James Whitcomb Riley

As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, And lazily leaning back in my chair, Enjoying myself in a general way -

Crowd about me, little children - Come and cluster 'round my knee While I tell a little story

Wunst, 'way West in Illinoise, Wuz two Bears an' their two boys: An' the two boys' names, you know,

When snow is here, and the trees look weird, And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost; When the breath congeals in the drover's beard,

"O I am weary!" she sighed, as her billowy Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold That rippled and fell o'er a figure as willowy,

Folks has be'n to town, and Sahry Fetched 'er home a pet canary, And of all the blame', contrary,

The Child-World - long and long since lost to view - A Fairy Paradise! - How always fair it was and fresh and new -

Pa he bringed me here to stay 'Til my Ma she's well. - An' nen He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day,

I come upon it suddenly, alone - A little pathway winding in the weeds That fringe the roadside; and with dreams my own,

I have sipped, with drooping lashes, Dreamy draughts of Verzenay; I have flourished brandy-smashes

Allus when our Pa he's away Nen Uncle Sidney comes to stay At our house here - so Ma an' me

All were quite gracious in their plaudits of Bud's Fairy; but another stir above That murmur was occasioned by a sweet

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air,

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air,

Piped to the Spirit of John Keats. I. Would that my lips might pour out in thy praise

Gracie wuz allus a careless tot; But Gracie dearly loved her doll, An' played wiv it on the winder-sill

I' got no patience with blues at all! And I ust to kindo talk Aginst 'em, and claim, 'tel along last Fall,

I dreamed I was a spider; A big, fat, hungry spider; A lusty, rusty spider

Mellow hazes, lowly trailing Over wood and meadow, veiling Somber skies, with wildfowl sailing

Lying listless in the mosses Underneath a tree that tosses Flakes of sunshine, and embosses

Us-folks is purty pore - but Ma She's waitin' - two years more - tel Pa He serve his term out. Our Pa he -

A fantasy that came to me As wild and wantonly designed As ever any dream might be

They's a kind o' feel in the air, to me. When the Chris'mas-times sets in. That's about as much of a mystery

The afternoon of summer folds Its warm arms round the marigolds, And with its gleaming fingers, pets

Seems like a feller'd ort 'o jes' to-day Git down and roll and waller, don't you know, In that-air stubble, and flop up and crow,

I caught but a glimpse of him.    Summer was here, And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat And walked in a wood, while the noon was near,

I caught but a glimpse of him. Summer was here. And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat. And walked in a wood, while the noon was near,

I A good man never dies - In worthy deed and prayer

Last Thanksgivin'-dinner we Et at Granny's house, an' she Had - ist like she alluz does -

Oh, the hobo's life is a roving life; It robs pretty maids of their heart's delight - It causes them to weep and it causes them to mourn

Bud, come here to your uncle a spell, And I'll tell you something you mustn't tell - For it's a secret and shore-'nuf true,

She will not smile; She will not stir; I marvel while

The past is like a story I have listened to in dreams That vanished in the glory

There! Little girl; don't cry! They have broken your doll, I know; And your tea-set blue,

Settin' round the stove, last night, Down at Wess's store, was me And Mart Strimples, Tunk, and White,

He leant against a lamp-post, lost In some mysterious reverie: His head was bowed; his arms were crossed;

It was a man of many parts, Who in his coffer mind Had stored the Classics and the Arts

Scene. - A kitchen. - Group of Children, popping corn. - The Fairy Queen of the Seasons discovered in the smoke of the corn-popper. - Waving her wand, and, with eerie, sharp, imperious ejaculations, addressing the bespelled auditors, who neither see nor hear her nor suspect her presence. QUEEN Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall, -

A monument for the Soldiers! And what will ye build it of? Can ye build it of marble, or brass, or bronze,

Mother, O mother! forever I cry for you, Sing the old song I may never forget; Even in slumber I murmur and sigh for you. -

In words like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold; But that large grief which these enfold

1 The Hired Man Talks There's old man Willards; an' his wife;

Even in such a scene of senseless play The children were surprised one summer-day By a strange man who called across the fence,

Sometimes I think 'at Parents does Things ist about as bad as us - Wite 'fore our vurry eyes, at that!

I woo'd a woman once, But she was sharper than an eastern wind. - TENNYSON.

