee p and thick , W ’ hite as an actress pallid face ,

Who eateth arsenic .

R S P ING .

BY A P H Y S I CIA N .

B Y d bursting buds I iagnose ,

S i And by t he birds that ng ,

And by the mild balsamic air ,

The symptoms o f the Spring .

The clouds , like generous allopaths , Pour down their drastic dose s To swell the germs of b u d and spray

And the incipient roses .

Winter , that ailment of the year ,

Wi a th c re I think will leave her,

But oft returns again , much like

An intermittent fever . With su n baths and with shower baths L e t the frail Spring resist him Till sh e has time to expurgate

The ailment from he r system . 0 o P OE /II S B Y SP CI A LI S S [ t E T .

y N B A P RI T E R .

T H E years p a ss on in rapid ﬂight Time neither sle eps nor nods ;

Th ey come like frequent paragraphs ,

All inte rsperse d with quads .

- ﬁll e d The days drop in like well lines , “ The nights like leads are thick , ” Ol d i s i n tim e stand g at his case ,

And ﬁlling up hi s stick .

And now he takes anothe r “ take

A copy all unread ,

Which fate , like a stern edito r ,

Before hi s gaze has spread .

So , let the years pass on and on , S Through unsh ine and through storms , U ntil the foreman calls the hour “ ” For locking up the forms .

' W R CO M ING O F INT E .

BY A C A R P E NT E R . T HEdead leave s rustle from the bough L ike shavings from a plank ;

E r o u n o ach tre e stands mortised in the g , And lifts its moveless shank ; E ach limb , a rafte r cold and bare ,

e The heartle ss blast rece iv s , fl No clapboards of fair fruits and owers ,

No shingles of gre e n leave s .

The mallets of the driving sleet D e scend with sturdy blows ,

’ And thro the rafters of the sky L ike sawdust fall the snows ;

" 2 2 P OE IlI S B Y S P E CI A L I S S 4 T .

With sm o o t hi n g t r o we l in his hand

H e makes the snow walls shine , And the white polished lakele t ’ s breast

’ H e ll quickl y kalsom ine . With bricks of h ail and hair o f sleet

H i s masonry is wrough t , And down the storm blast ’ s echoing path ” H e 1 yells , More mort , more mort

W INT E R .

L W R BY A A Y E .

A H EA R T L ESS lien upon the year

I s held by winte r hoar , A mortgage and a heartless lien

A s told he reinbefore .

n o w i s Bright summer dispossessed ,

a N o mo re he r f ce entrances ,

G a n d one with her chattels effects ,

A n d her a ppurtenances .

Y e s - l , summer gives a quit c aim dee d Of all her rosy dower,

A well - attested bill of sale O f fountain , fruit and ﬂowe r

O f ' all her earthly goods , to wit

h er Buds , leaves , streams , held by , And winter is ap pointe d heir

And sole executo r . ’ T H A D I D .N O C C UR T HI N GS T T .

’ V E ’ ’ co me to the conclusion that there ain t nothin true ,

’ ’ An nothin tells such monstrous lies as school - books 11ste r

do .

C - olumbus found this country out , the school books uster state 5

a But now they s y he landed here four hundred y ears too late . E A chap name d ricson deserves the fame of the event ,

’ ’ An poor Columbus voyages Were much too subsequent ;

’ so sa g An I y the very th ings that make the reate st stir,

’ ’ ’ i n t e r e stin r An the most things , are things that didn t occu

’ ’ C n An now they say that ap Kidd tried hard to live upright,

’ An that h e had no pirate gold he uster hide at night .

- sa a But my old school books uster y he roamed the Sp nish main ,

’ ’ ’ An murdered crews , an stole their gold , an then sailed hom e

again .

’ But now they say he live d upright by honor s rigid rule ,

’ n An good enough to run a bank o r lea d a Su day school .

’ sa An so I y the very things that make the greatest stir ,

’ ’ ’ i n te r e sti n An the most things , are things that didn t occur .

