Eugene Field

Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding

May the man who has cruelly murdered his sire-- A crime to be punished with death-- Be condemned to eat garlic till he shall expire

Republicans of differing views Are pro or con protection; If that's the issue they would choose,

I'm weary of this weather and I hanker for the ways Which people read of in the psalms and preachers paraphrase-- The grassy fields, the leafy woods, the banks where I can lie

Come, brothers, share the fellowship We celebrate to-night; There's grace of song on every lip

There are two stars in yonder steeps That watch the baby while he sleeps. But while the baby is awake

Her nature is the sea's, that smiles to-night A radiant maiden in the moon's soft light; The unsuspecting seaman sets his sails,

The image of the moon at night All trembling in the ocean lies, But she, with calm and steadfast light,

The stars are twinkling in the skies, The earth is lost in slumbers deep; So hush, my sweet, and close thine eyes,

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, in Heaven the same; Give us this day our daily bread, and may our debts to heaven--

How happens it, my cruel miss, You're always giving me the mitten? You seem to have forgotten this:

(LYRIC INTERMEZZO) There fell a star from realms above-- A glittering, glorious star to see!

Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding

Why, Mistress Chloe, do you bother With prattlings and with vain ado Your worthy and industrious mother,

Since Chloe is so monstrous fair, With such an eye and such an air, What wonder that the world complains

I cannot eat my porridge, I weary of my play; No longer can I sleep at night,

Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have washed and purged awaye Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a merrie May, Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben full of birds that syng

If our own life is the life of a flower (And that's what some sages are thinking), We should moisten the bud with a health-giving flood

See, Thaliarch mine, how, white with snow, Soracte mocks the sullen sky; How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed,

Now stands Soracte white with snow, now bend the laboring trees, And with the sharpness of the frost the stagnant rivers freeze. Pile up the billets on the hearth, to warmer cheer incline,

One asketh: "Tell me, Myrson, tell me true: What's the season pleaseth you?

M'cenas, you will be my death,--though friendly you profess yourself,-- If to me in a strain like this so often you address yourself: "Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why indolently shock you us?

You ask me, friend, Why I don't send The long since due-and-paid-for numbers;

Your gran'ma, in her youth, was quite As blithe a little maid as you. And, though her hair is snowy white,

Go, Cupid, and my sweetheart tell I love her well. Yes, though she tramples on my heart

When Father Time swings round his scythe, Intomb me 'neath the bounteous vine, So that its juices, red and blithe,

My books are on their shelves again And clouds lie low with mist and rain. Afar the Arno murmurs low

Lie in my arms, Ailsie, my bairn,-- Lie in my arms and dinna greit; Long time been past syn I kenned you last,

The Northland reared his hoary head And spied the Southland leagues away-- "Fairest of all fair brides," he said,

Krinken was a little child-- It was summer when he smiled; Oft the hoary sea and grim

Lyce, the gods have heard my prayers, as gods will hear the dutiful, And brought old age upon you, though you still affect the beautiful. You sport among the boys, and drink and chatter on quite aimlessly;

'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame Hangs on the maple bough; And June is the faded flower of a name;

(The exile Meliboeus finds Tityrus in possession of his own farm, restored to him by the emperor Augustus, and a conversation ensues. The poem is in praise of Augustus, peace and pastoral life.) Meliboeus-- Tityrus, all in the shade of the wide-spreading beech tree reclining,

To bear the yoke not yet your love's submissive neck is bent, To share a husband's toil, or grasp his amorous intent; Over the fields, in cooling streams, the heifer longs to go,

Dear, noble friend! a virgin cask Of wine solicits your attention; And roses fair, to deck your hair,

Little eyelids, cease your winking; Little orbs, forget to beam; Little soul, to slumber sinking,

O Lady Fortune! 't is to thee I call, Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to crown The veriest clod with riches and renown,

Full many a sinful notion Conceived of foreign powers Has come across the ocean

As beats the sun from mountain crest, With "pretty, pretty", Cometh the partridge from her nest;

Welcome, O truant stork! And where have you been so long? And do you bring that grace of spring

Play that you are mother dear, And play that papa is your beau; Play that we sit in the corner here,

What gods or heroes, whose brave deeds none can dispute, Will you record, O Clio, on the harp and flute? What lofty names shall sportive Echo grant a place

I thought myself indeed secure, So fast the door, so firm the lock; But, lo! he toddling comes to lure

