A little book of tribune verse A number of hitherto uncollected poems, grave and gay |
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Poems of the People.
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Poems of the People.
THE ADVERTISER.
I am an advertiser great!
In letters bold
The praises of my wares I sound,
Prosperity is my estate;
The people come,
The people go
In one continuous,
Surging flow.
They buy my goods and come again
And I'm the happiest of men;
And this the reason I relate,
I'm an advertiser great!
In letters bold
The praises of my wares I sound,
Prosperity is my estate;
The people come,
The people go
In one continuous,
Surging flow.
They buy my goods and come again
And I'm the happiest of men;
And this the reason I relate,
I'm an advertiser great!
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There is a shop across the way
Where ne'er is heard a human tread,
Where trade is paralyzed and dead,
With ne'er a customer a day.
The people come,
The people go,
But never there.
They do not know
There's such a shop beneath the skies,
Because he does not advertise!
While I with pleasure contemplate
That I'm an advertiser great.
Where ne'er is heard a human tread,
Where trade is paralyzed and dead,
With ne'er a customer a day.
The people come,
The people go,
But never there.
They do not know
There's such a shop beneath the skies,
Because he does not advertise!
While I with pleasure contemplate
That I'm an advertiser great.
The secret of my fortune lies
In one small fact, which I may state,
Too many tradesmen learn too late,
If I have goods, I advertise.
Then people come
And people go
In constant streams,
For people know
That he who has good wares to sell
Will surely advertise them well;
And proudly I reiterate,
I am an advertiser great!
In one small fact, which I may state,
Too many tradesmen learn too late,
If I have goods, I advertise.
Then people come
And people go
In constant streams,
For people know
That he who has good wares to sell
Will surely advertise them well;
And proudly I reiterate,
I am an advertiser great!
87
BE NOT FORGETFUL.
Some folks believe in angels
A prowling around on earth;
Experience teaches me better,
You may take it for what it's worth.
A prowling around on earth;
Experience teaches me better,
You may take it for what it's worth.
Las' night a dreamy-eyed creature
Crep' up in the darkness and said,
“Please gimme a quarter mister,
Ter pay fer a supper and bed.”
Crep' up in the darkness and said,
“Please gimme a quarter mister,
Ter pay fer a supper and bed.”
I looked at him sharp and I thought
I saw a strange light in his eyes,
An' a suddent thought came upon me—
'Twas a angel chap in disguise!
I saw a strange light in his eyes,
An' a suddent thought came upon me—
'Twas a angel chap in disguise!
So I reached down in my breeches,
And gin him my last stray dime,
An' he crept back into the darkness,
A blessin' me all the time.
And gin him my last stray dime,
An' he crept back into the darkness,
A blessin' me all the time.
A calm like peace came on me,
An' them blessins rung in my ear,
Till later that night I run across
That thar angel a guzzlin' beer.
An' them blessins rung in my ear,
Till later that night I run across
That thar angel a guzzlin' beer.
Arter all, it done me more good,
To give to that thirsty moke,
Than if he'd a been a angel
A playin' a practical joke.
To give to that thirsty moke,
Than if he'd a been a angel
A playin' a practical joke.
April 15th, 1882.
88
THE ANGEL'S VISIT.
Do I believe in Angels? Yes,
And in their prowlings to and fro—
I entertained one long ago,
In guise of age and sore distress.
And in their prowlings to and fro—
I entertained one long ago,
In guise of age and sore distress.
He clambered up the narrow stairs,
And by his heavenly smile I knew
He was a truant angel who
Had come to visit unawares.
And by his heavenly smile I knew
He was a truant angel who
Had come to visit unawares.
“Rest thee, old man,” I gaily cried,
“And share my humble couch and cheer—
Thou shalt not want for comfort here—
My home and heart are open wide.”
“And share my humble couch and cheer—
Thou shalt not want for comfort here—
My home and heart are open wide.”
Relieved of temporary cares,
The old man laid him down and slept;
And in my thankfulness I wept—
I'd entertained him unawares!
The old man laid him down and slept;
And in my thankfulness I wept—
I'd entertained him unawares!
I never shall forget that night,
My happy dreams, my slumbers sound,
And when I woke at noon I found
My angel vanished out of sight.
My happy dreams, my slumbers sound,
And when I woke at noon I found
My angel vanished out of sight.
Perhaps in years that are to be,
That angel will return, and yet
I sometimes fear he may forget
To bring my overcoat to me.
That angel will return, and yet
I sometimes fear he may forget
To bring my overcoat to me.
January 19th, 1882.
89
THE TWIN FOLLOWERS.
Two ragged holes beam sadly out
Below the suburbs of this vest,
Like guardian angels of unrest,
They follow him for e'er about.
No picture could the public scan,
With half the greedy, fixed intent,
That on those dual holes is bent,
Those trade marks of an honest man.
Below the suburbs of this vest,
Like guardian angels of unrest,
They follow him for e'er about.
No picture could the public scan,
With half the greedy, fixed intent,
That on those dual holes is bent,
Those trade marks of an honest man.
How came those hungry holes both there?
Ah, ask the hours of toil and pain,
The pencil, lamp and woven cane,
The creaky, rusty, office chair!
Why, everything is new at first
And framed to stem the tide of life,
But all must yield at last to strife,
And even pants at length will burst.
Ah, ask the hours of toil and pain,
The pencil, lamp and woven cane,
The creaky, rusty, office chair!
Why, everything is new at first
And framed to stem the tide of life,
But all must yield at last to strife,
And even pants at length will burst.
And so, O honest holes, we greet
You with a proud and hearty grace;
Good welcome to the resting place,
Thrice welcome to the royal seat!
In all the turmoil, all the strife,
There are no teachers half so true,
To teach us what we learn from you,
The stern realities of life.
You with a proud and hearty grace;
Good welcome to the resting place,
Thrice welcome to the royal seat!
In all the turmoil, all the strife,
There are no teachers half so true,
To teach us what we learn from you,
The stern realities of life.
90
GEMS FOR THE PRINTER.
Slug 5 was portly and round and fair,
And he threw in type with a lordly air
Under the coal-oil's lurid glare.
And he threw in type with a lordly air
Under the coal-oil's lurid glare.
One of Slug 5's most innocent joys
Was, when surcease from work and noise,
He jeffed with the other printer boys.
Was, when surcease from work and noise,
He jeffed with the other printer boys.
It made the printer men howl and moan
When on the fatal imposing stone
They saw his handful of em quads thrown.
When on the fatal imposing stone
They saw his handful of em quads thrown.
One night, unknowing of Slug 5's fame
At playing this most unfortunate game,
A slim young man to the news room came,
At playing this most unfortunate game,
A slim young man to the news room came,
And, seeing the slender creature near,
Slug 5 remarked with a bitter leer
“I'll jeff you, sir, for cigars or beer.”
Slug 5 remarked with a bitter leer
“I'll jeff you, sir, for cigars or beer.”
And the slim man started and tossed his head,
The shaft struck home and his heartstrings bled,
“Pray, what is jeffing?” the victim said.
The shaft struck home and his heartstrings bled,
“Pray, what is jeffing?” the victim said.
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And Slug 5, thinking his ruin planned,
Explained the process in detail, and
The young man yearned for to take a hand.
Explained the process in detail, and
The young man yearned for to take a hand.
Then three times threw Slug 5 the tricks,
And he made a total of just eight nicks,
And he quoth, “He never can beat that fix.”
And he made a total of just eight nicks,
And he quoth, “He never can beat that fix.”
The young man gathered the em quads too,
A Molly, a cock and two he threw,
“Now, one more throw and that will do!”
A Molly, a cock and two he threw,
“Now, one more throw and that will do!”
The young man threw, and there supine
On the cold, cold stone, in a ghastly line,
Loomed seven nicks, or a total nine!
On the cold, cold stone, in a ghastly line,
Loomed seven nicks, or a total nine!
March 29th, 1882.
92
DISCONTENT.
A printer man in sotto tone,Did once his bitter fate bemoan;
“How does it always happen that
My ‘takes’ are ‘solid’ and not fat?”
I could not bear his piteous look,
And so I hung upon the “hook”
A “leaded take” which, with a leer,
He grasped, while these words reached my ear:
“Yes, just my luck, there'll never be
No double leaded takes for me!”
Then that I might for just once make
His soul content, a rousing take
Of double-leaded nonpareil
Upon that hook I hung. Ah, well,
He still was sad and muttered low,
“I s'pose 't'll allus be just so,
Why don't they mark in some fat thing,
Like slugs, to swell a fellow's string?”
That printer man will sigh no more,
He lies a corpse upon the floor!
March 29th, 1882.
93
THE POET'S THEME.
If I could sing as the angels sing
In heaven above,
I would raise my voice to a heavenly thing,
And that is love.
But my voice is harsh and my petted sense
Is of humble stripe,
And oh! it's a lowly theme I choose,
The which is tripe.
In heaven above,
I would raise my voice to a heavenly thing,
And that is love.
But my voice is harsh and my petted sense
Is of humble stripe,
And oh! it's a lowly theme I choose,
The which is tripe.
The world may laugh and the world deride,
Ah, well, so be,
I take it stewed and I take it fried,
It stays by me,
It fills my soul with a strange delight,
As well my maw,
And I see in my dreams the livelong night,
My mother-in-law.
Ah, well, so be,
I take it stewed and I take it fried,
It stays by me,
It fills my soul with a strange delight,
As well my maw,
And I see in my dreams the livelong night,
My mother-in-law.
I am chased by bulls and gnawed by rats,
Down chasms falling,
Mine ears are filled with the noise of cats
Like demons squalling,
I am drowned and hung and burned to death,
Dunned by a tailor,
A witch befouls me with her breath
And loathsome squalor.
Down chasms falling,
Mine ears are filled with the noise of cats
Like demons squalling,
I am drowned and hung and burned to death,
Dunned by a tailor,
A witch befouls me with her breath
And loathsome squalor.
