 | [Poems by Howe in] Julia Ward Howe 1819-1910 |  |
1. VOLUME I
34
MORNING HYMN
Now I see the morning light,
Shining bright and gay.
God has kept me through the night;
He will, if He thinks it right,
Preserve me through this day.
Shining bright and gay.
God has kept me through the night;
He will, if He thinks it right,
Preserve me through this day.
Let thy holy Spirit send
Of heavenly light a ray;
Thy face, oh! Lord, I fain would seek,
But I am feeble, vain and weak;
Oh, guide me in thy way!
Of heavenly light a ray;
Thy face, oh! Lord, I fain would seek,
But I am feeble, vain and weak;
Oh, guide me in thy way!
Let thy assistance, Lord, be given,
That when life's path I 've trod,
And when the last frail tie is riven,
My spirit may ascend to heaven,
To dwell with thee, My God.
That when life's path I 've trod,
And when the last frail tie is riven,
My spirit may ascend to heaven,
To dwell with thee, My God.
“Father's Birthday”:—
Louisa brings a cushion rare,Anne Eliza a toothpick bright and fair;
And O! accept the gift I bring,
It is a daughter's offering.
99
[The Milsiad]
My heart fills
With the bare thought of the illustrious Mills:
That man of eyes and nose,
Of legs and arms, of fingers and of toes.
With the bare thought of the illustrious Mills:
That man of eyes and nose,
Of legs and arms, of fingers and of toes.
To lands devoid of tax
Goeth he not, armed with axe?
Trees shall he cut down,
And forests ever?
Tame cataracts with a frown?
Grin all the fish from Mississippi River?
(My style is grandiose.
Quite in the tone of Mills's nose.)
Goeth he not, armed with axe?
Trees shall he cut down,
And forests ever?
Tame cataracts with a frown?
Grin all the fish from Mississippi River?
(My style is grandiose.
Quite in the tone of Mills's nose.)
Harp of the West, through wind and foggy weather
We've sung our passage to our native land,
Now I have reached the terminus of tether,
And I must lay thee trembling from my hand.
That hand must ply the ignominious needle,
This mind brood o'er the salutary dish,
I must grow sober as a parish beadle,
And having fish to fry, must fry my fish.
Some happier muse than mine shall wake thy spell,
Harp of the West, oh Gemini! farewell!
We've sung our passage to our native land,
Now I have reached the terminus of tether,
100
That hand must ply the ignominious needle,
This mind brood o'er the salutary dish,
I must grow sober as a parish beadle,
And having fish to fry, must fry my fish.
Some happier muse than mine shall wake thy spell,
Harp of the West, oh Gemini! farewell!
145
[Miss Mary Big'low, you who seem]
Miss Mary Big'low, you who seem
So debonair and kind,
Pray, what the devil do you mean
(If I may speak my mind)
So debonair and kind,
Pray, what the devil do you mean
(If I may speak my mind)
By asking me to come and hear
That Wulf of yours a-Friesing,
Then leaving me to cool my heels
In manner so unpleasing?
That Wulf of yours a-Friesing,
Then leaving me to cool my heels
In manner so unpleasing?
With Mrs. Dr. Susan you
That eve, forsooth, were tea-ing:
Confess you knew that I should come,
And from my wrath were fleeing!
That eve, forsooth, were tea-ing:
Confess you knew that I should come,
And from my wrath were fleeing!
To Mrs. Dr. Susan's I
Had not invited been:
So when the maid said, “Best go there!”
I answered, “Not so green!”
Had not invited been:
So when the maid said, “Best go there!”
I answered, “Not so green!”
Within the darksome carriage hid
I bottled up my beauty,
And, rather foolish, hurried home
To fireside and duty.
I bottled up my beauty,
And, rather foolish, hurried home
To fireside and duty.
It's very pleasant, you may think,
On winter nights to roam;
But when you next invite abroad,
This wolf will freeze at home!
On winter nights to roam;
But when you next invite abroad,
This wolf will freeze at home!
163
“Table”
What shall we do for an Editor's table?
To make one really we are not able.
Our Editorial head is aching,
Our lily white hand is rather shaking.
Our baby cries both day and night,
And puts our “intelligence” all to flight.
Yet, for the gentle Julia's sake,
Some little effort we must make.
We did n't go vote for the know-nothing Mayor,
A know-nothing's what we cannot bear,
We know our lessons, that's well for us,
Or the school would be in a terrible fuss.
To make one really we are not able.
Our Editorial head is aching,
Our lily white hand is rather shaking.
Our baby cries both day and night,
And puts our “intelligence” all to flight.
Yet, for the gentle Julia's sake,
Some little effort we must make.