’ so A chap name d Shakespeare writ much , long pomes an plays an ’ verses

The school - books said he (I fame enough to ﬁll two universes ;

They said his writings were way up , away beyond compare , I kinder galloped through ’ em once an ’ thought ’ em purty fair ;

’ ’ An now they say he d idn t write because he had no brains ,

’ sa An y he hardl y knew enough to come in when it rains .

’ sa An so I y the very things that make the greatest stir,

’ ’ ’ i n te r e sti n An the most things , are things that didn t occur . E ON OMI A L IVI A V A N C C I .

E d a lived on thirteen cents a y,

Ten cents for milk and cracker,

O n e cent for dissipation gay , And two cents for tobacco ; And if he wished an extra dish

’ e d H take his pole and catch a ﬁsh .

And if his sto mach raised a war ’ G ainst this penurious habit ,

’ H e d go and kill a woo dchuck , o r Assassinate a rabbit ; And thus he ’ d live in sweet content

On food that never cost a cent .

m A nd , that he ight lay by in bank

hi s Th e proceeds of labor,

’ H e d happen round at meals , the crank And d ine upon hi s neighbor

’ And then he d e at e nough to last

U ntil another day had passed .

H e n o r bought nor pantaloons vest,

N or rich , expensive j acket ;

’ H e had one suit hi s p a s bequest

H e thought would stand the racket .

’ H e patched it thirty years , tis true , ’ w And then declared t as good as new .

SH A K E S P E A R E ’ S G H OS T T O I GN A TI US

D ON N E L L Y

O W e D , her comes one Ignatius onnelly

H b o o k wh e r e i n ath writ a he proves , good faith I writ me not the plays which bear my name

And make such noise and romage through the world .

si r Marry good , in faith thou hast embarke d

’ U pon an e nte rprise with stomach in t .

Now , prithe e , boy , lend me awhile thine ear

’ so i s Perchance , poo r a man as Shakespeare , H erding with fellows o f the base r sort ; H e With omer, Aristophan s , and all

’ ’ Th ignoble motley of the muses train .

’ The j igging poets of Apollo s rout ,

M ay yet ﬁ nd favor in thy baleful eyes .

si r Alack good , you paint me forth a clown , w A vulgar fello , an unlettered swain ,

A usurer , extortione r, and rak e The multiplying villa i n i es of Nature Mantle my record like a stand ing pool I

y e si r I By cock and p , , you protest too much

The fl e shy vessel which held Shakespeare in M ayhap was m ade of crude and earthy stuff ;

o u sa a And y y right , Ignatius , writ no pl ys ,

h e a r n o n And d music o f the choiri g spheres .

fa But , know , this playwright had a wanton y Who told him tales o f most exalted heaven

’ And of the lowest deep . Aye , th ere s the rub EA II I L OS OP I I HO T IV THER P Y. 2 2 9

e H made Will Shake speare , coarse , unlettered hi nd ,

Wise with a wisdom that ye wot not of.

This fay , this Puck , this nimble Ariel ,

Told tales that Francis Bacon never heard .

G o . to Ignatius , get thee to thy rest Pillow th e te mples of thy c iphe ring h ead

O n the black wate rs of oblivion .

’ si r But Shakespeare s plays , good , som e seve ral years

Shall yet be read , methinks , by divers men .

H O T I/ V EA TH E R P H I L OS OP H Y.

’ E T o n us sail our way , fre e from sorrow s embargo ,

As content with ourselves as a man from Chicago .