While any day was notable and dear That gave the children Noey, history here Records his advent emphasized indeed

I caught, for a second, across the crowd - Just for a second, and barely that - A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed,

I want to sing something - but this is all - I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull As though they were damp, and the echoes fall

Now, Tudens, you sit on this knee - and 'scuse It having no side-saddle on; - and, Jeems, You sit on this - and don't you wobble so

Uncle he says 'at 'way down in the sea Ever'thing's ist like it used to be: - He says they's mermaids, an' mermens, too,

O here's a little rhyme for the Spring- or Summer-time - An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho! - Just a little bit o' tune you can twitter, May or June,

Our dog Fred Et the bread. Our dog Dash

Miss Medairy Dory-Ann Cast her line and caught a man, But when he looked so pleased, alack!

[Voice from behind high board-fence.] "Where's the crowd that dares to go Where I dare to lead? - you know!"

A wee little worm in a hickory-nut Sang, happy as he could be, - "O I live in the heart of the whole round world,

A daring prince, of the realm Rangg Dhune, Once went up in a big balloon That caught and stuck on the horns of the moon,

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear; There is ever a something sings alway: There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear,

O were I not a clod, intent On being just an earthly thing, I'd be that rare embodiment

A song of Long Ago: Sing it lightly - sing it low - Sing it softly - like the lisping of the lips we used to know

Sing! gangling lad, along the brink Of wild brook-ways of shoal and deep, Where killdees dip, and cattle drink,

Written In Madison Caweln's "Lyrics and Idyls." Herein are blown from out the South Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed mouth -

She sang a song of May for me, Wherein once more I heard The mirth of my glad infancy -

Barefooted boys scud up the street Or skurry under sheltering sheds; And schoolgirl faces, pale and sweet,

A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze, With labored respiration, moves the wheat From distant reaches, till the golden seas

AFTER LEE O. HARRIS The master-hand whose pencils trace This wondrous landscape of the morn,

Oh! tell me a tale of the airly days - Of the times as they ust to be; "Piller of Fi-er" and "Shakespeare's Plays"

"Now who shall say he loves me not." He wooed her first in an atmosphere Of tender and low-breathed sighs;

I am tired of this! Nothing else but loving! Nothing else but kiss and kiss,

I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek, An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat,

It is my dream to have you here with me, Out of the heated city's dust and din - Here where the colts have room to gambol in,

Low hidden in among the forest trees An artist's tilted easel, ankle-deep In tousled ferns and mosses, and in these

Not very many years ago the writer was for some months stationed at South Bend, a thriving little city of northern Indiana, its main population on the one side of the St. Joseph river, but quite a

Welladay! Here I lay You at rest - all worn away,

In its color, shade and shine, 'T was a summer warm as wine, With an effervescent flavoring of flowered bough and vine,

Dexery-tethery! down in the dike, Under the ooze and the slime, Nestles the wraith of a reticent Gryke,

It's the curiousest thing in creation, Whenever I hear that old song "Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered,

Abe Martin! - dad-burn his old picture! P'tends he's a Brown County fixture - A kind of a comical mixture

Ah, Almon Keefer! what a boy you were, With your back-tilted hat and careless hair, And open, honest, fresh, fair face and eyes

1900 Father all bountiful, in mercy bear With this our universal voice of prayer -

With a sweeter voice than birds Dare to twitter in their sleep, Pipe for me a tune of words,

I find an old deserted nest, Half-hidden in the underbrush: A withered leaf, in phantom jest,

When little Dickie Swope's a man, He's go' to be a Sailor; An' little Hamey Tincher, he's

When I wuz ist a little bit o' weenty-teenty kid I maked up a Fairy-tale,

Hey, Old Midsummer! are you here again, With all your harvest-store of olden joys, - Vast overhanging meadow-lands of rain,

William Williams his name was - or so he said; - Bill Williams they called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills. The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The

An old sweetheart of mine! - Is this her presence here with me, Or but a vain creation of a lover's memory? A fair, illusive vision that would vanish into air

As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,

"I have twankled the strings of the twinkering rain; I have burnished the meteor's mail; I have bridled the wind

How tired I am! I sink down all alone Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo, Even as a child I hide my face and moan -

Years did I vainly seek the good Lord's grace, Prayed, fasted, and did penance dire and dread; Did kneel, with bleeding knees and rainy face,

TO HOMER DAVENPORT Wess he says, and sort o' grins, "Art and Poetry is twins!

He faced his canvas (as a seer whose ken Pierces the crust of this existence through) And smiled beyond on that his genius knew

There's a space for good to bloom in Every heart of man or woman, - And however wild or human,

I've thought a power on men and things, As my uncle ust to say, - And ef folks don't work as they pray, i jings!