I There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend, Pay you no heed unto my sorrow:

Misery is my lot, Poverty and pain; Ill was I begot,

[JANUARY, 1814] When, to despoil my native France, With flaming torch and cruel sword

Still serve me in my age, I pray, As in my youth, O faithful one; For years I've brushed thee every day--

A little boy whose name was Tim Once ate some jelly-cake for tea-- Which cake did not agree with him,

Prudence Mears hath an old blue plate Hid away in an oaken chest, And a Franklin platter of ancient date

I say, as one who never feared The wrath of a subscriber's bullet, I pity him who has a beard

There was a certain gentleman, Ben Apfelgarten called, Who lived way off in Germany a many years ago, And he was very fortunate in being very bald

As I was going to Bethlehem-town, Upon the earth I cast me down All underneath a little tree

On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap, And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap, In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face,

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart When birds are on the wing, When bee and bud and babbling flood

Carol of the Christmas morn-- Carol of the Christ-child born-- Carol to the list'ning sky

Oh, them days on Red Hoss Mountain, when the skies wuz fair 'nd blue, When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the    folks wuz brave 'nd true! When the nights wuz crisp 'nd balmy, 'nd    the camp wuz all astir,

O mother-my-love, if you'll give me your hand, And go where I ask you to wander, I will lead you away to a beautiful land,--

Chloris, my friend, I pray you your misconduct to forswear; The wife of poor old Ibycus should have more savoir faire. A woman at your time of life, and drawing near death's door,

Oh, hush thee, little Dear-my-Soul, The evening shades are falling,-- Hush thee, my dear, dost thou not hear

Sing, Christmas bells! Say to the earth this is the morn Whereon our Saviour-King is born;

Sing, Christmas bells! Say to the earth this is the morn Whereon our Savior-King is born;

The angel host that sped last night, Bearing the wondrous news afar, Came in their ever-glorious flight

I count my treasures o'er with care.-- The little toy my darling knew, A little sock of faded hue,

God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, Wherever you may be,-- God rest you all in fielde or hall,

God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, Wherever you may be,-- God rest you all in fielde or hall,

In the market of Clare, so cheery the glare Of the shops and the booths of the tradespeople there; That I take a delight on a Saturday night

Should painter attach to a fair human head The thick, turgid neck of a stallion, Or depict a spruce lass with the tail of a bass,

Once on a time an old red hen Went strutting 'round with pompous clucks, For she had little babies ten,

Happy the man that, when his day is done, Lies down to sleep with nothing of regret-- The battle he has fought may not be won--

Tiddle-de-dumpty, tiddle-de-dee-- The spider courted the frisky flea; Tiddle-de-dumpty, tiddle-de-doo--

Out on the mountain over the town, All night long, all night long, The trolls go up and the trolls go down,

Though care and strife Elsewhere be rife, Upon my word I do not heed 'em;

He placed a rose in my nut-brown hair-- A deep red rose with a fragrant heart And said: "We'll set this day apart,

Why do the bells of Christmas ring? Why do little children sing? Once a lovely shining star,

How cool and fair this cellar where My throne a dusky cask is; To do no thing but just to sing

Dear wife, last midnight while I read The tomes you so despise, A specter rose beside the bed

TO MISS GRACE KING Down in the old French quarter, Just out of Rampart street,

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of misty light

Ed was a man that played for keeps, 'nd when he tuk the notion, You cudn't stop him any more'n a dam 'ud stop the ocean; For when he tackled to a thing 'nd sot his mind plum to it,

Grim is the face that looks into the night Over the stretch of sands; A sullen rock in the sea of white--

So, come! though favors I bestow Cannot be called extensive, Who better than my friend should know

Prince, show me the quickest way and best To gain the subject of my moan; We've neither spinsters nor relics out West--

The day is done; and, lo! the shades Melt 'neath Diana's mellow grace. Hark, how those deep, designing maids

'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met, And yet, ah yet, how swift and tender My thoughts go back in Time's dull track

The Greeks had genius,--'t was a gift The Muse vouchsafed in glorious measure; The boon of Fame they made their aim

There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee" - A very provoking, unmusical song

Fisherman Jim lived on the hill With his bonnie wife an' his little boys; 'T wuz "Blow, ye winds, as blow ye will -

If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I, What would it matter to me how the time might drag or fly? He would in sweaty anguish toil the days and night away,