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Bah! sing if ye will, in rounded rhymes,
Each varying passion,
But for regular, thrilling, exciting times,
In cold blood fashion,
Give me the scenes of blood, of gore,
Of fiendish stripe,
Of goblins flitting from ceiling to floor,
Aye, give me tripe!
Each varying passion,
But for regular, thrilling, exciting times,
In cold blood fashion,
Give me the scenes of blood, of gore,
Of fiendish stripe,
Of goblins flitting from ceiling to floor,
Aye, give me tripe!
March 11th, 1882.
95
PARADISE REGAINED.
Once on a time a man did die,
And bursting forth, his soul flew straight,
Up to the pearly realms on high
Where good St. Peter kept the gate.
And bursting forth, his soul flew straight,
Up to the pearly realms on high
Where good St. Peter kept the gate.
The sainted Peter shook his head
And would not lend a pitying ear,
“Such worthless folks as you,” he said,
“Need make no application here!”
And would not lend a pitying ear,
“Such worthless folks as you,” he said,
“Need make no application here!”
In vain the hapless soul implored,
The warden bade him go to grass,
In vain he begged and mourned and roared,
St. Peter would not let him pass,
The warden bade him go to grass,
In vain he begged and mourned and roared,
St. Peter would not let him pass,
Till, goaded on by misery's stings,
And tortured by revenge and spite
That soul drew back and flapped its wings,
And crowed three times with all its might.
And tortured by revenge and spite
That soul drew back and flapped its wings,
And crowed three times with all its might.
St. Peter blushed a scarlet blush,
“Pass in,” he cried, “I'll check your hat,
Don't be personal, but hush
In future all such sounds as that!”
“Pass in,” he cried, “I'll check your hat,
Don't be personal, but hush
In future all such sounds as that!”
Your soul may be as white as snow,
Your life be full of good intent,
'Twill matter not, some one will know
The record to your detriment.
Your life be full of good intent,
'Twill matter not, some one will know
The record to your detriment.
October 31st, 1882.
96
THE PIOUS BANKER.
There was a banker, rich and proud,
A church man to a high degree,
And all society allowed
A worthy citizen was he;
And to his worship from afar
The sycophantic public ran,
And he was dubbed, with just eclat,
“A truly, truly honest man.”
A church man to a high degree,
And all society allowed
A worthy citizen was he;
And to his worship from afar
The sycophantic public ran,
And he was dubbed, with just eclat,
“A truly, truly honest man.”
One morning, so the story goes,
The banker was no more in sight;
The public loud bewailed their woes,
Their money, too, had vanished quite,
And then the people prated loud
Of “robbing on the pious plan,”
They failed to see the banker proud
Was truly still a non est man.
The banker was no more in sight;
The public loud bewailed their woes,
Their money, too, had vanished quite,
And then the people prated loud
Of “robbing on the pious plan,”
They failed to see the banker proud
Was truly still a non est man.
May 19th, 1883.
97
THE REVIVAL.
And when, one night the parson come,
His piety friends to greet,
He found a crowd of the bummer gang
All sot on the hopeful seat.
He seemed for to take their meanin' in,
But never a mite he stirred,
An' the prayer he raised to the Lord that night
Was the powerfulest ever heard.
His piety friends to greet,
He found a crowd of the bummer gang
All sot on the hopeful seat.
He seemed for to take their meanin' in,
But never a mite he stirred,
An' the prayer he raised to the Lord that night
Was the powerfulest ever heard.
He prayed for all mankind that's vile
A livin' on earth below,
And he axed a special prayer for them
As sat on that thar front row.
The gang they stood it as best they could
Till it got too drefful hot,
And then the eggs begun for to fly
From where them bummers sot.
A livin' on earth below,
And he axed a special prayer for them
As sat on that thar front row.
The gang they stood it as best they could
Till it got too drefful hot,
And then the eggs begun for to fly
From where them bummers sot.
The parson allowed a quick Amen
And stepped squar up to the crowd,
“Show me the feller as flung them eggs!”
He inquiry made aloud.
“Waal, what do you purpose to do?”
One on em axed in reply,
But before he knowed it he calmly drapt,
With a balcony onto his eye.
And stepped squar up to the crowd,
“Show me the feller as flung them eggs!”
He inquiry made aloud.
“Waal, what do you purpose to do?”
One on em axed in reply,
But before he knowed it he calmly drapt,
With a balcony onto his eye.
98
Them fellers fell and chawed the floor,
But the parson never stopt
Till he'd cleaned the crowd completely out
And the last durned cuss had dropt,
Then lookin' around on the women folk
In a calm and peaceful way,
He sez, “Now, sence the episode
Has concluded, let us pray.”
But the parson never stopt
Till he'd cleaned the crowd completely out
And the last durned cuss had dropt,
Then lookin' around on the women folk
In a calm and peaceful way,
He sez, “Now, sence the episode
Has concluded, let us pray.”
From that thar moment the grace o' the Lord
Pervaded our little town,
And them folks got it wust who'd sworn
They'd get that preacher down.
That's why I have said and still maintain
Revivals is doubtless right,
But where would ha' been the grace o' God,
Ef that preacher'd been licked that night?
Pervaded our little town,
And them folks got it wust who'd sworn
They'd get that preacher down.
That's why I have said and still maintain
Revivals is doubtless right,
But where would ha' been the grace o' God,
Ef that preacher'd been licked that night?
November 22d, 1882.
99
LIVING AND DYING.
Joe Smith was eke a goodly man
As ever lived on earth,
The world admired and loudly praised
His truly pious worth;
His life was full of charity
And free from sinful pride
But scarce had lived to thirty-four,
When one calm eventide
A mule kicked him quite playfully,
And Smith soon after died.
As ever lived on earth,
The world admired and loudly praised
His truly pious worth;
His life was full of charity
And free from sinful pride
But scarce had lived to thirty-four,
When one calm eventide
A mule kicked him quite playfully,
And Smith soon after died.
John Brown, a knave of deepest hue,
Dwelt in the selfsame town,
A grosser, meaner, viler scamp
There never lived than Brown;
He cussed, he swore, he smoked, he chewed,
He even keno played,
And down in Texas years ago
They say a man he slayed;
Yet he lived on contentedly
And lots of money made.
Till finally, a grey haired man,
John Brown lay down to die.
Dwelt in the selfsame town,
A grosser, meaner, viler scamp
There never lived than Brown;
He cussed, he swore, he smoked, he chewed,
He even keno played,
And down in Texas years ago
They say a man he slayed;
Yet he lived on contentedly
And lots of money made.
Till finally, a grey haired man,
John Brown lay down to die.
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His wife and children gathered 'round,
A preacher lingered nigh,
The only token of his death
A quiet, gentle sigh.
We'd like to live as did old Smith,
Revered by all the town,
But when it comes to dying, we'd
Prefer to die like Brown.
A preacher lingered nigh,
The only token of his death
A quiet, gentle sigh.
We'd like to live as did old Smith,
Revered by all the town,
But when it comes to dying, we'd
Prefer to die like Brown.
November 26th, 1882.
101
ELECTING FATE.
Two pieces of ice in the ice house lay
Waiting the dawn of another day,
And as they lingered there side by side,
“Oh, tell me brother, since we must die,
What fate would you choose for the by and by?”
The giddiest piece of the couple cried.
Waiting the dawn of another day,
And as they lingered there side by side,
“Oh, tell me brother, since we must die,
What fate would you choose for the by and by?”
The giddiest piece of the couple cried.
“Oh, I am fondly and gently bred,”
The other ice cake sighing said,
“And I would melt in a glass of tea
With a maiden stirring me to and fro
And mixing me up with sugar I trow,
Such, I pray, may my ending be.”
The other ice cake sighing said,
“And I would melt in a glass of tea
With a maiden stirring me to and fro
And mixing me up with sugar I trow,
Such, I pray, may my ending be.”
The other cake for a moment smiled,
“I always have been a wayward child
And it strikes me now I would like to float
In a brandy punch or a whisky sour,
Beguiling some wretched, mortal hour,
And cooling some thirsty mortal's throat.”
“I always have been a wayward child
And it strikes me now I would like to float
In a brandy punch or a whisky sour,
Beguiling some wretched, mortal hour,
And cooling some thirsty mortal's throat.”
The hours passed on and the days went by
Till finally came their time to die,
And the gentle piece of ice expired
In a bowl of tea, while the other piece,
In rare libation found surcease,
Each one perished as each desired.
Till finally came their time to die,
And the gentle piece of ice expired
In a bowl of tea, while the other piece,
In rare libation found surcease,
Each one perished as each desired.
102
What of the maiden who quaffed the tea?
They planted her under a willow tree,
And the mourners come and the mourners go,
Ice cold tea was the dreadful cause,
Nature avenged her outraged laws,
Neuralgia wielded the deadly blow.
They planted her under a willow tree,
And the mourners come and the mourners go,
Ice cold tea was the dreadful cause,
Nature avenged her outraged laws,
Neuralgia wielded the deadly blow.
And the man—oh, the man of the whisky sour,
He's living and prospers this very hour,
And he struck it rich in a Gunnison mine.
Oh, it's always the same with ice and men,
It's nice to be giddy now and then,
Take your death in tea and your life in wine.
He's living and prospers this very hour,
And he struck it rich in a Gunnison mine.
Oh, it's always the same with ice and men,
It's nice to be giddy now and then,
Take your death in tea and your life in wine.
August 7th, 1881.
103
ROMANCE OF THE CUCUMBER.
A cucumber green on the table lay,
Biding his swiftly approaching death,
And he smiled at the vinegar over the way,
And unto the pepper and salt he saith,
“You'll keep me company, friends, I trust,
We'll die like Sampson if die we must.”
Biding his swiftly approaching death,
And he smiled at the vinegar over the way,
And unto the pepper and salt he saith,
“You'll keep me company, friends, I trust,
We'll die like Sampson if die we must.”
A maiden sat in a chair hard by,
A beautiful maiden of supple grace,
And delicate features, and large blue eye,
And a rapturous transport over her face.