We did n't go vote for the know-nothing Mayor,
A know-nothing's what we cannot bear,
We know our lessons, that's well for us,
Or the school would be in a terrible fuss.
That's all for the present, we make our best bow,
And are your affectionate
And are your affectionate
Editor Howe.
202
“Mad Song”
“Her mother was a Shaw,
And her father was a Tompkins;
Her sister was a bore,
And her brother was a bumpkin;
Oh! Soci—oh! Soci—
Oh! Soci—e—ty!
And her father was a Tompkins;
Her sister was a bore,
And her brother was a bumpkin;
Oh! Soci—oh! Soci—
Oh! Soci—e—ty!
“Her flounces were of gold,
And her slippers were of ermine;
And she looked a little bold
When she rose to lead the Germin;
Oh! Soci—oh! Soci—
Oh! Soci—e—ty!
And her slippers were of ermine;
And she looked a little bold
When she rose to lead the Germin;
Oh! Soci—oh! Soci—
Oh! Soci—e—ty!
“For my part I never saw
Where she kept her fascination;
But I thought she had an aw-
Ful conceit and affectation;
Oh! Soci—oh! Soci—
Oh! Soci—e—ty!”
Where she kept her fascination;
But I thought she had an aw-
Ful conceit and affectation;
Oh! Soci—oh! Soci—
Oh! Soci—e—ty!”
232
THE BARNSTABLE BALL
A Lyric
(Appointed to be sung in all Social Meetings on the Cape)
March away with your old artillery;
Don't come back till we give you a call.
Put your Colonel into the pillory;
He broke up the Barnstable Ball.
Don't come back till we give you a call.
Put your Colonel into the pillory;
He broke up the Barnstable Ball.
Country folks don't go a-pleasuring
Every day, as it doth befall;
They with deepest scorn are measuring
Him who broke up the Barnstable Ball.
Every day, as it doth befall;
They with deepest scorn are measuring
Him who broke up the Barnstable Ball.
He came down with his motley company,
Stalking round the 'cultural hall;
Could n't find a partner to jump any,
So broke up the Barnstable Ball.
Stalking round the 'cultural hall;
Could n't find a partner to jump any,
So broke up the Barnstable Ball.
Warn't it enough with their smoking and thundering,
Sweeping about like leaves in a squall,
But they must take to theft and plundering,—
Steal the half of the Barnstable Ball?
Sweeping about like leaves in a squall,
But they must take to theft and plundering,—
Steal the half of the Barnstable Ball?
233
Put the music into their pocket,
Order the figure-man not to bawl,
Twenty jigs were still on the docket,
When they adjourned the Barnstable Ball.
Order the figure-man not to bawl,
Twenty jigs were still on the docket,
When they adjourned the Barnstable Ball.
Gov'nor A. won't hang for homicide,
That's a point that bothers us all;
He must banish ever from his side
Such as murdered the Barnstable Ball.
That's a point that bothers us all;
He must banish ever from his side
Such as murdered the Barnstable Ball.
When they're old and draw'd with rheumatiz,
Let them say to their grandbabes small,
“Deary me, what a shadow of gloom it is
To remember the Barnstable Ball!”
Let them say to their grandbabes small,
“Deary me, what a shadow of gloom it is
To remember the Barnstable Ball!”
248
To S. G. H.
On his failure to receive the Grecian mission which he had been led to think might be offered to him. 1866.
The Grecian olives vanish from thy sight,
The wondrous hills, the old historic soil;
The elastic air, that freshened with delight
Thy youthful temples, flushed with soldier toil.
The wondrous hills, the old historic soil;
The elastic air, that freshened with delight
Thy youthful temples, flushed with soldier toil.
O noble soul! thy laurel early wreathed
Gathers the Christian rose and lilies fair,
For civic virtues when the sword was sheathed,
And perfect faith that learns from every snare.
Gathers the Christian rose and lilies fair,
For civic virtues when the sword was sheathed,
And perfect faith that learns from every snare.
Let, then, the modern embassy float by,
Nor one regret in thy high bosom lurk:
God's mission called thy youth to that soft sky;
Wait God's dismissal where thou build'st His work!
Nor one regret in thy high bosom lurk:
God's mission called thy youth to that soft sky;
Wait God's dismissal where thou build'st His work!
281
[Oh! who were the people you saw, Mrs. Howe]
Oh! who were the people you saw, Mrs. Howe,
When you went where the Cretans were making a row?
Kalopathaki—Rodocanachi—
Paparipopoulos—Anagnostopoulos—
Nicolaïdes—Paraskevaïdes—
These were the people that saw Mrs. Howe
When she went where the Cretans were making a row.
When you went where the Cretans were making a row?