When our babe he goeth walking in his garden, Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play; The posies they are good to him,

I like the Anglo-Saxon speech With its direct revealings; It takes a hold, and seems to reach

There's a dear little home in Good-Children street - My heart turneth fondly to-day Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet

Of mornings, bright and early, When the lark is on the wing And the robin in the maple

There is a certain Yankee phrase I always have revered, Yet, somehow, in these modern days,

Shall I woo the one or other? Both attract me--more's the pity! Pretty is the widowed mother,

Strange that the city thoroughfare, Noisy and bustling all the day, Should with the night renounce its care,

HORACE When you were mine in auld lang syne, And when none else your charms might ogle,

Fuscus, whoso to good inclines-- And is a faultless liver-- Nor moorish spear nor bow need fear,

As forth he pours the new made wine, What blessing asks the lyric poet-- What boon implores in this fair shrine

'Tis spring! the boats bound to the sea; The breezes, loitering kindly over The fields, again bring herds and men

O fountain of Blandusia, Whence crystal waters flow, With garlands gay and wine I'll pay

Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray; For though you pine your life away With dull complaining breath,

O fountain of Bandusia, Whence crystal waters flow, With garlands gay and wine I'll pay

Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine That fairly reeks with precious juices. And in your tresses you shall twine

If ever in the sylvan shade A song immortal we have made, Come now, O lute, I pri' thee come--

How breaks my heart to hear you say You feel the shadows fall about you! The gods forefend

Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared,-- Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared,

Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine That fairly reeks with precious juices, And in your tresses you shall twine

What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, With smiles for diet, Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha,

Sailor. You, who have compassed land and sea Now all unburied lie;

What end the gods may have ordained for me, And what for thee, Seek not to learn, Leuconoe; we may not know;

Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn, That, fearful of the breezes and the wood, Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn

I used to think that luck wuz luck and nuthin' else but luck-- It made no diff'rence how or when or where or why it struck; But sev'ral years ago I changt my mind, an' now proclaim

Sweet, bide with me and let my love Be an enduring tether; Oh, wanton not from spot to spot,

How calm, how beauteous and how cool-- How like a sister to the skies, Appears the broad, transparent pool

(FROM THE GERMAN OF MARTIN LUTHER) O heart of mine! lift up thine eyes And see who in yon manger lies!

Through sleet and fogs to the saline bogs Where the herring fish meanders, An army sped, and then, 't is said,

'Twas in the Crescent city not long ago befell The tear-compelling incident I now propose to tell; So come, my sweet collector friends, and listen while I sing

'Twas in the Crescent City not long ago befell The tear-compelling incident I now propose to tell; So come, my sweet collector friends, and listen while I sing

(HORACE'S ODES, III, I) I hate the common, vulgar herd! Away they scamper when I "booh" 'em!

The fire upon the hearth is low, And there is stillness everywhere, While like winged spirits, here and there,

'T is spring! The boats bound to the sea; The breezes, loitering kindly over The fields, again bring herds and men

The western breeze is springing up, the ships are in the bay, And spring has brought a happy change as winter melts away. No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman finds delight;

When thou dost eat from off this plate, I charge thee be thou temperate; Unto thine elders at the board

In Mrs. Potter's latest play The costuming is fine; Her waist is made decollete--

Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging--

Some men affect a liking For the prim in face and mind, And some prefer the striking

When I remark her golden hair Swoon on her glorious shoulders, I marvel not that sight so rare

Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill! Mighty glad I ain't a girl - ruther be a boy,

To-day I strayed in Charing Cross as wretched as could be With thinking of my home and friends across the tumbling sea; There was no water in my eyes, but my spirits were depressed

'T is when the lark goes soaring And the bee is at the bud, When lightly dancing zephyrs

Krinken was a little child,-- It was summer when he smiled. Oft the hoary sea and grim

When the busy day is done, And my weary little one Rocketh gently to and fro;

In maudlin spite let Thracians fight Above their bowls of liquor; But such as we, when on a spree,

Little All-Aloney's feet Pitter-patter in the hall, And his mother runs to meet

The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands; And the little toy soldier is red with rust,

Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo? Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea? Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me--

This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh, We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O gosh! He lives here in Mizzoora where the people are so set

Little Miss Brag has much to say To the rich little lady from over the way And the rich little lady puts out a lip

See, what a wonderful garden is here, Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear! Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown -

Last night, whiles that the curfew bell ben ringing, I heard a moder to her dearie singing "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby."