One time, when we'z at Aunty's house - 'Way in the country! - where They's ist but woods - an' pigs, an' cows -

Ah, Luxury! Beyond the heat And dust of town, with dangling feet, Astride the rock below the dam,

A dark, tempestuous night; the stars shut in With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot The firmament; and where the moon has been

At Noey's house - when they arrived with him - How snug seemed everything, and neat and trim: The little picket-fence, and little gate -

Far in the night, and yet no rest for him! The pillow next his own The wife's sweet face in slumber pressed - yet he awake - alone! alone! In vain he courted sleep; - one thought would ever in his heart arise, -

O we go down to sea in ships - But Hope remains behind, And Love, with laughter on his lips,

I. An afternoon as ripe with heat As might the golden pippin be

The little town, as I recall it, was of just enough dignity and dearth of the same to be an ordinary county seat in Indiana - "The Grand Old Hoosier State," as it was used to being howlingly referred to by the forensic stump orator from the old stand in the courthouse yard - a political campaign being the wildest delight that Zekesbury might ever hope to call its own. Through years the fitful happenings of the town and its vicinity went on the same - the same! Annually about one circus ventured in, and vanished, and was gone, even as a passing trumpet-blast; the usual rainy-season swelled the "Crick," the driftage choking at "the covered bridge," and backing water till the old road looked amphibious; and crowds of curious townsfolk straggled down to look upon the watery wonder, and lean awe-struck above it, and spit in it, and turn mutely home again. The usual formula of incidents peculiar to an uneventful town and its vicinity: The countryman from "Jessup's Crossing," with the cornstalk coffin-measure, loped into town, his steaming little gray-and-red-flecked "roadster" gurgitating, as it were, with that mysterious utterance that ever has commanded and ever must evoke the wonder and bewilderment of every boy. The small-pox rumor became prevalent betimes, and the subtle aroma of the assafoetida-bag permeated the graded schools "from turret to foundation-stone;" the still recurring expos' of the poor-house management; the farm-hand, with the scythe across his shoulder, struck dead by lightning; the long-drawn quarrel between the rival editors culminating in one of them assaulting the other with a "sidestick," and the other kicking the one down stairs and thenceward ad libitum; the tramp, suppositiously stealing a ride, found dead on the railroad; the grand jury returning a sensational indictment against a bar-tender non est; the Temperance outbreak; the "Revival;" the Church Festival; and the "Free Lectures on Phrenology, and Marvels of Mesmerism," at the town hall. It was during the time of the last-mentioned sensation, and directly through this scientific investigation, that I came upon two of the town's most remarkable characters. And however meager my outline of them may prove, my material for the sketch is most accurate in every detail, and no deviation from the cold facts of the case shall influence any line of my report.

A day of torpor in the sullen heat Of Summer's passion: In the sluggish stream The panting cattle lave their lazy feet,

As a harvester, at dusk, Faring down some woody trail Leading homeward through the musk

I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead. He is just away! With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand

Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger

Old friends allus is the best, Halest-like and heartiest: Knowed us first, and don't allow

Back from a two-years' sentence! And though it had been ten, You think, I were scarred no deeper

Be our fortunes as they may, Touched with loss or sorrow, Saddest eyes that weep to-day

O your hands - they are strangely fair! Fair - for the jewels that sparkle there, - Fair - for the witchery of the spell

1 Would that the winds might only blow As they blew in the golden long ago!

Why did we meet long years of yore? And why did we strike hands and say "We will be friends and nothing more";

O love is like an untamed steed! - So hot of heart and wild of speed, And with fierce freedom so in love,

Being his mother - when he goes away I would not hold him overlong, and so Sometimes my yielding sight of him grows O

The merriment that followed was subdued - As though the story-teller's attitude Were dual, in a sense, appealing quite

Ho! it's come, kids, come! "With a bim! bam! bum! Here's little Billy bangin' on his big bass drum!

A was an elegant Ape Who tied up his ears with red tape, And wore a long veil

You think it is a sorry thing That I am blind.    Your pitying Is welcome to me; yet indeed,

But yesterday!... O blooms of May, And summer roses - Where-away?

The harp has fallen from the master's hand; Mute is the music, voiceless are the strings, Save such faint discord as the wild wind flings

Some peoples thinks they ain't no Fairies now No more yet! - But they is, I bet! 'Cause ef They wuzn't Fairies, nen I' like to know

First the teacher called the roll, Clos't to the beginnin', "Addeliney Bowersox!"