A youth drove moodily home that night,
In the last faint streak of the twilight blush,
And the moon as of one in a piteous plight,
Invaded the evening's solemn hush;
One look at the river, one little splash
And the eddy encircled the lover rash.
A beautiful maiden of supple grace,
And delicate features, and large blue eye,
And a rapturous transport over her face.
A youth drove moodily home that night,
In the last faint streak of the twilight blush,
And the moon as of one in a piteous plight,
Invaded the evening's solemn hush;
One look at the river, one little splash
And the eddy encircled the lover rash.
A sorrowing train with the tell-tale bier,
Passed over the road to the family lot
While the mourners gazed at the gardens near,
And the cucumbers whispered, “Forget us not.”
One little spirit by angels blest,
One little stomach for aye at rest.
Passed over the road to the family lot
While the mourners gazed at the gardens near,
And the cucumbers whispered, “Forget us not.”
One little spirit by angels blest,
One little stomach for aye at rest.
(Attributed to) R. M. Field.
August 28th, 1881.
104
HER ESSAY.
A seminary graduate
Was Miss Samantha Brown,
The wisest, wittiest, prettiest girl
In all our lovely town;
Her graduation essay was
The finest ever read
In east or west or north or south
Or anywhere, 'tis said.
Was Miss Samantha Brown,
The wisest, wittiest, prettiest girl
In all our lovely town;
Her graduation essay was
The finest ever read
In east or west or north or south
Or anywhere, 'tis said.
Her dress was white pekay, en train,
And built with fairy skill,
'Twas tucked and pleated, gored and trimmed
With many a flounce and frill;
The overdress was baby blue
Enwrought with laces fine,
Oh, all the women folks declared
The essay was divine!
And built with fairy skill,
'Twas tucked and pleated, gored and trimmed
With many a flounce and frill;
The overdress was baby blue
Enwrought with laces fine,
Oh, all the women folks declared
The essay was divine!
The basque was cut in Perisian style,
With pipings all of silk,
The corsage was besplashed with bars
Of velvet pale as milk;
The waist was made decollete
And showed a comely form;
The essay—doubt you what we say?
Took all the men by storm.
With pipings all of silk,
The corsage was besplashed with bars
Of velvet pale as milk;
The waist was made decollete
And showed a comely form;
The essay—doubt you what we say?
Took all the men by storm.
105
DEPARTED FRIENDS.
Where is the doodlebug that erst
When blushing, fragrance breathing flowers,
Wooed back by April's kindly showers,
Beamed gladly forth from Flora's bowers,
Where is the doodlebug, we say,
That burst
All into life and toiled away
Through sand and sun of summer day?
When blushing, fragrance breathing flowers,
Wooed back by April's kindly showers,
Beamed gladly forth from Flora's bowers,
Where is the doodlebug, we say,
That burst
All into life and toiled away
Through sand and sun of summer day?
Where is the gauzey white pekay
Which when the spring, serene and warm
Succeeded wintry wind and storm,
Bedecked the average female form,
O where that fluted biased thing
We pray
That with the advent of each spring,
The beaux admire and poets sing?
Which when the spring, serene and warm
Succeeded wintry wind and storm,
Bedecked the average female form,
O where that fluted biased thing
We pray
That with the advent of each spring,
The beaux admire and poets sing?
Gone, like a fevered, summer dream,
Gone like the soon forgotten lay,
Gone like the friend of yesterday,
The doodlebug, the white pekay!
But when the vernal breeze and rain
And beam
Refresh the hillside and the plain,
The two will come, will come again.
Gone like the soon forgotten lay,
Gone like the friend of yesterday,
The doodlebug, the white pekay!
But when the vernal breeze and rain
And beam
Refresh the hillside and the plain,
The two will come, will come again.
106
THE COMPLIMENT.
Arrayed in snow-white pants and vest,
And other raiment fair to view,
I stood before my sweetheart Sue—
The charming creature I love best.
“Tell me and does my costume suit?”
I asked that apple of my eye—
And then the charmer made reply,
“Oh, yes, you do look awful cute!”
And other raiment fair to view,
I stood before my sweetheart Sue—
The charming creature I love best.
“Tell me and does my costume suit?”
I asked that apple of my eye—
And then the charmer made reply,
“Oh, yes, you do look awful cute!”
Although I frequently had heard
My sweetheart vent her pleasure so,
I must confess I did not know
The meaning of that favorite word.
My sweetheart vent her pleasure so,
I must confess I did not know
The meaning of that favorite word.
But presently at window side
We stood and watched the passing throng,
And soon a donkey passed along
With ears like wings extended wide.
And gazing at the doleful brute
My sweetheart gave a merry cry—
I quote her language with a sigh—
“O, Charlie, ain't he awful cute?”
We stood and watched the passing throng,
And soon a donkey passed along
With ears like wings extended wide.
And gazing at the doleful brute
My sweetheart gave a merry cry—
I quote her language with a sigh—
“O, Charlie, ain't he awful cute?”
August 5th, 1882.
107
THE CRUEL FATHER.
When charming Christine Nilsson sang
In our æsthetic town
And all our local country rang
With praise of her renown,
A gentle, comely maid we knew
Made loud and numerous ado,
The fair Camelia Brown.
In our æsthetic town
And all our local country rang
With praise of her renown,
A gentle, comely maid we knew
Made loud and numerous ado,
The fair Camelia Brown.
“I want to hear Miss Nilsson sing,”
To her papa said she;
“And so tonight I pray you bring
A bonnet home for me;
For how the other girls would stare
If I should show this old one there,
I hate the horrid thing!”
To her papa said she;
“And so tonight I pray you bring
A bonnet home for me;
For how the other girls would stare
If I should show this old one there,
I hate the horrid thing!”
But he, with purpose to deride
And give his child the bluff,
“I'll buy no bonnets now,” he cried,
“The old one's good enough.”
The fair Camelia hung her head
And not another word she said,
She simply gasped and died.
And give his child the bluff,
“I'll buy no bonnets now,” he cried,
“The old one's good enough.”
The fair Camelia hung her head
And not another word she said,
She simply gasped and died.
December 18th, 1882.
108
A PIAZZA TRAGEDY.
The beauteous Ethel's father has a
Newly painted front piazza,
He has a
Piazza;
When with tobacco juice 'twas tainted,
They had the front piazza painted,
That tainted
Piazza painted.
Newly painted front piazza,
He has a
Piazza;
When with tobacco juice 'twas tainted,
They had the front piazza painted,
That tainted
Piazza painted.
Algernon called that night, perchance,
Arrayed in comely sealskin pants,
That night, perchance,
In gorgeous pants;
Engaging Ethel in a chat
On that piazza down he sat,
In chat,
They sat.
Arrayed in comely sealskin pants,
That night, perchance,
In gorgeous pants;
Engaging Ethel in a chat
On that piazza down he sat,
In chat,
They sat.
And when an hour or two had passed,
He tried to rise, but oh, stuck fast,
At last
Stuck fast!
Fair Ethel shrieked, “It is the paint!”
And fainted in a deadly faint,
This saint
Did faint.
He tried to rise, but oh, stuck fast,
At last
Stuck fast!
Fair Ethel shrieked, “It is the paint!”
And fainted in a deadly faint,
This saint
Did faint.
109
Algernon sits there till this day,
He cannot tear himself away;
Away?
Nay, nay,
His pants are firm, the paint is dry,
He's nothing else to do but die;
To die!
O my!
He cannot tear himself away;
Away?
Nay, nay,
His pants are firm, the paint is dry,
He's nothing else to do but die;
To die!
O my!
110
THE FRONT GATE.
An old and crippled gate am I,
And twenty years have passed
Since I was swung up high and dry
Betwixt these posts so fast;
And now I've grown so powerful weak,
Despised by man and beast,
I'm scarcely strong enough to squeak,
Although I'm never greased.
And twenty years have passed
Since I was swung up high and dry
Betwixt these posts so fast;
And now I've grown so powerful weak,
Despised by man and beast,
I'm scarcely strong enough to squeak,
Although I'm never greased.
'Twas twenty years ago, I say,
When Mr. Enos White
Came kind of hanging 'round my way,
'Most every other night,
He hung upon my starboard side
And she upon the other,
Till Susan Smith became his bride
And in due time a mother.
When Mr. Enos White
Came kind of hanging 'round my way,
'Most every other night,
He hung upon my starboard side
And she upon the other,
Till Susan Smith became his bride
And in due time a mother.
I groaned intensely when I heard,
Despite I am no churl,
My doom breathed in a single word,
The baby was a girl!
And as she grew and grew and grew,
I loud bemoaned my fate,
For she was very fair to view,
And I—I was the gate!
Despite I am no churl,
My doom breathed in a single word,
The baby was a girl!
And as she grew and grew and grew,
I loud bemoaned my fate,
For she was very fair to view,
And I—I was the gate!
111
Then, in due time a lover came,
Betokening my ruin,
A dapper fellow, Brown by name,
The grown-up baby wooin';
They swung upon me in the gloam,
And talked of moon and star,
They're married now and live at home
Along with ma and pa.
Betokening my ruin,
A dapper fellow, Brown by name,
The grown-up baby wooin';
They swung upon me in the gloam,
And talked of moon and star,
They're married now and live at home
Along with ma and pa.
My lot was happy for a year,
No courting, night or day,
I had no thought, I had no fear,
Bad luck would come my way;
But oh, this morning—save the mark!
There came a wild surprise,
A shadow flitted grim and dark
Across my sunny skies.
No courting, night or day,
I had no thought, I had no fear,
Bad luck would come my way;
But oh, this morning—save the mark!
There came a wild surprise,
A shadow flitted grim and dark
Across my sunny skies.
A doctor, with a knowing smile,
A nurse with face serene,
A bustle in the house a while,
Great scot! what can it mean?
My hinges ache, my lock is weak,
My pickets are awhirl,
I hear that awful doctor speak,
It is another girl!
A nurse with face serene,
A bustle in the house a while,
Great scot! what can it mean?