I once knew all the birds that came And nested in our orchard trees; For every flower I had a name--

All human joys are swift of wing For heaven doth so allot it That when you get an easy thing

Many a beauteous flower doth spring From the tears that flood my eyes, And the nightingale doth sing

Fair is the castle up on the hill-- Hushaby, sweet my own! The night is fair, and the waves are still,

When I was a boy at college, Filling up with classic knowledge, Frequently I wondered why

(FOR THE FELLOWSHIP CLUB) Lyman and Frederick and Jim, one day, Set out in a great big ship--

I At Madge, ye hoyden, gossips scofft, Ffor that a romping wench was shee--

The mountain brook sung lonesomelike, and loitered on its way Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play; The wild-flowers uv the hillside bent down their heads to hear

The mountain brook sung lonesomelike And loitered on its way Ez if it waited for a child

Away down East where I was reared amongst my Yankee kith, There used to live a pretty girl whose name was Mary Smith; And though it's many years since last I saw that pretty girl,

Come hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells may,

The eastern sky is streaked with red, The weary night is done, And from his distant ocean bed

O Nicias, not for us alone Was laughing Eros born, Nor shines alone for us the moon,

One night a tiny dewdrop fell Into the bosom of a rose,-- "Dear little one, I love thee well,

(EGYPTIAN FOLK-SONG) Grim is the face that looks into the night Over the stretch of sands;

Thar showed up out'n Denver in the spring uv '81 A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he wuz a sight ter view

The wind comes whispering to me of the country green and cool-- Of redwing blackbirds chattering beside a reedy pool; It brings me soothing fancies of the homestead on the hill,

As once I rambled in the woods I chanced to spy amid the brake A huntsman ride his way beside

Good old days--dear old days When my heart beat high and bold-- When the things of earth seemed full of life,

The sky is dark and the hills are white As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night, And this is the song the storm-king sings,

I am not rich, and yet my wealth Surpasseth human measure; My store untold

Hush, bonnie, dinna greit; Moder will rocke her sweete,-- Balow, my boy!

I'm thinking of the wooing That won my maiden heart When he--he came pursuing

A moonbeam floateth from the skies, Whispering, "Heigho, my dearie! I would spin a web before your eyes,--

When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke, I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like; And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught

The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv, And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv; 'T wuz in the year uv sixty-nine,--somewhere along in summer,--

Us two wuz boys when we fell out,-- Nigh to the age uv my youngest now; Don't rec'lect what't wuz about,

Over the hills and far away, A little boy steals from his morning play And under the blossoming apple-tree

They told me once that Pan was dead, And so, in sooth, I thought him; For vainly where the streamlets led

It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen,

Friend, by the way you hump yourself you're from the States, I know, And born in old Mizzourah, where the 'coons in plenty grow; I, too, am a native of that clime, but harsh, relentless fate

Of your love for your handmaid you need feel no shame. Don't apologize, Xanthias, pray; Remember, Achilles the proud felt a flame

Achievin' sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note, Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round the place,

The hero of Affairs of love By far too numerous to be mentioned,

SAILOR You, who have compassed land and sea, Now all unburied lie;

I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice, An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed,

Shuffle-shoon and Amber-Locks Sit together, building blocks; Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray,

Hush, little one, and fold your hands; The sun hath set, the moon is high; The sea is singing to the sands,

I'd not complain of Sister Jane, for she was good and kind, Combining with rare comeliness distinctive gifts of mind; Nay, I'll admit it were most fit that, worn by social cares,

So, so, rock-a-by so! Off to the garden where dreamikins grow; And here is a kiss on your winkyblink eyes,

"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said, "And bid me brave good-by; It may befall we ne'er shall wed,

Last night, my darling, as you slept, I thought I heard you sigh, And to your little crib I crept,

Star of the East, that long ago Brought wise men on their way Where, angels singing to and fro,

Star of the East, that long ago Brought wise men on their way Where, angels singing to and fro,

Prate, ye who will, of so-called charms you find across the sea-- The land of stoves and sunshine is good enough for me! I've done the grand for fourteen months in every foreign clime,

Nay, why discuss this summer heat, Of which vain people tell? Oh, sinner, rather were it meet

Suppose, my dear, that you were I And by your side your sweetheart sate; Suppose you noticed by and by