L e t u s feel our best day , the one freest from sorrow ,

’ I - s . the day after yesterday , j ust fore to morrow

’ Though ti s hot enough he re let us think how much drearier

’ ’ Is the glomerate mass o f earth s molten interior ;

’ ti s Though hot enough here , let us cool our red faces By the thought of the cold in the interstellar spaces ;

’ o a - Th ugh we re lurid and red as a furn ce burnt ember,

L e t us think of the snow - drifts a n d ice of D ecember ; Though Sol in his fervor grows stronger and stronger Ye t the sun will freeze u p in ten million years longe r ; Though the sun through the heavens rides his ﬁery bicycle

’ In a few million years he ll be cold as an icicle .

l e t u s n So rejoice at the grand co summation ,

And grow happy and frigid in anticipation . R e d th e B e t T he t P i N ion l Con v e n tio n a t Wo o l i n - o u - Ch t the a at a a at a , g au au qua ,

e v e nin o f A s t 1 8 2 g ugu 4 , 9 .

U ST why this eve nt should b e reckoned complete r

With a sole mn old bard to address you in metre , And why h e should read yo u a metrical lecture h This sole mn old bard as no means of conj ecture . But since it so happe n s the good boys of Beta

e Are thirsting for ve rse and are wilting for m tre ,

wh o i s And are lonesome and lorn as a man single , T ill the ir bachelor prose has be en marrie d to j ingle ,

M h a s y mill ground out , with its old imperfections , — Some sober and somnolent solemn reflections .

’ As swift years go by and life s ripe apple mellows , “ O u r memory reverts to young days with the fellows ,

we t h e When , with ladder supplie d by the college ,

Tried to climb the top limb of the old tree of knowledge .

we When dug , as the farmer will dig the potato , For the tuber o f thought in th e rich soil of Plato ;

’ Whe n we strolled neath the sunrise , and e ach a glad roamer

T y a H ' hrough the dew demesne o f that morning b rd , omer Took o n e gill of H o mer (and raised no loud clamor)

D iluted with inﬁnite gallo ns of grammar .

’ And the thought will arise , and it s o fte n repeated ,

I n that classical dram we were wofully cheated . w There ere many de ep bards and ﬁne poets , they tell us , H And sages revere d in that old land of ellas ,

But we felt no t the spell of their dee p necromancy ,

The charm of their wisdom , o r the ﬁre of their fancy ,

BE TA T TA P I CON VE IVT I OIV 2 3 2 HE .

w we And now , hen do anything that is clever,

0 11 e A nd dee m that we stand the heights of ndeavor,

We fe el that mankind should announce it and show it ,

y . And , fo re most o f all , let the Beta bo s know it

’ r Whe n we e made sel ectman or a highway surveyor, d Are electe town clerk , or are mentioned for mayor, ’ d Whe n we ve publishe a pamphlet , or writte n a ditty ,

O r serve d for three years on the high school committee ,

’ Let the trumpets o f fa m e o e r the wide plane t blow it

B u t . fore most of all , let the Beta boys know it

B u t we when are weak and our life se ems a failure , And the world is a de sert from here to Australia ; W ’ l he n we re sentenced to j ai for some crime of foul nature , O r are members elect of our state legislature

Le t the big world at large all derisively j eer of it , I But , for love of your life , let no Beta boy hear of it

e u s Those were days when no fett rs o f fortune conﬁned ,

ti s Whe n we gaze d on the inﬁnite ocean be hind ,

the — f e And gazed on mist bannered mountains be or us ,

’ H i While ope , o er their summits tr umphantly bore us R Fate said , ule the earth and d ethrone th e usurpers , “ ’ And each of us answe red , I m here for that purpose . O u r consciousness told us th e crazy old plane t

Wa s wobbly and wild , nee ding so me one to man it ,

S n ome wise ruli g genius to guide it and vee r it , h Some strong , pilo t and to direct it and ste e r it , S ome imperial genius to keep the thing steady

“ ’ ’ A n d u s I each o f answered , I m ready I m ready

True , when we were loaded for bear o r for bison ,

We banged at the stars or shot at the horizon , R E T A T H E T A P I C N V N I N O E T O . 2 3 3

i u n i n e r e d So the b son and bear by our guns were g g ,

And the stars and horizon are thus far uninj ure d ,

And the high heavens are still by our bullets unblighted ,

And the rivers of earth still ﬂow on unignited .