By her white bed I muse a little space: She fell asleep - not very long ago, - And yet the grass was here and not the snow -

It's Chairley Burke's in town, b'ys!    He's down til "Jamesy's Place," Wid a bran'-new shave upon 'um, an' the fhwhuskers aff his face; He's quit the Section-Gang last night, and yez can chalk it down

A word of Godspeed and good cheer To all on earth, or far or near, Or friend or foe, or thine or mine -

When frost's all on our winder, an' the snow's All out-o'-doors, our "Old-Kriss"-milkman goes A-drivin' round, ist purt'-nigh froze to death,

When Bess gave her Dollies a Tea, said she, - "It's unpolite, when they's Company, To say you've drinked two cups, you see, -

My little story, Cousin Rufus said, Is not so much a story as a fact. It is about a certain willful boy -

The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon And wistfully gazed on the sea Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune

Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine? Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine, - But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,

Dan O'Sullivan: It's your Lips have kissed "The Blarney," sure! - To be trillin' praise av me,

Old friend of mine, whose chiming name Has been the burthen of a rhyme Within my heart since first I came

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night; And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne"

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night; And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne" -

I. Dawn, noon and dewfall!    Bluebird and robin Up and at it airly, and the orchard-blossoms bobbin'!

DIED - Early morning of September 5, 1876, and in the gleaming dawn of "name and fame," Hamilton J. Dunbar.

DAWN As though a gipsy maiden with dim look, Sat crooning by the roadside of the year,

How many of my selves are dead? The ghosts of many haunt me: Lo, The baby in the tiny bed

The touches of her hands are like the fall Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;

I hold your trembling hand to-night - and yet I may not know what wealth of bliss is mine, My heart is such a curious design

Little Boy! Halloo! - halloo! Can't you hear me calling you? - Little Boy that used to be,

With Hale Affection And Abiding Faith These Rhymes And Pictures Are Inscribed To The Children Everywhere He owns the bird-songs of the hills - The laughter of the April rills;

Of all the doctors I could cite you to in this-'ere town Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes' take him up and down! Count in the Bethel Neighberhood, and Rollins, and Big Bear,

Donn Piatt - of Mac-o-chee, - Not the one of History, Who, with flaming tongue and pen,

Ot's a leedle Christmas story Dot I told der leedle folks - Und I vant you stop dot laughin'

Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river! Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann - but lawzy! I fergive her! Drives me off the place, an' says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin',

"Best time to kill a hog's when he's fat." - Old Saw. Mostly folks is law-abidin' Down on Wriggle Crick,

I' be'n down to the Capital at Washington, D. C., Where Congerss meets and passes on the pensions ort to be Allowed to old one-legged chaps, like me, 'at sence the war

Because her eyes were far too deep And holy for a laugh to leap Across the brink where sorrow tried

"Wasn't it a funny dream! - perfectly bewild'rin'! - Last night, and night before, and night before that, Seemed like I saw the march o' regiments o' children,

Dreamer, say, will you dream for me A wild sweet dream of a foreign land, Whose border sips of a foaming sea

The frightened herds of clouds across the sky Trample the sunshine down, and chase the day Into the dusky forest-lands of gray

May 1, 1891. I. Elizabeth!    Elizabeth!

Awf'lest boy in this-here town Er anywheres is Elmer Brown! He'll mock you - yes, an' strangers, too,

Many pleasures of youth have been buoyantly sung - And, borne on the winds of delight, may they beat With their palpitant wings at the hearts of the Young,

Just as of old!    The world rolls on and on; The day dies into night - night into dawn - Dawn into dusk - through centuries untold. -

Lay away the story, - Though the theme is sweet, There's a lack of something yet,

I A little boy once played so loud That the Thunder, up in a thunder-cloud,

1 Once, in a dream, I saw a man, With haggard face and tangled hair,

I Once, in a dream, I saw a man With haggard face and tangled hair,

It's a mystery to see me - a man o' fifty-four, Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more - A-lookin' glad and smilin'!    And they's none o' you can say

A NEW VERSION BY LEE O. HARRIS AND JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY "You are old, Father William, and though one would think All the veins in your body were dry,

Our three cats is Maltese cats, An' they's two that's white, - An' bofe of 'em's deef - an' that's

All seemed delighted, though the elders more, Of course, than were the children. - Thus, before Much interchange of mirthful compliment,

Me an' Bert an' Minnie-Belle Knows a joke, an' we won't tell! No, we don't - 'cause we don't know

For you, I could forget the gay Delirium of merriment, And let my laughter die away

TO WILLIAM MORRIS PIERSON [1868-1870] Of the wealth of facts and fancies

Friend of a wayward hour, you came Like some good ghost, and went the same; And I within the haunted place

A troth, and a grief, and a blessing, Disguised them and came this way, And one was a promise, and one was a doubt,

For the sake of guilty conscience, and the heart that ticks the time Of the clockworks of my nature, I desire to say that I'm A weak and sinful creature, as regards my daily walk