Sweet little fairy, Tender and airy, Come, let us dance on the good baby-eyes;

Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow - It's off for a sailor thy father would go;

XXIII. I love the lyric muse! For when mankind ran wild in groves,

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles In the golden haze off yonder, Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles,

Now lithe and listen, gentles all, Now lithe ye all and hark Unto a ballad I shall sing

Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice. Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose

The women-folk are like to books,-- Most pleasing to the eye, Whereon if anybody looks

The women folk are like to books-- Most pleasing to the eye, Whereon if anybody looks

Keep me, I pray, in wisdom's way That I may truths eternal seek; I need protecting care to-day,--

The Blue and the Gray collided one day In the future great town of Missouri, And if all that we hear is the truth, 'twould appear

Once on a time a friend of mine prevailed on me to go To see the dazzling splendors of a sinful ballet show, And after we had reveled in the saltatory sights

A bottle tree bloometh in Winkyway land - Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! A snug little berth in that ship I demand

Who should come up the road one day But the doctor-man in his two-wheel shay! And he whoaed his horse and he cried "Ahoy!

To the willows of the brookside The mill wheel sings to-day-- Sings and weeps,

I looked in the brook and saw a face - Heigh-ho, but a child was I! There were rushes and willows in that place,

The gods let slip that fiendish grip Upon me last week Sunday-- No fiercer storm than racked my form

What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know, For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago; The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized,

When all around from out the ground The little flowers are peeping, And from the hills the merry rills

When baby wakes of mornings, Then it's wake, ye people all! For another day

Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, In agony I knelt and said: "0 God! what have I done,

"Give me my bow," said Robin Hood, "An arrow give to me; And where 't is shot mark thou that spot,

Up yonder in Buena Park There is a famous spot, In legend and in history

In an ocean, 'way out yonder (As all sapient people know), Is the land of Wonder-Wander,

Down south there is a curio-shop Unknown to many men; Thereat do I intend to stop

I hear Thy voice, dear Lord; I hear it by the stormy sea When winter nights are black and wild,

The little French doll was a dear little doll Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses; Her eyes were of hue

When the world is fast asleep, Along the midnight skies-- As though it were a wandering cloud--

Two dreams came down to earth one night From the realm of mist and dew; One was a dream of the old, old days,

I'm a beautiful red, red drum, And I train with the soldier boys; As up the street we come,

The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; 'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)

The year has been a tedious one-- A weary round of toil and sorrow, And, since it now at last is gone,

A flimflam flopped from a fillamaloo, Where the pollywog pinkled so pale, And the pipkin piped a petulant "pooh"

Of all the gracious gifts of Spring, Is there another can safely surpass This delicate, voluptuous thing--

Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse - Perhaps you have seen him before; Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept

Good editor Dana--God bless him, we say-- Will soon be afloat on the main, Will be steaming away

It's when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks, That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes; Then it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me,

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles In the golden haze off yonder, Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles In the golden haze off yonder, Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles

The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song To my dear little boy at play - Merrily singeth all day long,

A tortuous double iron track; a station here, a station there; A locomotive, tender, tanks; a coach with stiff reclining chair; Some postal cars, and baggage, too; a vestibule of patent make;

I'd like to be a cowboy an' ride a fiery hoss Way out into the big an' boundless west; I'd kill the bears an' catamounts an' wolves I come across,

A little peach in the orchard grew,-- A little peach of emerald hue; Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew,

The clock was in ill humor; so was the vase. It was all on account of the little shoe that had been placed on the mantel-piece that day, and had done nothing but sigh dolorously all the afternoon and evening. "Look you here, neighbor," quoth the clock, in petulant tones, "you are sadly mistaken if you think you will be permitted to disturb our peace and harmony with your constant sighs and groans. If you are ill, pray let us know; otherwise, have done with your manifestations of distress." "Possibly you do not know what befell the melancholy plaque that intruded his presence upon us last week," said the vase. "We pitched him off the mantelpiece, and he was shattered into a thousand bits."