My hinges ache, my lock is weak,
My pickets are awhirl,
I hear that awful doctor speak,
It is another girl!
January 26th, 1883.
112
THE RECREANT.
While the stars are twinkling bright above
And Luna sinks in western steeps,
Her lonely watch fair Claudia keeps,
And broods upon her maiden love.
And Luna sinks in western steeps,
Her lonely watch fair Claudia keeps,
And broods upon her maiden love.
Upon her pallid cheek a tear
Strays from her wan and fireless eye,
And from her lips escapes a sigh,
“Oh, why is not Alberto here!”
Strays from her wan and fireless eye,
And from her lips escapes a sigh,
“Oh, why is not Alberto here!”
Is that his voice in yonder dale,
That floats like music on the air?
No, no, Alberto is not there,
'Tis but the tuneful nightingale.
That floats like music on the air?
No, no, Alberto is not there,
'Tis but the tuneful nightingale.
Is it his step upon the hill,
That brings the bloom to Claudia's cheeks?
Nay, this a thirsty mule that seeks
Refreshment at the mountain rill.
That brings the bloom to Claudia's cheeks?
Nay, this a thirsty mule that seeks
Refreshment at the mountain rill.
Heaven help thee in thy piteous plight,
O Claudia, fair as summer skies;
Compose thy sorrow, wipe thine eyes,
Alberto will not come tonight,
O Claudia, fair as summer skies;
Compose thy sorrow, wipe thine eyes,
Alberto will not come tonight,
For in the midnight's solemn hush,
He breathes a vow that smells of wine,
He holds a hand that is not thine,
He dallies with a bobtail flush.
He breathes a vow that smells of wine,
He holds a hand that is not thine,
He dallies with a bobtail flush.
113
LOVE'S REQUEST.
George, do not come tonight,
I would not cause thee pain, but oh!
I must command thee, darling, go,
And when the moon's pale light
Doth shimmer through the waving trees,
And on the softly dancing breeze
The nightingale throbs his refrain,
Come not again, forgive the pain,
George, do not come tonight.
I would not cause thee pain, but oh!
I must command thee, darling, go,
And when the moon's pale light
Doth shimmer through the waving trees,
And on the softly dancing breeze
The nightingale throbs his refrain,
Come not again, forgive the pain,
George, do not come tonight.
Nay, must I tell thee why?
And dost thou doubt this loyal heart?
'Tis better, George, that we should part,
For, O my darling, I
Discover by the pain 'tis making,
That horrid vaccination's taking,
Yet, if you'll promise on your knees
You will not tease me for a squeeze,
Tonight, George—you may come.
And dost thou doubt this loyal heart?
'Tis better, George, that we should part,
For, O my darling, I
Discover by the pain 'tis making,
That horrid vaccination's taking,
Yet, if you'll promise on your knees
You will not tease me for a squeeze,
Tonight, George—you may come.
January 13th, 1882.
114
THE DIMPLE.
The lines by the arrows of Cupid oppressed,
The soul to the fairest of women addressed;
My love hath the eyes of a fright-stricken doe,
And a voice that is mournfully tender;
And hair that is dark as eternity's flow
And a waist that is witchingly slender;
But ah, what I count her delightfullest charm
Is the dear little dimple she wears in her arm,
A charm,
That fair, precious dimple she wears in her arm!
The soul to the fairest of women addressed;
My love hath the eyes of a fright-stricken doe,
And a voice that is mournfully tender;
And hair that is dark as eternity's flow
And a waist that is witchingly slender;
But ah, what I count her delightfullest charm
Is the dear little dimple she wears in her arm,
A charm,
That fair, precious dimple she wears in her arm!
It loves to coquette with my eagersome eyes,
'Neath its mantle of gossamer laces,
And my lady affects the sincerest surprise
That I praise not her other fair graces;
Aye, vows she is racked with the direst alarm
Lest I too fondly praise that cute spot in her arm;
Alarm
For the round, laughing dimple she wears in her arm.
'Neath its mantle of gossamer laces,
And my lady affects the sincerest surprise
That I praise not her other fair graces;
Aye, vows she is racked with the direst alarm
Lest I too fondly praise that cute spot in her arm;
Alarm
For the round, laughing dimple she wears in her arm.
115
Nay, soothe thy small jealousy, maiden so fair,
And grant me a boon that is simple,
For oh, I'd esteem it a favor most rare,
A kiss on that round laughing dimple!
You surely must know that there's never a harm
In kissing a dimple one wears on the arm;
No harm,
In kissing that dimple that smiles on your arm!
And grant me a boon that is simple,
For oh, I'd esteem it a favor most rare,
A kiss on that round laughing dimple!
You surely must know that there's never a harm
In kissing a dimple one wears on the arm;
No harm,
In kissing that dimple that smiles on your arm!
“Oh, degenerate lover,” methinks she replies,
And I tremble to hear her so speak,
“You may kiss, since your kisses I loftily prize,
This cute little mole on my cheek.
What you think is a dimple, I pray you be calm,
Is an old vaccination scar deep in my arm,
Be calm!
It's an old vaccination you see on my arm!
And I tremble to hear her so speak,
“You may kiss, since your kisses I loftily prize,
This cute little mole on my cheek.
What you think is a dimple, I pray you be calm,
Is an old vaccination scar deep in my arm,
Be calm!
It's an old vaccination you see on my arm!
November 5th, 1881.
116
A SIREN SOLD.
I can but think a woman's wink
Is rarely accidental,
The sex at flirting is adept,
For tempted Eve, old Adam wept,
And suffered supplemental.
Is rarely accidental,
The sex at flirting is adept,
For tempted Eve, old Adam wept,
And suffered supplemental.
We all recall man's primal fall
And how Eve tried to cater
To our first daddy's taste for fruit,
Before he donned the fig leaf suit,
Ah, too-too Alma Mater.
And how Eve tried to cater
To our first daddy's taste for fruit,
Before he donned the fig leaf suit,
Ah, too-too Alma Mater.
The other day, far up Broadway,
I saw a seal clad damsel,
Whose lashes quivered 'neath the gaze
Of every man that dared to raise
His eyes and look at mam'selle.
I saw a seal clad damsel,
Whose lashes quivered 'neath the gaze
Of every man that dared to raise
His eyes and look at mam'selle.
I later met this arch coquette,
Returning from her shopping,
Demure and innocent she seemed,
And yet a roguish twinkle gleamed
From optic gently dropping.
Returning from her shopping,
Demure and innocent she seemed,
And yet a roguish twinkle gleamed
From optic gently dropping.
117
What did I then, O evil men,
Who wickedly are guessing,
You don't believe a solemn oath,
I didn't (though by no means loath),
Now isn't this distressing?
Who wickedly are guessing,
You don't believe a solemn oath,
I didn't (though by no means loath),
Now isn't this distressing?
(Attributed to) H. Clay Lukens.
February 16th, 1882.
118
AS TO EYES.
When sorrow casts upon the world
Her pall of ghastly, ghostly hue,
And when misfortune's darts are hurled,
Oh, give me laughing eyes of blue!
Their coquetry would fain beguile
From sorrow's frowning face a smile.
Her pall of ghastly, ghostly hue,
And when misfortune's darts are hurled,
Oh, give me laughing eyes of blue!
Their coquetry would fain beguile
From sorrow's frowning face a smile.
When mirthfulness and laughter crown
The sports of banquet, song and dance,
Then would I choose the eyes of brown,
The earnest, truthful eyes; perchance
Their solemn glories would recall
My thoughts from levity and all.
The sports of banquet, song and dance,
Then would I choose the eyes of brown,
The earnest, truthful eyes; perchance
Their solemn glories would recall
My thoughts from levity and all.
But, ah, since melancholy, mirth
And dire misfortune every day
Walk hand in hand o'er all the earth,
'Tis red eye that's my choice, I say,
Too much of neither does it bring,
It sort of equalizes things.
And dire misfortune every day
Walk hand in hand o'er all the earth,
'Tis red eye that's my choice, I say,
Too much of neither does it bring,
It sort of equalizes things.
121
THE TWO MEETINGS.
Ah, 'twas a glorious autumn night
Full fifteen years ago,
The moon and stars were shining bright,
Bathing the hills in mystic light,
When robed in garb of snowy white,
My Ethel met me in the hall,
Responsive to my pleading call.
Full fifteen years ago,
The moon and stars were shining bright,
Bathing the hills in mystic light,
When robed in garb of snowy white,
My Ethel met me in the hall,
Responsive to my pleading call.
Now what did I or what did she
The world shall never know;
Not e'en the moon nor stars could see
Of all the world most happy we;
Oh, 'twas an hour of ecstasy;
We pledged our loves and lives and all,
When Ethel met me in the hall.
The world shall never know;
Not e'en the moon nor stars could see
Of all the world most happy we;
Oh, 'twas an hour of ecstasy;
We pledged our loves and lives and all,
When Ethel met me in the hall.
Ah, well, we met again last night,
('Twas rather late, I trow);
Some how, I didn't feel just right,
(I may have been a little tight)
When clad in nightly robe of white
My Ethel met me in the hall
And braced me up against the wall.
('Twas rather late, I trow);
Some how, I didn't feel just right,
(I may have been a little tight)
When clad in nightly robe of white
My Ethel met me in the hall
And braced me up against the wall.
122
Now what did I or what did she
I'm not prepared to show;
It may suffice to state that we
Had quite a little jubilee,
And I may say ('twixt you and me)
It is with pain that I recall
How Ethel met me in the hall.
I'm not prepared to show;
It may suffice to state that we
Had quite a little jubilee,
And I may say ('twixt you and me)
It is with pain that I recall
How Ethel met me in the hall.
February 24th, 1882.
123
PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
You asked me of your mother, child,
Your mother whose fair form is dust,
Whose soul is with the saints, I trust,
Why, as you asked me that and smiled,
Methought I saw in your young face
A sweet reflection of her grace.