Go, Winter!    Go thy ways!    We want again The twitter of the bluebird and the wren; Leaves ever greener growing, and the shine

Say good-by er howdy-do - What's the odds betwixt the two? Comin' - goin', ev'ry day -

"My grandfather Squeers," said The Raggedy Man, As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began - "The most indestructible man, for his years,

Granny's come to our house, And ho! My lawzy-daisy! All the childern round the place

Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wide forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him... And he returned and came again to his horse, and took off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture; and unlaced his helm, and ungirdled his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield before the cross.    - Age of Chivalary Grant What shall we say of the soldier. Grant,

Ho! green fields and running brooks! Knotted strings and fishing-hooks Of the truant, stealing down

Pap's got his patent-right, and rich is all creation; But where's the peace and comfort that we all had before? Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station -

Fold the little waxen hands Lightly.    Let your warmest tears Speak regrets, but never fears, -

I Has she forgotten? On this very May We were to meet here, with the birds and bees,

Just drifting on together - He and I - As through the balmy weather

I He called her in from me and shut the door. And she so loved the sunshine and the sky! -

There was a curious quiet for a space Directly following: and in the face Of one rapt listener pulsed the flush and glow

O her beautiful eyes! they are as blue as the dew On the violet's bloom when the morning is new, And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun

O your hands - they are strangely fair! Fair - for the jewels that sparkle there, - Fair - for the witchery of the spell

Ah, help me! but her face and brow Are lovelier than lilies are Beneath the light of moon and star

The beauty of her hair bewilders me - Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide Swirling about the ears on either side

Somebody's sent a funny little valentine to me. It's a bunch of baby-roses in a vase of filigree, And hovering above them - just as cute as he can be -

In some strange place Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face - Comes marveling upon it, unaware,

Herr Weiser! Three-score-years-and-ten, A hale white rose of his country-men, Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam,

When two little boys - renowned but for noise - Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy! - May hurt a whole school, and the head it employs,

Tomps 'ud allus haf to say Somepin' 'bout "his mother's way." - He lived hard-like - never jined

DEAD! my wayward boy - my own - Not the Law's! but mine - the good God's free gift to me alone,

"I'm home again, my dear old Room, I'm home again, and happy, too, As, peering through the brightening gloom,

Close the book and dim the light, I shall read no more to-night. No - I am not sleepy, dear -

When chirping crickets fainter cry, And pale stars blossom in the sky, And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom

How slight a thing may set one's fancy drifting Upon the dead sea of the Past! - A view - Sometimes an odor - or a rooster lifting

"How did you rest, last night?" - I've heard my gran'pap say Them words a thousand times - that's right -

I got to thinkin' of her - both her parents dead and gone - And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way,

Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John, Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time come on - And then, I want to say to you, we needed he'p about,

I can't extend to every friend In need a helping hand - No matter though I wish it so,

If I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow

We're The Twins from Aunt Marinn's, Igo and Ago. When Dad comes, the show begins! -

I crave, dear Lord, No boundless hoard Of gold and gear,

Illileo, the moonlight seemed lost across the vales - The stars but strewed the azure as an armor's scattered scales; The airs of night were quiet as the breath of silken sails,

Ha! My dear! I'm back again - Vendor of Bohemia's wares! Lordy! How it pants a man

Picnics is fun 'at's purty hard to beat. I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than eat. I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than go

You in the hammock; and I, near by, Was trying to read, and to swing you, too; And the green of the sward was so kind to the eye,

O in the depths of midnight What fancies haunt the brain! When even the sigh of the sleeper

I In the evening of our days, When the first far stars above

In the heart of June, love, You and I together, On from dawn till noon, love,

There is a princess in the South About whose beauty rumors hum Like honey-bees about the mouth

Our Land - our Home - the common home indeed Of soil-born children and adopted ones - The stately daughters and the stalwart sons

To the Elect of Love, - or side-by-side In raptest ecstasy, or sundered wide By seas that bear no message to or fro

Parunts knows lots more than us, But they don't know all things, - 'Cause we ketch 'em, lots o' times,

Iry an' Billy an' Jo! - Iry an' Billy's the boys, An' Jo's their dog, you know, -

"When it's got to be," - like! always say, As I notice the years whiz past, And know each day is a yesterday,

Bad Boy's Version. Tell you a story - an' it's a fac': - Wunst wuz a little boy, name wuz Jack,

(Grandfather, musing.) In childish days! O memory, You bring such curious things to me! -

His daily, nightly task is o'er - He leans above his desk no more. His pencil and his pen say not