I love the lyric muse! For when mankind ran wild in grooves Came holy Orpheus with his songs

Sometime there ben a lyttel boy That wolde not renne and play, And helpless like that little tyke

Thar showed up out 'n Denver in the spring of '81 A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. His name was Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he was a sight ter view

Now lithe and listen, gentles all, Now lithe ye all and hark Unto a ballad I shall sing

Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"? 'T is a pitiful sound to hear! It seems to chill you through and through

Jest as atween the awk'ard lines a hand we love has penn'd Appears a meanin' hid from other eyes, So, in your simple, homespun art, old honest Yankee friend,

The dull world clamors at my feet And asks my hand and helping sweet; And wonders when the time shall be

Out of the woods by the creek cometh a calling for Peter, And from the orchard a voice echoes and echoes it over; Down in the pasture the sheep hear that strange crying for Peter,

M'cenas, I propose to fly To realms beyond these human portals; No common things shall be my wings,

Boy, I detest the Persian pomp; I hate those linden-bark devices; And as for roses, holy Moses!

HE When you were mine, in auld lang syne, And when none else your charms might ogle,

HORACE While favored by thy smiles no other youth in amorous teasing Around thy snowy neck his folding arms was wont to fling;

Play that my knee was a calico mare Saddled and bridled for Bumpville; Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare,

No more your needed rest at night By ribald youth is troubled; No more your windows, fastened tight,

The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street Comes stealing; comes creeping; The poppies they hang from her head to her feet,

Come, my little one, with me! There are wondrous sights to see As the evening shadows fall;

Out yonder in the moonlight, wherein God's Acre lies, Go angels walking to and fro, singing their lullabies. Their radiant wings are folded, and their eyes are bended low,

My baby slept--how calm his rest, As o'er his handsome face a smile Like that of angel flitted, while

A sunbeam comes a-creeping Into my dear one's nest, And sings to our babe a-sleeping

When I am in New York, I like to drop around at night, To visit with my honest, genial friends, the Stoddards hight; Their home in Fifteenth street is all so snug, and furnished so,

Last night the Stork came stalking, And, Stork, beneath your wing Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber,

Way up at the top of a big stack of straw Was the cunningest parlor that ever you saw! And there could you lie when aweary of play

From out Cologne there came three kings To worship Jesus Christ, their King. To Him they sought fine herbs they brought,

I shall tell you in rhyme how, once on a time, Three tailors tramped up to the inn Ingleheim, On the Rhine, lovely Rhine;

Speaking of banks, I'm bound to say That a bank of tin is far the best, And I know of one that has stood for years

It is very aggravating To hear the solemn prating Of the fossils who are stating

My Shepherd is the Lord my God,-- There is no want I know; His flock He leads in verdant meads,

In yonder old cathedral Two lovely coffins lie; In one, the head of the state lies dead,

There were two little skeezucks who lived in the isle Of Boo in a southern sea; They clambered and rollicked in heathenish style

Deere Chryste, let not the cheere of earth, To fill our hearts with heedless mirth This holy Christmasse time;

Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a shell, And to my listening ear the lonely thing

(THE TALE) Cometh the Wind from the garden, fragrant and full of sweet singing-- Under my tree where I sit cometh the Wind to confession.

(ALASKAN BALLAD) The Northland reared his hoary head And spied the Southland leagues away--

O hapless day! O wretched day! I hoped you'd pass me by-- Alas, the years have sneaked away

You, blatant coward that you are, Upon the helpless vent your spite. Suppose you ply your trade on me;

O gracious jar,--my friend, my twin, Born at the time when I was born,-- Whether tomfoolery you inspire

And thou, twin orbs of love and joy! Unveil thy glories with the morn-- Dear eyes, another day is born--

'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; And yet--ah, yet, how swift and tender My thoughts go back in time's dull track

Aha! a traitor in the camp, A rebel strangely bold,-- A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp,

Not to lament that rival flame Wherewith the heartless Glycera scorns you, Nor waste your time in maudlin rhyme,

Grieve not, my Albius, if thoughts of Glycera may haunt you, Nor chant your mournful elegies because she faithless proves; If now a younger man than you this cruel charmer loves,

Fuscus, whoso to good inclines, And is a faultless liver, Nor Moorish spear nor bow need fear,

If for your oath broken, or word lightly spoken, A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you; If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall linger

Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn, That, fearful of the breezes and the wood, Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn,

Chloe, you shun me like a hind That, seeking vainly for her mother, Hears danger in each breath of wind,

Cinna, the great Venusian told In songs that will not die How in Augustan days of old

Dear Miller: You and I despise The cad who gathers books to sell 'em, Be they but sixteen-mos in cloth

O virgin, tri-formed goddess fair, The guardian of the groves and hills, Who hears the girls in their despair

There--let thy hands be folded Awhile in sleep's repose; The patient hands that wearied not,

The cruel mother of the Loves, And other Powers offended, Have stirred my heart, where newly roves

You vain, self-conscious little book, Companion of my happy days, How eagerly you seem to look

If ever in the sylvan shade A song immortal we have made, Come now, O lute, I prithee come,

Whereas, good friend, it doth appear You do possess the notion To his awhile away from here

What end the gods may have ordained for me, And what for thee, Seek not to learn, Leucon'e; we may not know.