Kalopathaki—Rodocanachi—
Paparipopoulos—Anagnostopoulos—
Nicolaïdes—Paraskevaïdes—
These were the people that saw Mrs. Howe
When she went where the Cretans were making a row.
Oh! what were the projects you made, Mrs. Howe,
When you went where the Cretans were making a row?
Emancipation—civilization—redintegration of a great nation,
Paying no taxes, grinding no axes—
Flinging the Ministers over the banisters.
These were the projects of good Mrs. Howe
When she went where the Cretans were making a row.
When you went where the Cretans were making a row?
Emancipation—civilization—redintegration of a great nation,
Paying no taxes, grinding no axes—
Flinging the Ministers over the banisters.
These were the projects of good Mrs. Howe
When she went where the Cretans were making a row.
Oh! give us a specimen, dear Mrs. Howe,
Of the Greek that you learned and are mistress of now.
Potichomania—Mesopotamia.
Tatterdemalion—episcopalian—
Megalotherium—monster inferium—
Scoulevon—auctrion—infant phenomenon.
Kyrie ticamete—what's your calamity?
Pallas Athenae Aun,
Favors no Fenian.
Such is the language that learned Mrs. Howe,
In the speech of the Gods she is mistress of now.
Of the Greek that you learned and are mistress of now.
Potichomania—Mesopotamia.
Tatterdemalion—episcopalian—
282
Scoulevon—auctrion—infant phenomenon.
Kyrie ticamete—what's your calamity?
Pallas Athenae Aun,
Favors no Fenian.
Such is the language that learned Mrs. Howe,
In the speech of the Gods she is mistress of now.
348
COOKERY BOOKERY, OH!
My Irish cook has gone away
Upon my dinner-party day;
I don't know what to do or say—
Cookery bookery, oh!
Upon my dinner-party day;
I don't know what to do or say—
Cookery bookery, oh!
Chorus:
Sing, saucepan, range, and kitchen fire!Sing, coals are high and always higher!
Sing, crossed and vexed, till you expire!
Cookery bookery, oh!
She could cook every kind of dish,
“Wittles” of meat and “wittles” of fish,
And soup as fancy as you wish—
And she is gone away!
“Wittles” of meat and “wittles” of fish,
And soup as fancy as you wish—
And she is gone away!
She weighed two hundred pounds of cheek,
She had a voice that made me meek,
I had to listen when she did speak—
Cookery bookery, oh!
She had a voice that made me meek,
I had to listen when she did speak—
Cookery bookery, oh!
My husband comes, a saucy elf,
And eyes the saucepan on the shelf;
Says he, “Why don't you cook yourself?”
Cookery bookery, oh!
And eyes the saucepan on the shelf;
Says he, “Why don't you cook yourself?”
Cookery bookery, oh!
Chorus:
Sing, saucepan, range, and kitchen fire!Sing, coals are high and always higher!
Sing, crossed and vexed, till you expire!
Cookery bookery, oh!
349
“The Newport Song,”
Non sumus fashionabiles:
Non damus dapes splendides:
But in a modest way, you know,
We like to see our money go;
Et gaudeamus igitur,
Our soul has nought to fidget her!
Non damus dapes splendides:
But in a modest way, you know,
We like to see our money go;
Et gaudeamus igitur,
Our soul has nought to fidget her!
We do not care to quadrigate
On Avenues in gilded state:
No gold-laced footmen laugh behind
At our vacuity of mind:
But in a modest one-horse shay,
We rumble, tumble as we may,
Et gaudeamus igitur,
Our soul has nought to fidget her!
On Avenues in gilded state:
No gold-laced footmen laugh behind
At our vacuity of mind:
But in a modest one-horse shay,
We rumble, tumble as we may,
Et gaudeamus igitur,
Our soul has nought to fidget her!
When æstivation is at end,
We've had our fun and seen our friend.
No thought of payment makes us ill,
We don't know such a word as “bill”:
Et gaudeamus igitur.
Our soul has nought to fidget her!
We've had our fun and seen our friend.
No thought of payment makes us ill,
We don't know such a word as “bill”:
Et gaudeamus igitur.
Our soul has nought to fidget her!
384
“Invitation to Youth”
Oh! let thy meditations be of God,
Who guides thy footsteps with unerring eye;
And who, until the path of life is trod,
Will never leave thee by thyself to die.
Who guides thy footsteps with unerring eye;
And who, until the path of life is trod,
Will never leave thee by thyself to die.
When morning's rays so joyously do shine,
And nature brightens at the face of day,
Oh! think then on the joys that shall be thine
If thou wilt early walk the narrow way.
And nature brightens at the face of day,
Oh! think then on the joys that shall be thine
If thou wilt early walk the narrow way.
| [Poems by Howe in] Julia Ward Howe 1819-1910 | |