’ But , if we ve not struck th e high target we aimed

’ ’ Tis nothing we need to regret and be shamed at . R ight here , to give zest to this metrical salad

And point a good moral , is given this ballad , a A fact , and not mere fanciful caper,

’ A n d I know it is true , for I read it i the paper

Says the cabin boy to Sambo , the cook f And a tear ell round and great ,

’ ’ o l I won t bear the yoke of every poke ,

’ a An take off my c p to the mate .

’ For I ve a notion the I ndia n Ocean

' A n d r o u d a n d he stood up p fre e ,

' H a s no cabin b o y tha n i s better than O i L e t him take off h i s hat to me I

H ole on , dar, chile , says Sambo , the cook

’ An lean yer yere to me ,

’ Yo u ain t no boss cl a r way e r c r o ss

a This yere hull big blame se . H ain ’ t yer seen it happ ’ u how the mate to the cap ’ n Takes off his hat ? G o long I Y ’ ’ ou s awful brash , you young w ite trash ,

’ Je s larn ware yo u belong I

‘ I Belay there , Sambo says the boy to th e cook ,

’ D e z e z on t get hot a stove ,

’ ’ ’ D id you ever se e it h a pp n thet our o l cap n ” Tips hi s hat to any cove ? I 2 34 BE TA TH E TA P I CON VEN T ON.

W’ ’ ’ I n o w . G o y, you re wrong , says Sambo long

’ Jump overboard an swim ,

’ ’ Fo r h e d be a Jonah if he didn s m o o v e de owner An tip h is hat to him I

Avast there , Sambo , says the boy to the cook , “ Y our sails is too muc h spread ,

’ ’ th o u sa n The owne r s a stunne r , a twenty tonner

’ An h e keeps his hat on hi s head I

I e r whil e I Break off dar , chile break off foh H ere de merchant j ines de swim ,

’ ’ ’ ’ An dat s wot s de marter w e n he wants his charter,

’ ” D e n de cap n tips to him I

- o n - But the me rchant , says the boy , is a god wheels ,

’ ’ 7 7 A reg lar tough o l duff 1 L “ ’ aws Sambo said , le t me ﬁll yo head

’ Wi v some kine e r se nse an stu ff I

’ ’ D e t r a d n merchant s a seller, a feller , ’ I An he wants to sell , yer see ’ f ’ So he ben down lat , an he take off he hat , An ’ he bow to you an ’ me I ? )

H a e c a é zz /a (l o ad : f this poor fable teaches ,

’ We re all in one baske t , the same kind o f peaches .

I n the cabin , on deck , where our station may happen ,

’

1i s . To some man , or some men , we are each of cap n And we sail th e same se a to a po rt far be fore u s

’ With th e same pilo t stars shining placidly o e r us ;

’ a And meet the same waves , th e s me tempest s resistance ,

" ’ And make for a harbor that s far in the distance .

A /YD A A 2 36 A GLAN CE BEHI N D HE D .

(But I ’ ll say in a parenthesis reporters please omit T hough we have begun the business we have not q u ite ﬁnished

v e t . )

Though I hate to make adm issions that detract fro m our j ust

fame , I b Still , must allow, the planet se e ms to wob le j ust the same .

Though we have not claspe d th e V ision that once crowned the m orning hill I V n th e early forenoon sunshine , we will chase the ision still .

' Though sh e fa d e s i n to the distance of the hazy amethyst, Though she ’ s aureoled with rainbows and he r garme nts are m of ist ,

Still she beckons we are coming I Se e he r right han d pointing high

Toward her misty mountains yo nder , where h e r mighty e mpires

lie .

And we follow through the noontid e till the closi n g of the

d a y, L See , she beckons We are coming We are coming . ead

the way . ’

T IVO S ON GS .

H E spirit that sings in the moaning p ine ,

n And has su g since the world began ,

o Is gloomy as night whe n the stars d not shine ,

And sad as the heart of man .