Your mother whose fair form is dust,
Whose soul is with the saints, I trust,
Why, as you asked me that and smiled,
Methought I saw in your young face
A sweet reflection of her grace.
Oh, she was nobly, grandly fair,
Her eyes were as the heaven's blue,
Her hair was of a golden hue,
Her ruby lips beyond compare,
O child, your mother in her day,
'Mongst beauties held the beauties' sway.
Her eyes were as the heaven's blue,
Her hair was of a golden hue,
Her ruby lips beyond compare,
O child, your mother in her day,
'Mongst beauties held the beauties' sway.
And was she gentle, child, as thou?
Why wrench the arrows in my heart,
Why bid the burning tear-drops start!
O child, methinks I see her now,
Waiting down by the wicket gate
As years agone she used to wait.
Why wrench the arrows in my heart,
Why bid the burning tear-drops start!
O child, methinks I see her now,
Waiting down by the wicket gate
As years agone she used to wait.
Why do I weep? Who would not weep,
To think of how she waited there
Till she could grip me by the hair
And in her wifely fashion sweep
The garden walk with my poor frame;
Patience was your sweet mother's name.
To think of how she waited there
Till she could grip me by the hair
And in her wifely fashion sweep
The garden walk with my poor frame;
Patience was your sweet mother's name.
March 6th, 1882.
124
SYMPATHY.
The tears streamed from his swollen eyes,
His sunken cheeks were pale as death,
And as he wept, his fevered breath
Was broken into moans and sighs.
“O sorrowing, chastened one,” I cried,
“Tell me thy grief that I may fill
Thine ears with pity.” He replied,
“Alas, sweet sir, my wife is ill!”
His sunken cheeks were pale as death,
And as he wept, his fevered breath
Was broken into moans and sighs.
“O sorrowing, chastened one,” I cried,
“Tell me thy grief that I may fill
Thine ears with pity.” He replied,
“Alas, sweet sir, my wife is ill!”
Ah, then adown my bearded cheek
The burning tears began to roll,
And sympathy possessed my soul
To such extent I scarce could speak.
“Unhappy man,” at last I said,
“God shield you from the bitterest blow
That e'er can fall on mortal head,
The loss of her you worship so!
The burning tears began to roll,
And sympathy possessed my soul
To such extent I scarce could speak.
“Unhappy man,” at last I said,
“God shield you from the bitterest blow
That e'er can fall on mortal head,
The loss of her you worship so!
“For oh! the dearest thing in life,
Vouchsafed to man from Heav'n above,
For him to cherish, is the love
Of one whom love hath made his wife.”
“Nay,” cried the man, “The howl I raise
Is not because I'm such a lover,
But oh! because the doctor says,
My wife is likely to recover!”
Vouchsafed to man from Heav'n above,
For him to cherish, is the love
Of one whom love hath made his wife.”
“Nay,” cried the man, “The howl I raise
Is not because I'm such a lover,
But oh! because the doctor says,
My wife is likely to recover!”
March 11th, 1882.
125
SO LONELY.
There's something in the good man's face,
It is very rare to see,
On his brow is throned a certain grace,
That tells us he is free.
Why these smiles and all this smirking,
Where once there was a frown?
Oh, what strange influence is working?
Ah, his wife is out of town!
It is very rare to see,
On his brow is throned a certain grace,
That tells us he is free.
Why these smiles and all this smirking,
Where once there was a frown?
Oh, what strange influence is working?
Ah, his wife is out of town!
He was ne'er disposed to cavil,
And was limited in wealth,
And when he bade her travel,
To the seashore for her health,
She said, “Won't you be lonely?”
Then he mournfully looked down,
“I shall miss you, dearest, only,”
And his wife went out of town!
And was limited in wealth,
And when he bade her travel,
To the seashore for her health,
She said, “Won't you be lonely?”
Then he mournfully looked down,
“I shall miss you, dearest, only,”
And his wife went out of town!
Foolish woman, pray take warning,
From these lines so sadly true;
Though he writes you every morning
And swears he pines for you,
He's a giddy, giddy masher,
And he's doing things up brown,
In a friskier way and rasher,
Since his wife is out of town.
From these lines so sadly true;
Though he writes you every morning
And swears he pines for you,
He's a giddy, giddy masher,
And he's doing things up brown,
In a friskier way and rasher,
Since his wife is out of town.
June 21st, 1882.
126
A GOLDEN HAIR.
Only a golden hair
Found on my coat to-day,
Why should my lady stare,
Why wear an injured air,
Why should she say,
“Love, we must sever,
Farewell, forever?”
Found on my coat to-day,
Why should my lady stare,
Why wear an injured air,
Why should she say,
“Love, we must sever,
Farewell, forever?”
Curse on that golden hair
Found on my coat to-day!
However came it there,
By means of foul or fair,
I cannot say;
But this, I know, alack!
My lady's hair is black!
Found on my coat to-day!
However came it there,
By means of foul or fair,
I cannot say;
But this, I know, alack!
My lady's hair is black!
January 3d, 1883.
127
ONLY A WOMAN'S HAIR.
Only a woman's hairBinding the now to the past,
Only a single thread
Too frail to last;
Only a woman's hair
Threading a tear and a sigh,
Only a woman's hair
Found to-day in the pie.
(Attributed to) W. B. Felker.
November 28th, 1882.
128
THE FIDDLER.
Flip! Zip! Tweedle dee dum,Nimble fingers and pliant thumb;
Flip! Zip! Tweedle dee dee,
Why don't every one envy me?
Flip! Zip! Straight as a pin,
Fiddle nestling under my chin,
All the world's people,
And all that you see,
Can never make aught
But a fiddler of me.
(Attributed to) Emil Wolff.
November 28th, 1882.
129
TO THE MAY FLY OF THE ANGLER.
Thou art a frail and lovely thing,
Engendered by the sun;
A moment only on the wing
And thy career is done.
Engendered by the sun;
A moment only on the wing
And thy career is done.
Thou sportest in the evening beam
An hour—an age to thee—
In gayety above the stream
Which soon thy grave must be.
An hour—an age to thee—
In gayety above the stream
Which soon thy grave must be.
Although thy life is like to thee,
An atom—art thou not
Far happier than thou e'er couldst be
If long life were thy lot?
An atom—art thou not
Far happier than thou e'er couldst be
If long life were thy lot?
For then deep pangs might wound thy breast,
And make thee wish for death;
But as it is, thou'rt soon at rest,
Thou creature of a breath.
And make thee wish for death;
But as it is, thou'rt soon at rest,
Thou creature of a breath.
130
TO MRS. LYDIA E. PINKHAM.
There is a little bird that sings,
“Sweetheart!”
I know not what his name may be,
I only know his notes please me
As loud he sings, and this sings he,
“Sweetheart!”
“Sweetheart!”
I know not what his name may be,
I only know his notes please me
As loud he sings, and this sings he,
“Sweetheart!”
I've heard him sing on soft spring days,
“Sweetheart!”
And when the sky was dark above,
And wintry winds had stripped the grove,
He still poured forth those words of love,
“Sweetheart!”
“Sweetheart!”
And when the sky was dark above,
And wintry winds had stripped the grove,
He still poured forth those words of love,
“Sweetheart!”
And like the bird my heart, too, sings,
“Sweetheart!”
When heaven is dark or bright or blue,
When trees are bare or leaves are new,
It thus sings on and sings of you
“Sweetheart!”
“Sweetheart!”
When heaven is dark or bright or blue,
When trees are bare or leaves are new,
It thus sings on and sings of you
“Sweetheart!”
What need of other words than these,
“Sweetheart!”
If I should sing a whole year long,
My love would not be shown more strong
Than by this short and simple song,
“Sweetheart!”
“Sweetheart!”
If I should sing a whole year long,
My love would not be shown more strong
Than by this short and simple song,
“Sweetheart!”
November 2d, 1882.
131
THE FISHERMAN.
I was as proud a man and brave
As ever sailed the sea,
For I was born upon the wave
And it was home to me,
Till Jennie came and promise gave
My faithful, bonnie bride to be.
As ever sailed the sea,
For I was born upon the wave
And it was home to me,
Till Jennie came and promise gave
My faithful, bonnie bride to be.
Then were we wed and ere a year
Like one sweet dream had sped,
A tiny angel doubly dear,
A hallowed joylight shed
Around our hearthstone far and near,
Our precious little golden head.
Like one sweet dream had sped,
A tiny angel doubly dear,
A hallowed joylight shed
Around our hearthstone far and near,
Our precious little golden head.
Oh those were happy times to me,
When, floating with the tide
Back to the shore, I used to see
Each night my bonnie bride
And little baby in her glee
A playin' at her mother's side.
When, floating with the tide
Back to the shore, I used to see
Each night my bonnie bride
And little baby in her glee
A playin' at her mother's side.
Aye, forty years! an' here am I
A lowly fisher still.
I've drank the cup of misery
Up to the very fill.
And they, they in the churchyard lie,
Up yonder on the hill.
A lowly fisher still.
I've drank the cup of misery
Up to the very fill.
And they, they in the churchyard lie,
Up yonder on the hill.
132
But oh! perhaps when I shall sail
That last cold ocean wide,
Mine eyes shall see, though fierce the gale,
My bonnie blue-eyed bride
Stand on the shore in yonder Leal,
With baby playin' at her side.
That last cold ocean wide,
Mine eyes shall see, though fierce the gale,
My bonnie blue-eyed bride
Stand on the shore in yonder Leal,
With baby playin' at her side.
November 26th, 1882.
133
RAPTURE.
Fair sea, bright sunshine, bird of song divine,I, too, may lose the tide, the light, the lay;
Others may win the kisses that were mine,
My night may be their day,
Yet though the soul may sigh
For precious things gone by,
I shall have had my rapture, come what may.
(Attributed to) W. H. Stapleton.
November 28th, 1882.
134
LOVE.
“Oh, Winter Land,” he said,
“Thy right to be I own,
God leaves thee not alone,
And if the fierce winds blow
O'er thy wastes of rock and snow,
And at thy iron gates,
Thy ghostly iceberg waits,
Thy homes and hearts are dear,
God's love and man's are here.