Jap Miller down at Martinsville's the blamedest feller yit! When he starts in a-talkin' other folks is apt to quit! - 'Pears like that mouth o' his'n wuz n't made fer nuthin' else

He was jes a plain ever'-day, all-round kind of a jour., Consumpted-Iookin' - but la! The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tellin', song-singin', laughin'est, jolliest

"Write me a rhyme of the present time". And the poet took his pen And wrote such lines as the miser minds

We got up a Christmas-doin's Last Christmas Eve - Kindo' dimonstration

Writ in between the lines of his life-deed We trace the sacred service of a heart Answering the Divine command, in every part

John McKeen, in his rusty dress, His loosened collar, and swarthy throat, His face unshaven, and none the less,

John McKeen, in his rusty dress, His loosened collar, and swarthy throat; His face unshaven, and none the less,

A strange life - strangely passed! We may not read the soul When God has folded up the scroll

The world is turned ag'in' me, And people says, "They guess That nothin' else is in me

Had a hare-lip - Joney had: Spiled his looks, and Joney knowed it: Fellers tried to bore him, bad -

O her eyes are amber-fine - Dark and deep as wells of wine, While her smile is like the noon

O queenly month of indolent repose! I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom

Out at Woodruff Place - afar From the city's glare and jar, With the leafy trees, instead

Just to be good - This is enough - enough! O we who find sin's billows wild and rough,

On old Brandywine - about Where White's Lots is now laid out, And the old crick narries down

O heart of mine, we shouldn't Worry so! What we've missed of calm we couldn't

1 Tell you what I like the best - 'Long about knee-deep in June,

Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent - Give me content - Full-pleasured with what comes to me,

Last night - how deep the darkness was! And well I knew its depths, because I waded it from shore to shore,

Last night - how deep the darkness was! And well I knew its depths, because I waded it from shore to shore,

Ay, thou varlet! Laugh away! All the world's a holiday! Laugh away, and roar and shout

Leedle Dutch baby haff come ter town! Jabber und jump till der day gone down - Jabber und sphlutter und sphlit hees jaws -

Leonainie - Angels named her; And they took the light Of the laughing stars and framed her

Let us forget.    What matters it that we Once reigned o'er happy realms of long-ago, And talked of love, and let our voices low,

NEW CASTLE, JULY 4, 1878 For a hundred years the pulse of time Has throbbed for Liberty;

"Uncle Jake's Place," St. Jo, Mo., 1874 "I was born in Indiany," says a stranger, lank and slim, As us fellers in the restarunt was kindo' guyin' him,

The audience entire seemed pleased - indeed Extremely pleased. And little Maymie, freed From her task of instructing, ran to show

I would not trace the hackneyed phrase Of shallow words and empty praise, And prate of "peace" till one might think

When Dicky was sick In the night, and the clock, As he listened, said "Tick-

And there, in that ripe Summer-night, once more A wintry coolness through the open door And window seemed to touch each glowing face

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,

I'm twins, I guess, 'cause my Ma say I'm two little girls. An' one o' me Is Good little girl; an' th'other 'n' she

Such a dear little street it is, nestled away From the noise of the city and heat of the day, In cool shady coverts of whispering trees,

Jes' a little bit o' feller - I remember still, - Ust to almost cry far Christmas, like a youngster will. Fourth o' July's nothin' to it! - New-Year's ain't a smell:

The winds have talked with him confidingly; The trees have whispered to him; and the night Hath held him gently as a mother might,

The winds have talked with him confidingly; The trees have whispered to him; and the night Hath held him gently as a mother might,

The maple strews the embers of its leaves O'er the laggard swallows nestled 'neath the eaves; And the moody cricket falters in his cry - Baby-bye! -

AFTER READING HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY POOR victim of that vulture curse That hovers o'er the universe,

A lover said, "O Maiden, love me well, For I must go away: And should ANOTHER ever come to tell

They's nothin' in the name to strike A feller more'n common like! 'Taint liable to git no praise

W'y, one time wuz a little-weenty dirl, An' she wuz named Red Riding Hood, 'cause her - Her Ma she maked a little red cloak fer her

'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot, And quietly stole to the terrace alone, Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it,

The warm pulse of the nation has grown chill; The muffled heart of Freedom, like a knell, Throbs solemnly for one whose earthly will

THE DREAMER I He was a Dreamer of the Days:

They called him Mr. What's-his-name: From where he was, or why he came, Or when, or what he found to do,