The spirit that sings in the laughing brook ,

e the n And has sung sinc world bega ,

’ Is gay as the j oy of a maiden s look ,

And glad as the heart of man .

’ I lay neath the pine , on the brink of the brook , And their two songs rose in the air ;

’ O n e O , sweet as the laugh from an rea d s nook ,

O n e d . , heavy with sobs of espair

sa d And the and the glad mingled into one strain ,

But made no dissonant strife , As the varying tones of pleasure and pain

Mingle into the music o f life .

L o I n And I said the so g of the heart of man , o The s ng of gloom and of glee ,

ha s The song that been since the wo rld began ,

The song that ever shall be . T IVO P R A YE R S .

U R th e fl minister gets up to pray and lets spirit ow,

’ An tells the L o rd a lot e r th ings he thinks H e ought to

know , Tells H im about the gove r ’ ment how politics ’ ill turn

’ o z H e d a n wa C o n t mix in politics hez no y to learn .

’ ’ H e P r e sid u n t preache s on the an describes his evil natur , ’ C ’ ’ An give s away the abinet an o ur venal legislatur ,

’ Shows how co rruption festers , an tells of things , I fear , — Thet the L ord — they come so sudden will be surprised to

hear .

’ H e c c l o e d takes the y p y an he weaves it in his praye r, Sandwiched 111 W i th cho ice statistics which he picks up every where

sa - L They y the ord knows everything , sometimes I uste r d o u b h — — ’ ’ Now I know our pastor tells him th e t s the way he ﬁ n s it

out .

’ ’ ’ I n the m e e ti n t other eve nin he lifte d up h is face

’ ’ An much i n te r e sti n gossip laid before the Throne of G race , C hunks of useful information did he shrewdly inte rsperse ,

L e z Thet would make the o rd enlightened to all th e unive rse .

D Then J im rew , the drunken sailor, j est riz up the re in the

aisle ,

’ ’ ’ An though twas in a holy place we couldn t forbear to smile .

TH E B A B Y K I N G OF SP A I N

U R D E R OU M S plot , of late laid bare ,

H a s h s ocked all nations everywhere ,

’ i A plot hatche d in a madman s bra n , o f To kill the baby king Spain . The strong old R oman hates still cling Aro u nd the very name of King ; And goo d me n hope to se e laid prone

The height of every towering throne . Smite kingcraft strong betwee n the eye s ;

And when th e death - struck monster dies A cry o f j oy our he a rts will give

But let the little baby live .

— A baby king by right divine ,

A monarch o f an ancie nt line , The mightiest in this world o f ours

Of principalities and powe rs . N o co nquering captain ever “ known This sturdy king can disenthrone H i s th rone de fe nde d from all darts

’ Is borne upon hi s subj ect s hearts . The whirlwinds o f all wars that blow

This throne can neve r overthrow .

H i s royal right all men confess , H i s sove reign strength of helplessness ; And "tis an inﬁnite coward ’ s arm

U praised to do a baby harm . Kill kingcra ft ; it dese rves to die ; But pass the royal baby by I ’ I I BA B Y Ii I N G F S P A / V T E O I . 24 3

B a d a , wicked kings have ruled in Sp in ,

And wicked kings may rule again .

Kill kingcraft , but protect the king

That laughing , babbling , helpless thing .

t hi s Kill kingcraf , for many years

Are dark with stains of blood and tears .

And even now with laboring breath ,

H e stumbles , tottering, near to death ;

hi s And , for crimes in days gone by

’ The grey old wretch de serves to die ;

G o d n e w to the hand strength impart ,

That drives the dagger through his heart , And buries fr om the light of day This linger i ng i ncubus awa y Kill kingcraft ; all men will forgive ;

Kill him but let the baby live . WH E N SH A K ESP EA RE S L IN GS H I M S E L F

’ TR I E D to read w a t Shakespeare writ

’ An never thought no great of i t . I knew no man in our town

Sku r c e e kill e d i n Shake speare renown ,

But still , I reckoned all the time

’ ’ z z o l H e warn t e smart e Squire Prime .