“Thy right to be I own,
God leaves thee not alone,
And if the fierce winds blow
O'er thy wastes of rock and snow,
And at thy iron gates,
Thy ghostly iceberg waits,
Thy homes and hearts are dear,
God's love and man's are here.
“Thy sorrow o'er the sacred dust,
Is sanctified by hope and trust,
Still, whereso'er it goes,
Love makes its atmosphere;
Its flowers of Paradise,
Take root in the eternal ice,
And bloom through polar snows.”
Is sanctified by hope and trust,
Still, whereso'er it goes,
Love makes its atmosphere;
Its flowers of Paradise,
Take root in the eternal ice,
And bloom through polar snows.”
135
PARADISE.
Within each heart there lies apart
From all its cares and sorrows,
A paradise which knows no sighs,
A world of happy morrows;
A heaven of light, unknown to blight
Of winter, bleak and dreary,
Whose days are long and sweet with song,
Whose hours are never weary.
From all its cares and sorrows,
A paradise which knows no sighs,
A world of happy morrows;
A heaven of light, unknown to blight
Of winter, bleak and dreary,
Whose days are long and sweet with song,
Whose hours are never weary.
What matter though earth's pathways glow
No more with springtime gladness?
What if each June has flown too soon
And left a look of sadness?
No real love so true will prove,
No tones one half so tender,
No lips so pure as those which lure
The soul to visioned splendor.
No more with springtime gladness?
What if each June has flown too soon
And left a look of sadness?
No real love so true will prove,
No tones one half so tender,
No lips so pure as those which lure
The soul to visioned splendor.
November 27th, 1881.
136
MEMORIES.
Do you remember, Maud, that night
We stood together, you and I,
And watched the mystic points of light
That glittered in the vaulted sky?
We stood together, you and I,
And watched the mystic points of light
That glittered in the vaulted sky?
A veiling cloud drew back, a beam
From one effulgent star above
Enwrapped us in its glorious gleam,
The golden glowing star of love.
From one effulgent star above
Enwrapped us in its glorious gleam,
The golden glowing star of love.
Beneath the influence of that star
My soul within its prison burned,
Sweet Venus pushed the gates ajar
And then the sweets of love I learned.
My soul within its prison burned,
Sweet Venus pushed the gates ajar
And then the sweets of love I learned.
(Attributed to) Thomas M. Bowen.
December 1st, 1882.
137
TRUE LOVE.
True love is like the ivy green,That ne'er forgetteth what hath been,
And so till life itself be gone,
Until the end it clingeth on,
What though the tree where it may cling
Shall hardly know another spring?
What though its boughs be dead and bare?
The twining ivy climbeth there
And clasps it with a firmer hold,
With stronger love than that of old,
And lends it grace it never had
When time was young and life was glad.
(Attributed to) W. H. Stapleton.
December 1st, 1882.
138
ST. VALENTINE'S DAY.
Though the bird flies far
And the fair flower goes,
The sweet of the year
Is set in the snows.
And the fair flower goes,
The sweet of the year
Is set in the snows.
The wind o' the winter
It breaks into bloom
And suddenly songs
Are sung in the gloom.
It breaks into bloom
And suddenly songs
Are sung in the gloom.
And winging hearts cross
And whisper together,
And a night and a day
It is perfect weather.
And whisper together,
And a night and a day
It is perfect weather.
February 10th, 1882.
139
A VALENTINE.
O, Princess, what shall I bring
To offer before thy throne?
For I know of no joyous thing
That is not already thine own.
To offer before thy throne?
For I know of no joyous thing
That is not already thine own.
Youth and beauty and love,
Desirest thou more than these?
Lo, from the skies above
And from far away mystical seas,
Desirest thou more than these?
Lo, from the skies above
And from far away mystical seas,
All things radiant and rare,
All things tender and sweet,
Hasten, O Princess fair,
To fall in delight at thy feet.
All things tender and sweet,
Hasten, O Princess fair,
To fall in delight at thy feet.
So, Princess, what shall I bring,
When low I bend at thy throne?
“My heart for an offering,”
E'en that has been long thine own.
When low I bend at thy throne?
“My heart for an offering,”
E'en that has been long thine own.
February 14th, 1882.
140
THE VALENTINE.
My valentine's a page of gold,
Upon it by the morning light
I trace new hopes and fancies bright,
So sweetly is the story told,
That old, old story, yet so new,
A little song of love, a voice
That bids my faltering soul rejoice,
A promise to be ever true;
O love, sweet love, this honest heart
Unknown to coquetry or art,
Hath sworn fidelity to you.
And to my trustful heart I press
My valentine, with fond caress.
Upon it by the morning light
I trace new hopes and fancies bright,
So sweetly is the story told,
That old, old story, yet so new,
A little song of love, a voice
That bids my faltering soul rejoice,
A promise to be ever true;
O love, sweet love, this honest heart
Unknown to coquetry or art,
Hath sworn fidelity to you.
And to my trustful heart I press
My valentine, with fond caress.
But still as sweetly as of old,
And now the long, long years have fled,
I read the treasure sheet of gold.
What tho' my love, alas! be dead
And as I read from yonder skies
An angel with a radiant crown
Comes to my lonely chamber down
And bids me dry my streaming eyes.
So in the soft declining day
I think of him who's far away,
Whose body in the churchyard lies.
And to my broken heart I press
My valentine with fond caress.
And now the long, long years have fled,
I read the treasure sheet of gold.
What tho' my love, alas! be dead
And as I read from yonder skies
An angel with a radiant crown
Comes to my lonely chamber down
And bids me dry my streaming eyes.
So in the soft declining day
I think of him who's far away,
Whose body in the churchyard lies.
And to my broken heart I press
My valentine with fond caress.
January 28th, 1882.
141
A NEW YEAR IDYL.
Upon this happy New Year night,
A roach crawls up my pot of paste,
And begs me for a tiny taste.
Aye, eat thy fill, for it is right
That while the rest of earth is glad,
And bells are ringing wild and free,
Thou shouldst not, gentle roachling, be
Forlorn and gaunt and weak and sad.
A roach crawls up my pot of paste,
And begs me for a tiny taste.
Aye, eat thy fill, for it is right
That while the rest of earth is glad,
And bells are ringing wild and free,
Thou shouldst not, gentle roachling, be
Forlorn and gaunt and weak and sad.
This paste tonight especially
For thee and all thy kind I fixed,
You'll find some whisky in it mixed,
For which you have to thank but me.
So freely of the banquet take,
And if you chance to find a drop
Of liquor, prithee do not stop
But quaff it for thy stomach's sake.
For thee and all thy kind I fixed,
You'll find some whisky in it mixed,
For which you have to thank but me.
So freely of the banquet take,
And if you chance to find a drop
Of liquor, prithee do not stop
But quaff it for thy stomach's sake.
Why dost thou stand upon thy head,
All etiquette requirements scorning,
And sing “You won't go home till morning”
And “Put me in my little Bed?”
Your tongue, fair roach, is very thick,
Your eyes are red, your cheeks are pale,
Your underpinning seems to fail,
You are, I wot, full as a tick.
All etiquette requirements scorning,
And sing “You won't go home till morning”
And “Put me in my little Bed?”
142
Your eyes are red, your cheeks are pale,
Your underpinning seems to fail,
You are, I wot, full as a tick.
Envoi.
I think I see that roach's home,
That roach's wife, with broom in hand,
That roach come staggering homeward and
Then all is glum and gloom and gloam.
That roach's wife, with broom in hand,
That roach come staggering homeward and
Then all is glum and gloom and gloam.
January 2d, 1882.
143
JANUARY 1st, 1883.
If you're waking, call me early,
Call me early, mother dear,
That I may be up and well prepared
To welcome the new-born year;
Set the alarm at nine, mother,
And call me at nine, my dear,
For I'm to receive this year, mother,
I'm to receive this year.
Call me early, mother dear,
That I may be up and well prepared
To welcome the new-born year;
Set the alarm at nine, mother,
And call me at nine, my dear,
For I'm to receive this year, mother,
I'm to receive this year.
Here are my striped hose, mother,
Here are my ribbons gay,
Here are my lavender kids, mother,
Here is my white pekay;
Here is my princess basque, mother,
And here is the rest of the gear,
I'm so happy I cannot sleep, mother,
For I'm to receive this year!
Here are my ribbons gay,
Here are my lavender kids, mother,
Here is my white pekay;
Here is my princess basque, mother,
And here is the rest of the gear,
I'm so happy I cannot sleep, mother,
For I'm to receive this year!
Have you got the jellies made, mother,
Are all the sweetmeats fixed?
Are the punch and the nogg prepared, mother,
And the champagne cocktails mixed?
I'm afraid there will be a hitch, mother,
When the guests are gathering here,
I tremble and cannot sleep, mother,
For I'm to receive this year.
Are all the sweetmeats fixed?
Are the punch and the nogg prepared, mother,
And the champagne cocktails mixed?
I'm afraid there will be a hitch, mother,
When the guests are gathering here,
I tremble and cannot sleep, mother,
For I'm to receive this year.
144
JANUARY 1st, 1883.
Wake me early, mother dear,Set the alarm for nine,
For I'm to receive, you know, this year,
Thanks to that San Juan mine;
And mother dear, let the lay-out be
Decidedly recherche;
For once, I'm determined to be on top
Of those Johnsons over the way,
So wake me early and don't forget
The rush will begin at two;
And I'll be heartily glad, you bet,
When the racket is fairly through!
145
NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS.
'Twas but a month ago today,
'Twixt old year and the new,
I laid my pipe and pouch away,
No more to smoke or chew;
To round my resolutions fair,
And from all vices sever,
I vowed I nevermore would swear,
Not even hardly ever.
'Twixt old year and the new,
I laid my pipe and pouch away,
No more to smoke or chew;
To round my resolutions fair,
And from all vices sever,
I vowed I nevermore would swear,
Not even hardly ever.