Seek not, Leucon'e, to know how long you're going to live yet, What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they're going to give yet; For Jupiter will have his way, despite how much we worry,--

Though mighty in Love's favor still, Though cruel yet, my boy, When the unwelcome dawn shall chill

O Cruel fair, Whose flowing hair The envy and the pride of all is,

Tell me, Lydia, tell me why, By the gods that dwell above, Sybaris makes haste to die

When, Lydia, you (once fond and true, But now grown cold and supercilious) Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms--

When praising Telephus you sing His rosy neck and waxen arms, Forgetful of the pangs that wring

Than you, O valued friend of mine, A better patron non est! Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,--

M'cenas, thou of royalty's descent, Both my protector and dear ornament, Among humanity's conditions are

Come, dear old friend, and with us twain To calm Digentian groves repair; The turtle coos his sweet refrain

A dying mother gave to you Her child a many years ago; How in your gracious love he grew,

Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared: Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared,

What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, With smiles for diet, Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha,

What dainty boy with sweet perfumes bedewed Has lavished kisses, Pyrrha, in the cave? For whom amid the roses, many-hued,

O mother Venus, quit, I pray, Your violent assailing! The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth

A sorry life, forsooth, these wretched girls are undergoing, Restrained from draughts of pleasant wine, from loving favors showing, For fear an uncle's tongue a reprimand will be bestowing!

Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine That fairly reeks with precious juices, And in your tresses you shall twine

Sweet Phyllis, I have here a jar of old and precious wine, The years which mark its coming from the Alban hills are nine, And in the garden parsley, too, for wreathing garlands fair,

Pompey, what fortune gives you back To the friends and the gods who love you? Once more you stand in your native land,

O Postumus, my Postumus, the years are gliding past, And piety will never check the wrinkles coming fast, The ravages of time old age's swift advance has made,

To Scythian and Cantabrian plots, Pay them no heed, O Quintius! So long as we

Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray; For though you pine your life away With dull complaining breath,

I see you, Maister Bawsy-brown, Through yonder lattice creepin'; You come for cream and to gar me dream,

O fountain of Bandusia! Whence crystal waters flow, With garlands gay and wine I'll pay

O fountain of Bandusia! more glittering than glass, And worthy of the pleasant wine and toasts that freely pass; More worthy of the flowers with which thou modestly art hid,

O ship of state Shall new winds bear you back upon the sea? What are you doing? Seek the harbor's lee

Venus, dear Cnidian-Paphian queen! Desert that Cyprus way off yonder, And fare you hence, where with incense

There are two phrases, you must know, So potent (yet so small) That wheresoe'er a man may go

I Once a fowler, young and artless, To the quiet greenwood came;

Yonder stands the hillside chapel Mid the evergreens and rocks, All day long it hears the song

There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine, And gayly they called to the hostess for wine. "And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,--

Into the woods three huntsmen came, Seeking the white stag for their game. They laid them under a green fir-tree

There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true, On Valentine's day came a maiden to woo, And quoth to your mother: "Good-morrow, my dear,

Who I am I shall not say, But I send you this bouquet With this query, baby mine:

Up in the attic where I slept When I was a boy, a little boy, In through the lattice the moonlight crept,

The ferny places gleam at morn, The dew drips off the leaves of corn; Along the brook a mist of white

Ovarus mine, Plant thou the vine Within this kindly soil of Tibur;

(A BALLAD IN THE ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE) When to the dreary greenwood gloam Winfreda's husband strode that day,

Of all the opry-houses then obtaining in the West The one which Milton Tootle owned was, by all odds, the best; Milt, being rich, was much too proud to run the thing alone,

How trifling shall these gifts appear Among the splendid many That loving friends now send to cheer

Where wail the waters in their flaw A spectre wanders to and fro, And evermore that ghostly shore