John B. McKinney, Attorney and Counselor at Law, as his sign read, was, for many reasons, a fortunate man. For many other reasons he was not. He was chiefly fortunate in being, as certain opponents often strove to witheringly designate him, "the son of his father," since that sound old gentleman was the wealthiest farmer in that section, with but one son and heir to, in time, supplant him in the role of "county god," and haply perpetuate the prouder title of "the biggest tax-payer on the assessment list." And this fact, too, fortunate as it would seem, was doubtless the indirect occasion of a liberal percentage of all John's misfortunes. From his earliest school-days in the little town, up to his tardy graduation from a distant college, the influence of his father's wealth invited his procrastination, humored its results, encouraged the laxity of his ambition, "and even now," as John used, in bitter irony, to put it, "it is aiding and abetting me in the ostensible practice of my chosen profession, a listless, aimless undetermined man of forty, and a confirmed bachelor at that!" At the utterance of this self-depreciating statement, John generally jerked his legs down from the top of his desk; and, rising and kicking his chair back to the wall, he would stump around his littered office till the manilla carpet steamed with dust. Then he would wildly break away, seeking refuge either in the open street, or in his room at the old-time tavern, The Eagle House, "where," he would say, "I have lodged and boarded, I do solemnly asseverate, for a long, unbroken, middle-aged eternity of ten years, and can yet assert, in the words of the more fortunately-dying Webster, that 'I still live!'" Extravagantly satirical as he was at times, John had always an indefinable drollery about him that made him agreeable company to his friends, at least; and such an admiring friend he had constantly at hand in the person of Bert Haines. Both were Bohemians in natural tendency, and, though John was far in Bert's advance in point of age, he found the young man "just the kind of a fellow to have around;" while Bert, in turn, held his senior in profound esteem - looked up to him, in fact, and in even his eccentricities strove to pattern after him. And so it was, when summer days were dull and tedious, these two could muse and doze the hours away together; and when the nights were long, and dark, and deep, and beautiful, they could drift out in the noon-light of the stars, and with "the soft complaining flute" and "warbling lute," "lay the pipes," as John would say, for their enduring popularity with the girls! And it was immediately subsequent to one of these romantic excursions, when the belated pair, at two o'clock in the morning, had skulked up a side stairway of the old hotel, and gained John's room, with nothing more serious happening than Bert falling over a trunk and smashing his guitar, - just after such a night of romance and adventure it was that, in the seclusion of John's room, Bert had something of especial import to communicate. "Mack," he said, as that worthy anathematized a spiteful match, and then sucked his finger.

A corpulent man is my bachelor chum, With a neck apoplectic and thick - An abdomen on him as big as a drum,

O soul of mine, look out and see My bride, my bride that is to be! Reach out with mad, impatient hands,

What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'at makes me ketch my breath And ripples up my backbone tel I'm tickled most to death? - Kindo' like that sweet-sick feelin', in the long sweep of a swing,

My father's halls, so rich and rare, Are desolate and bleak and bare; My father's heart and halls are one,

"He is my friend," I said, - "Be patient!"    Overhead The skies were drear and dim;

He's jes' a great, big, awk'ard, hulkin' Feller, - humped, and sort o' sulkin' - Like, and ruther still-appearin' -

Ah, friend of mine, how goes it Since you've taken you a mate? - Your smile, though, plainly shows it

My Mary, O my Mary! The simmer-skies are blue; The dawnin' brings the dazzle,

You've a manner all so mellow, My old friend, That it cheers and warms a fellow,

"Mylo Jones's wife" was all I heerd, mighty near, last Fall - Visitun relations down

I am not prone to moralize In scientific doubt On certain facts that Nature tries

When Little Claude was naughty wunst At dinner-time, an' said He won't say "Thank you" to his Ma,

I hail thee, Nessmuk, for the lofty tone Yet simple grace that marks thy poetry! True forester thou art, and still to be,

There are many things that boys may know - Why this and that are thus and so, - Who made the world in the dark and lit

Another hero of those youthful years Returns, as Noey Bixler's name appears. And Noey - if in any special way -

"They ain't much 'tale' about it!" Noey said. - "K'tawby grapes wuz gittin' good-n-red I rickollect; and Tubb Kingry and me

Of the North I wove a dream, All bespangled with the gleam Of the glancing wings of swallows

We are not always glad when we smile: Though we wear a fair face and are gay, And the world we deceive

Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way! Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks objected to me -

Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine, In those old days of the lost sunshine Of youth - when the Saturday's chores were through,

Old Bob White's a funny bird! - Funniest you ever heard! - Hear him whistle, - "Old - Bob - White!"