I felt so lonesome like, anon,
While pining for a smoke
That, brooding all my grief upon,
An oath was almost spoke;
An oath! when I had just foresworn
All words that vicious be!
Nay, rather than be tempted more,
Return, O pipe, to me!
While pining for a smoke
That, brooding all my grief upon,
An oath was almost spoke;
An oath! when I had just foresworn
All words that vicious be!
Nay, rather than be tempted more,
Return, O pipe, to me!
And pondering on the habit vile
That threatened moral ruin,
I drifted with a bitter smile,
Back to my pouch and chewin';
So, of my resolutions, two
Have vanished in the air,
The third shall stick my lifetime through,
For,—me, I'll not swear!
That threatened moral ruin,
I drifted with a bitter smile,
Back to my pouch and chewin';
So, of my resolutions, two
Have vanished in the air,
The third shall stick my lifetime through,
For,—me, I'll not swear!
January 29th, 1883.
146
EASTER.
Arouse, O birds, the time is nigh
For omelettes and for poaches,
Lift up your anthem to the sky,
For Easter day approaches!
For omelettes and for poaches,
Lift up your anthem to the sky,
For Easter day approaches!
Awake, O Shanghais, slim and tall,
And Bantams short and squatty,
And Cochins towering over all,
And Games so fierce and haughty!
And Bantams short and squatty,
And Cochins towering over all,
And Games so fierce and haughty!
Awake, O Brahma Pootrah bird,
And rend the wintry shackles,
And let your kittycaws be heard,
Your crowings and your cackles!
And rend the wintry shackles,
And let your kittycaws be heard,
Your crowings and your cackles!
Give us, O birds, a new-made lay,
Appropriate to the minute,
With nothing else, the shell away,
But what there should be in it!
Appropriate to the minute,
With nothing else, the shell away,
But what there should be in it!
Give us, O birds, so fair a lay
No groceryman may cozen,
A modest lay, once every day,
At living rates per dozen.
No groceryman may cozen,
A modest lay, once every day,
At living rates per dozen.
March 16th, 1883.
147
AN EASTER SERMON.
“I'm glad that Easter Sunday's here,”
Said Mrs. Henry Gray;
“My bonnet new and other gear
I'll wear to church today;
A vein of glory will pervade
My hymn of praise and prayer,
For when my toilet is displayed,
How Mrs. Bliss will stare!
Said Mrs. Henry Gray;
“My bonnet new and other gear
I'll wear to church today;
A vein of glory will pervade
My hymn of praise and prayer,
For when my toilet is displayed,
How Mrs. Bliss will stare!
“I hate that horrid Mrs. Brown,
With all her quirks and smiles,
Of all the women in the town
She apes the coarsest styles;
She bought her bonnet 'way last spring
And wears it now for new,
And as for that old Thompson thing,
I vow I hate her, too!
With all her quirks and smiles,
Of all the women in the town
She apes the coarsest styles;
She bought her bonnet 'way last spring
And wears it now for new,
And as for that old Thompson thing,
I vow I hate her, too!
“I hear Miss Jones, the cross-eyed cat!
Has bought a new pekay,
And terra cotta Paris hat
To wear to church today;
And Helen White has got a dress
They say is just divine,
Come, Mr. Gray, and do you guess
It's half as sweet as mine?
Has bought a new pekay,
And terra cotta Paris hat
To wear to church today;
And Helen White has got a dress
They say is just divine,
Come, Mr. Gray, and do you guess
It's half as sweet as mine?
148
“There go those awful Billings girls,
They paint and powder, too,
They pad and wear cheap bangs and curls,
They do—I know they do!
You needn't laugh—I boldly say
And stake my honor on it—
I'll paralyze them all today
With my new dress and bonnet!”
They paint and powder, too,
They pad and wear cheap bangs and curls,
They do—I know they do!
You needn't laugh—I boldly say
And stake my honor on it—
I'll paralyze them all today
With my new dress and bonnet!”
March 19th, 1883.
149
SPRING.
The meads with green are garnished o'er,
The birds sing in the bowers,
And from the Broad Platte's further shore
We scent the budding flowers;
Fair Cherry creek runs swift and clear,
The merry woodchucks drum—
O, season of the poet dear!
The picnic days have come.
The birds sing in the bowers,
And from the Broad Platte's further shore
We scent the budding flowers;
Fair Cherry creek runs swift and clear,
The merry woodchucks drum—
O, season of the poet dear!
The picnic days have come.
The season of the year sublime,
When nature tunes her voice—
O happy vernal picnic time
When Sunday schools rejoice;
When little girls and boys go out
'Neath sylvan monarchs old,
And gaily dance and frisk about
And catch their deaths o' cold.
When nature tunes her voice—
O happy vernal picnic time
When Sunday schools rejoice;
When little girls and boys go out
'Neath sylvan monarchs old,
And gaily dance and frisk about
And catch their deaths o' cold.
When sandwiches and buns are ripe—
Croquet and other games,
When stomach aches of every stripe
Steal over youthful frames,
When Chloe guards with watchful eyes
Her lover—jealous maid!
When Daphnis sits on custard pies
And prones where kine have strayed.
Croquet and other games,
When stomach aches of every stripe
Steal over youthful frames,
When Chloe guards with watchful eyes
Her lover—jealous maid!
When Daphnis sits on custard pies
And prones where kine have strayed.
April 17th, 1882.
150
MAY.
I love the May because it seems to me
So full of secrets and of whisperings;
Telling the heart in confidence of things,
Yet unaccomplished and mysteriously,
Like a fleet harbinger of victory,
With glowing, undefined prefigurings,
Reveals an opulence of spoils; and brings
A present joy in what is yet to be.
So full of secrets and of whisperings;
Telling the heart in confidence of things,
Yet unaccomplished and mysteriously,
Like a fleet harbinger of victory,
With glowing, undefined prefigurings,
Reveals an opulence of spoils; and brings
A present joy in what is yet to be.
How like the far-off ringing of a chime,
The soft south wind; and each succeeding day,
Moved by this prelude of a sunnier clime,
Sings a new song and finds a theme more gay.
It is a gay, it is a hopeful time,
And this is why I love the month of May.
The soft south wind; and each succeeding day,
Moved by this prelude of a sunnier clime,
Sings a new song and finds a theme more gay.
It is a gay, it is a hopeful time,
And this is why I love the month of May.
151
THANKSGIVING, 1881.
Last March my mine panned out a fraud—
My wife eloped in May—
A fire broke out and burned my barn
And all the stacks of hay.
The hoppers cleaned my garden out—
My cows took sick and died—
The horses got the pink-eye bad
And dropped on every side.
My wife eloped in May—
A fire broke out and burned my barn
And all the stacks of hay.
The hoppers cleaned my garden out—
My cows took sick and died—
The horses got the pink-eye bad
And dropped on every side.
The bank suspended all at once—
The rust got in the rye—
A cyclone tore the wheatfield up—
And all the wells went dry;
The chickens sickened with the pip,
The hired girl ran off—
The children one by one took down
With croup and whooping cough.
The rust got in the rye—
A cyclone tore the wheatfield up—
And all the wells went dry;
The chickens sickened with the pip,
The hired girl ran off—
The children one by one took down
With croup and whooping cough.
And yet despite this luck, I went
Down to the grocery store
And for a turkey gobler paid
My last two dollars o'er.
I thought I'd kind o' celebrate
Thanksgiving. 'Pon my word,
A tramp broke in the house last night
And stole the plaguey bird.
Down to the grocery store
And for a turkey gobler paid
My last two dollars o'er.
I thought I'd kind o' celebrate
Thanksgiving. 'Pon my word,
A tramp broke in the house last night
And stole the plaguey bird.
November 21st, 1881.
152
THE APPROACH OF THANKSGIVING.
There is a dawning in the skyWhich doth a world of fate imply,
And on each casual passing face
A look expectant you may trace.
These signs the veteran turkey sees
And with a deep and mournful sigh,
He calls his numerous family nigh
And murmurs, pointing to the trees,
“Roost high, my little ones, roost high!”
November 13th, 1882.
153
A GLORIOUS FOURTH.
A Denver patriot, proud and grand,
Leaned up against a bar—elate
And lordlike, waved his graceful hand,
And ordered goodly cocktails, and
Talked of the “Day we Celebrate.”
Leaned up against a bar—elate
And lordlike, waved his graceful hand,
And ordered goodly cocktails, and
Talked of the “Day we Celebrate.”
“Oh, when we recollect,” said he,
“Old Bunker Hill and Lundy's Lane,
We drink, our patriot dead, to thee!”
And singing thus of liberty,
He bids 'em “set 'em up again.”
“Old Bunker Hill and Lundy's Lane,
We drink, our patriot dead, to thee!”
And singing thus of liberty,
He bids 'em “set 'em up again.”
His eyes beheld poor Warren bleed,
While British lords supined at ease,
And Putnam, fresh from rural mead,
Dash down a bank on foaming steed,
And, “one more cocktail, if you please.”
While British lords supined at ease,
And Putnam, fresh from rural mead,
Dash down a bank on foaming steed,
And, “one more cocktail, if you please.”
He spoke of Valley Forge and those
Who, hatless, bootless, in the snow,
Stood guard while old Boreas froze
Their patriotic ears and toes,
“Another glass? Well, here goes!”
Who, hatless, bootless, in the snow,
Stood guard while old Boreas froze
Their patriotic ears and toes,
“Another glass? Well, here goes!”
154
He talked of Allen, Wayne and Lee,
And ancient heroes by the score,
Of Boston harbor and the tea,
And tea reminded him that he
Inclined to liquidate once more.
And ancient heroes by the score,
Of Boston harbor and the tea,
And tea reminded him that he
Inclined to liquidate once more.
What wonder then that, quaffing to
The memory of those martyred dead,
E'en as they lost their dear lives through
Their love of land so staunch and true,
This Denver man should lose his head!
The memory of those martyred dead,
E'en as they lost their dear lives through
Their love of land so staunch and true,
This Denver man should lose his head!