Though others stuck h im o n a pole ,

I allus laid him on the shelf, B ’ ecause he had no spurt an soul ,

’ An never slung himself.

An ’ ev ’ ry time I tried I ’ d fail T o make out eithe r head or tail

O r any heart , or sense , or soul

’ wo li n To all his bb rigmarole . No m atte r how he ’ d squirm an ’ try

’ ’ H e o l couldn t come up to Bill Nye .

’ ’ so An I d she t the book again , ’ f An stick it up there on the shel ,

’ ’ ’ l i An say I t s p ain to me , it s pla n h ’ T et h e couldn t sling himself.

An elocutione r come down

O n e night , last fall , to our town ,

’ ’ An advertised fer s e v r u l days Thet h e would read fro m Shake speare ’ s

' “ sez The feller I , is a chump

T o c try to read from su h a gump .

2 6 W N SHA K ESP EA E S L I IVG S II I /II S E L F 4 HE R .

Who searched h is soul in every part

’ a An r nsacked every nook an shelf,

hi s Who looked right in ope n heart ,

’ ’ An went an slung himself.

W ’ e n Shak espeare slings h imse lf I see

H o w big a human soul can be ,

’ I feel like c l a i m i n as m y o wn

’ The highest seat aroun the throne .

’ sa W en Shakespeare slung himself, I y,

’ W a t ? angel could do bette r, hey

’ so n An we k ow we hev the best ,

The swee test from the h ighest shelf,

brighte st , grandest , purtiest Whe n Shakespeare slings h im se lf I TH E REA Y—MA E M A D D IV.

O M E H sages o f industan , O f e ruditical lore ,

D etermined to make a ready - made Which had neve r been done before ; w All this , you kno ,

Was some time ago ,

- I n the pre historical yore .

So they mixe ‘ d the ir chemicals up

In a mighty porcelain bowl , And they stirred them up as you ’ d stir

Of my coffe e or tea , on soul ;

i n Made a hole the batter,

And set on a platter , r With ca bon and salt in the hole .

These sages of H industan Then poured the chemicals in ;

Their phosphoric acid they poured a pan ,

And their soda and gelatine ,

With butyric acid , fl To make the ﬂesh accid ,

And wate r and creatine .

And the y made the form of a man ,

O rganically sound and complete , H And they found , these sages of industan , No flaw from his head to his feet ; 2 8 - 4 T H E R EA D Y III A D E M A N .

A n d one o f the ir fello ws

a i r f Blew rom a bellows ,

And the man leaped up from his seat .

’ m Th ey d ade the ready made man ,

B u t wa s h e crazy and wild ,

H e n howled like a beast in a carava , And th e n he cried like a child ; Th ey put magnesia ‘o n H i s left brain ga n glion

To make him reconciled .

And this — i t made him hum ’ Twas withering ﬂame to fuel And they took chloride of potassium And mixed it in his gruel Th en he acted like a foo l Wh o had never been to school

H i s idiot groans were cruel .

a n Then carbo n fro m the p , They placed beneath h is crown

The n he fought like John L . Sullivan ,

And knocke d the sages down . The n the sages of H industan

They kille d the ready - made man

Who had done the m up so brown .

My moral all may scan , For it ’ s de signed to show ’ That the making of a p e r fe c t m an I s a process rathe r slow ; The perfect fellow N e eds time to mellow

And plenty o f time to grow .

We shall not ﬁ nd ’ neath heaven ’ s vault Anothe r Walt

H e gave a gift beyond all pelf,

’ M an s greatest gift he gave himself.

0 11 Then bear , with dead hands his breast , hi T his shaggy old man to s re st .

A strong audacious soul has ﬂe d ,

Now Walt is dead . V A TR A GI C E I D .

E worked for e ight dollars a week , So his prodigal wants were repressed ;

But he had an imposing physique , Which he longed to keep perfectly dressed

A superb and commanding physique ,

H e was bound to keep thoroughly dressed .

u But his s it , it was never complete ;

If he had an immaculate hat ,

And the daintiest shoes on his feet , H e would have a dej ected cravat ;

Wear twelve - dollar shoe s on his feet

And a p i cayune style of cravat .

I f he bought a cravat that was new , Then hi s shoes would be out at the toes ;

L e t him struggle the best he could do ,

’ ’ H e d wear some undesirable clo es

L e t him torture the best he could do ,

’ ’ H e d have some unconventional clo es .

I f his beaver was shiny and sleek ,

’ And hi s coat and h i s ulster a zz f a z f

Ye t r he wo ked for e ight dollars a week , And his trousers were rusty a n d gray H e toiled for eight dollars a week ;

H ence hi s trousers were b a ggy and gray . A T R A GI C N 2 5 4 E D .

h is But at last whole suit was co mple te ,

And he walked forth in glory and pride ,

Well - dresse d from h is head to his fee t ; B ut that very same hour h e die d

Well - dresse d fro m hi s head to his feet

In the hour of triumph he died .

R A S S A L E R A I LR A 2 56 THE G V O D .

But moss grew o n the h ouses whe re no paint had yet

appeared ,

As th e face that has no beauty is the ﬁ rst to raise a beard .

The chimney of the old town hall was thrown down by t he

rain ,

And they stuck a rusty funnel th rough the bottom window. pane ; At the Baptist church the ste eple blew off o ne tempestuous

d a y, And the y left it as a rendezvous where hens could go and

lay .

T h e a great dream of the railroad b nished their uneasy fears , Although they ha d a s uit of clothes but once in thirteen years ; For they reasone d when the railro a d should co me winding down the ir way

They would have a pair o f trouse rs almo st every other day .

we fr o ii t And all wait for our railroad , while our yards grow

with thistle ,

’ L i e and listen in our valley for the loco motive s whistle ;

Ye s we b , uild up mighty railroads in our superheated brain , While we ought to climb our mou n tains and j ust foot it to

the train . TH E C OS /WI C P E /II O .

L L i s H motion rhythm , says wise erbert Spencer ,

s o A sage immense that no sage is immenser .

All the worlds wobble on with a rhythmical teeter,

And the universe whirls on its mystical metre . e w The sag sees the stars , and their rhythmic orbs sho him

i s That the world a verse and the Cosmos a poem .

The torn s e a that surges with wreck - scattered trophies Beats out i ts great theme in tumultuous strophes ; w m The blind winds that blo fro the caverns of chaos ,

O r us the zephyrs o f twilight that soothe and allay , The rivers that leap from the high precipices

’ - Whose foam banners wave o er the startled abysses , O r the gay brook that makes the long lilies swe eter

All these , one and all , are a part of the metre .

And a ll lives are a poe m ; some wild and cyclonic With verses of cynical bluster Byronic ;

And some still ﬂow o n in perpetual benison , As perfect and smooth as a stanza of Tennyson ; And some ﬁnd huge boulders their currents to hinder And are broke n and bent like the poems of Pindar ; And some a deep base of proud music are built on The calm ocean swell of the epic of M ilton ; And some roll ick on with a free d om completer

’

W u . I n hitman s chaotic , tumult ou s metre OS/I I M 2 5 8 THE C I C P OE .

But most lives are m ixed like Shakespearian dramas ,

Where the king speaks h eroics , the idiot stammers ,

Where the old man give s counsel , the young man loves hotly , Whe re the king wears his c rown and the fool wears his

motley , Where the lord treads his hall and the peasant his heath er

ac t And in the ﬁ fth they all exit toge the r,

A n d the drama goes out with its pomp and its thunder,

we W And we weep , and laugh , and listen , and onder