Before another bar today
That Denver man will stand;
O Judge, be merciful, we pray,
And let him go his rocky way
To bless the freedom of our land!
That Denver man will stand;
O Judge, be merciful, we pray,
And let him go his rocky way
To bless the freedom of our land!
July 5th, 1883.
155
O TEMPORA; A FOURTH OF JULY REFLECTION.
Oh, would I were inspired to sing,
In lofty, sole un-metered rhyme,
The glory of some valorous thing
That happened in the olden time.
Alas, that patriotism's dead!
Alas, that creatures of today
Are not as man upon whose head
Sweet patriotism's beams were shed
An hundred years ago.
Ah woe
'Tis not these times that way!
In lofty, sole un-metered rhyme,
The glory of some valorous thing
That happened in the olden time.
Alas, that patriotism's dead!
Alas, that creatures of today
Are not as man upon whose head
Sweet patriotism's beams were shed
An hundred years ago.
Ah woe
'Tis not these times that way!
My theme's the dog, a pleasant cur
As ever trotted down the street,
Yellow his eyes, likewise his fur,
As mild a dog as you could meet
In a day's walk—but dogs today
Are not the dogs you used to find
Before brave Towsers had gi'en place
To a degenerate canine race,
An hundred years ago.
Oh no,
They are of the common kind.
As ever trotted down the street,
Yellow his eyes, likewise his fur,
As mild a dog as you could meet
In a day's walk—but dogs today
Are not the dogs you used to find
Before brave Towsers had gi'en place
To a degenerate canine race,
An hundred years ago.
Oh no,
They are of the common kind.
156
Why, in the days of Washington,
Where was the dog that thought to pale
At the suggestion he should run
A mile or two with his proud tail
Made fast unto an oyster can?
Why, that was simply glory then!
But now the dog's ashamed to drag
The can; and man forgets the flag.
An hundred years ago.
Not so,
So changed are dogs and men!
Where was the dog that thought to pale
At the suggestion he should run
A mile or two with his proud tail
Made fast unto an oyster can?
Why, that was simply glory then!
But now the dog's ashamed to drag
The can; and man forgets the flag.
An hundred years ago.
Not so,
So changed are dogs and men!
See how the dogling of today
Writhes, shies and tumbles to and fro
Adown the hot and dusty way,
And hark unto his yelp of woe
His broken hearted, plaintive cry,
Because a pail is to him tied!
Was it for this our fathers died
An hundred years ago?
No no!
But time hath changed us all.
Writhes, shies and tumbles to and fro
Adown the hot and dusty way,
And hark unto his yelp of woe
His broken hearted, plaintive cry,
Because a pail is to him tied!
Was it for this our fathers died
An hundred years ago?
No no!
But time hath changed us all.
July 4th, 1882.
157
THE FIFTH OF JULY.
Sing not of patriots who are dead,
The yankee sires long passed away,
Bind up his throbbing, aching head
And sing the patriots of today!
The yankee sires long passed away,
Bind up his throbbing, aching head
And sing the patriots of today!
Nor Washington, nor Lee nor Wayne,
E'er suffered pain as suffered they,
Pain in the head, in stomach pain,
These gallant patriots of today!
E'er suffered pain as suffered they,
Pain in the head, in stomach pain,
These gallant patriots of today!
Not he who fills a soldiers' grave,
Who drove the British hordes away,
Who life and fortune freely gave,
Not he is patriot, we say.
Who drove the British hordes away,
Who life and fortune freely gave,
Not he is patriot, we say.
But he who celebrates the Fourth,
As all good men at present do,
And then endures the after clap,
He is the patriot brave and true!
As all good men at present do,
And then endures the after clap,
He is the patriot brave and true!
The aching head, the stomach sour,
The dark brown taste, the trembling knees,
Oh, what are Revolution gore
And Revolution pangs to these!
The dark brown taste, the trembling knees,
Oh, what are Revolution gore
And Revolution pangs to these!
July 5th, 1882.
158
THE WARRIOR.
Under the window is a man,
Playing an organ all the day,
Grinding as only a cripple can,
In a moody, vague, uncertain way.
Playing an organ all the day,
Grinding as only a cripple can,
In a moody, vague, uncertain way.
His coat is blue and upon his face
Is a look of highborn, restless pride,
There is somewhat about him of martial grace
And an empty sleeve hangs at his side.
Is a look of highborn, restless pride,
There is somewhat about him of martial grace
And an empty sleeve hangs at his side.
“Tell me, warrior bold and true,
In what carnage, night or day,
Came the merciless shot to you,
Bearing your good, right arm away?”
In what carnage, night or day,
Came the merciless shot to you,
Bearing your good, right arm away?”
Fire dies out in the patriot's eye,
Changed my warrior's tone and mien,
Choked by emotion he makes reply,
“Kansas—harvest—threshing machine!”
Changed my warrior's tone and mien,
Choked by emotion he makes reply,
“Kansas—harvest—threshing machine!”
April 1st, 1882.
159
THE SURVIVOR.
In August, Nineteen Fifty-two,
A hero old and gray,
Who, years before had worn the blue
In many a gory fray,
Received the homage of his land
For deeds of valor done,
For he remained of all his band,
The last surviving one.
A hero old and gray,
Who, years before had worn the blue
In many a gory fray,
Received the homage of his land
For deeds of valor done,
For he remained of all his band,
The last surviving one.
Our children's children's children swept
From hillside and from plain,
And, crowding 'round the old man, wept
To hear him tell again
The stories he so loved to tell—
Of battles lost and won—
How armies rose and cities fell
And great exploits were done.
From hillside and from plain,
And, crowding 'round the old man, wept
To hear him tell again
The stories he so loved to tell—
Of battles lost and won—
How armies rose and cities fell
And great exploits were done.
One arm was lost in Tennessee,
Another in Missouri,
And then a third while fighting Lee
With patriotic fury;
Another still at Corinth went—
What cares he for his arms
While his beloved land was rent
With war and war's alarms.
Another in Missouri,
And then a third while fighting Lee
With patriotic fury;
Another still at Corinth went—
What cares he for his arms
While his beloved land was rent
With war and war's alarms.
160
One leg in old Kentucky lay—
A second leg lost he
As merrily he limped away
With Sherman to the Sea.
What were two legs for him to lose,
On fields that reeked with gore?
He laughed away his fit of blues,
And lost a dozen more.
A second leg lost he
As merrily he limped away
With Sherman to the Sea.
What were two legs for him to lose,
On fields that reeked with gore?
He laughed away his fit of blues,
And lost a dozen more.
Of Richmond and the Wilderness
The hero loved to tell—
Ten thousand battles more or less,
The counterparts of hell;
Of dying men and women's tears,
And graves no one shall know—
Traditions of the dreadful years—
The years of long ago.
The hero loved to tell—
Ten thousand battles more or less,
The counterparts of hell;
Of dying men and women's tears,
And graves no one shall know—
Traditions of the dreadful years—
The years of long ago.
Ah! though we now derisive smile,
Our children's children then
Will, wondering, hear his stories while
They bless this best of men;
And when his life at last is o'er
God grant His blessings too—
For he was one of those who wore
The dear, the glorious blue.
Our children's children then
Will, wondering, hear his stories while
They bless this best of men;
And when his life at last is o'er
God grant His blessings too—
For he was one of those who wore
The dear, the glorious blue.
July 24th, 1883.
161
THE MILITIAMAN.
He revels in scenes of blood and gore,
Where the terrible bomb is hurled;
He slaughters the foe and he calls for more,
And he wears his mustache curled.
Where the terrible bomb is hurled;
He slaughters the foe and he calls for more,
And he wears his mustache curled.
All into the midst of the fight he flies,
Where the smoke makes sunlight dusk;
He loves to listen to dying cries,
His favorite scent is musk.
Where the smoke makes sunlight dusk;
He loves to listen to dying cries,
His favorite scent is musk.
His sabre gleams like a shooting star,
He is full of martial oaths;
His constant talk is of blood and war,
He wears ten-dollar clothes.
He is full of martial oaths;
His constant talk is of blood and war,
He wears ten-dollar clothes.
January 22d, 1882.
162
THE KANSAS VETERAN.
The old man's face was creased with care
And drooping was his head—
“Why have you such a languid air
On this proud day,” we said.
“Alas, I am a Kansas man”—
“No more,” we joyous cried,
“To Kansas and the Kansas men,
Our doors are open wide.
And drooping was his head—
“Why have you such a languid air
On this proud day,” we said.
“Alas, I am a Kansas man”—
“No more,” we joyous cried,
“To Kansas and the Kansas men,
Our doors are open wide.
“Our hearts are widely open too,
For Kansas in the fight,
And Kansas men all wore the blue
And battled for the right;
So welcome, veteran, to our arms
And to our hearthstones, too,
Now tell us of the war's alarms
And bloody times you knew.
For Kansas in the fight,
And Kansas men all wore the blue
And battled for the right;
So welcome, veteran, to our arms
And to our hearthstones, too,
Now tell us of the war's alarms
And bloody times you knew.
“And do you on your body bear
Grim-visaged ghastly scars?
And do you on your person wear
The finger-prints of wars?
Oh, tell us sir that we and ours
May bless you brave and true,
Who in our country's darkest hours
Marched forth and donned the blue.”
Grim-visaged ghastly scars?
And do you on your person wear
The finger-prints of wars?
Oh, tell us sir that we and ours
May bless you brave and true,
Who in our country's darkest hours
Marched forth and donned the blue.”
163
The Kansas veteran smiled a smile
And o'er the counter bent,
And quaffed a deep libation while
We gazed in wonderment.
“I come from Kansas,” with a sigh
He then went on to tell,
“I am no soldier man, but I
Have garden truck to sell.”
And o'er the counter bent,
And quaffed a deep libation while
We gazed in wonderment.
“I come from Kansas,” with a sigh
He then went on to tell,
“I am no soldier man, but I
Have garden truck to sell.”
July 24th, 1883.
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