"If I die first," my old chum paused to say, "Mind! not a whimper of regret: - instead, Laugh and be glad, as I shall. - Being dead,

They ain't no style about 'em, And they're sorto' pale and faded, Yit the doorway here, without 'em,

Old Indiany, 'course we know Is first, and best, and most, also, Of all the States' whole forty-four: -

Old John's jes' made o' the commonest stuff - Old John Henry - He's tough, I reckon, - but none too tough -

Old Man Whiskery-Whee-Kum-Wheeze Lives 'way up in the leaves o' trees. An' wunst I slipped up-stairs to play

I In the jolly winters Of the long-ago,

Old October's purt' nigh gone, And the frosts is comin' on Little heavier every day -

I have jest about decided It 'ud keep a town-boy hoppin' Fer to work all winter, choppin'

On the banks o' Deer Crick!    There's the place fer me! - Worter slidin' past ye jes as clair as it kin be: - See yer shadder in it, and the shadder o' the sky,

Hi and whoop-hooray, boys! Sing a song of cheer! Here's a holiday, boys,

Only a dream! Her head is bent Over the keys of the instrument,

A goddess, with a siren's grace, - A sun-haired girl on a craggy place Above a bay where fish-boats lay

Ho! I'm going back to where We were youngsters. - Meet me there, Dear old barefoot chum, and we

Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann; An' she can cook best things to eat! She ist puts dough in our pie-pan,

1 The kind of a man for you and me! He faces the world unflinchingly,

Her heart knew naught of sorrow, Nor the vaguest taint of sin - 'Twas an ever-blooming blossom

O it's good to ketch a relative 'at's richer and don't run When you holler out to hold up, and'll joke and have his fun; It's good to hear a man called bad and then find out he's not,

They walk here with us, hand-in-hand; We gossip, knee-by-knee; They tell us all that they have planned -

"He shall sleep unscathed of thieves Who loves Allah and believes." Thus heard one who shared the tent,

You think them "out of reach," your dead? Nay, by my own dead, I deny Your "out of reach." - Be comforted:

Out of the hitherwhere into the Yon - The land that the Lord's love rests upon; Where one may rely on the friends he meets,

"He shall sleep unscathed of thieves Who loves Allah and believes." Thus heard one who shared the tent,

"The voice of One hath spoken, And the bended reed is bruised - The golden bowl is broken,

This Pan is but an idle god, I guess, Since all the fair midsummer of my dreams He loiters listlessly by woody streams,

Young Philiper Flash was a promising lad, His intentions were good - but oh, how sad For a person to think

The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they Than when their cunning fashioner first blew The pith of music from them: Yet for you

I saw a man - and envied him beside - Because of this world's goods he had great store; But even as I envied him, he died,

What makes you come HERE fer, Mister, So much to our house? - SAY? Come to see our big sister! -

A quite convincing axiom Is, "Life is like a play"; For, turning back its pages some

Where are they - the Afterwhiles - Luring us the lengthening miles Of our lives? Where is the dawn

Reach your hand to me, my friend, With its heartiest caress - Sometime there will come an end

Sweet little myth of the nursery story - Earliest love of mine infantile breast, Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory

Sence I tuk holt o' Gibbses' Churn And be'n a-handlin' the concern, I've travelled round the grand old State

Right here at home, boys, in old Hoosierdom, Where strangers allus joke us when they come, And brag o' their old States and interprize -

What intuition named thee? - Through what thrill Of the awed soul came the command divine Into the mother-heart, foretelling thine

I' b'en a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, and I'm About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know

Say something to me!    I've waited so long - Waited and wondered in vain; Only a sentence would fall like a song

"Whatever the weather may be," says he-- "Whatever the weather may be It's plaze, if ye will, an' I'll say me say,--

Scotty's dead - Of course he is! Jes' that same old luck of his! - Ever sence we went cahoots

There's a habit I have nurtured, From the sentimental time When my life was like a story,

1 The air falls chill; The whippoorwill

I. The air falls chill; The whip-poor-will

Thousands of thousands of hushed years ago, Out on the edge of Chaos, all alone I stood on peaks of vapor, high upthrown

I thought the deacon liked me, yit I warn't adzackly shore of it - Fer, mind ye, time and time agin,

Thou drowsy god, whose blurred eyes, half awink Muse on me, drifting out upon thy dreams, I lave my soul as in enchanted streams

Orphaned, I cry to thee: Sweet sleep!    O kneel and be A mother unto me!

Wunst I looked our pepper-box lid An' cut little pie-dough biscuits, I did, And cooked 'em on our stove one day

[W.S.] With a hey! and a hi! and a hey-ho rhyme! O the shepherd lad

[W.M.] Most-like it was this kingly lad Spake out of the pure joy he had

[R.B.] Whilst little Paul, convalescing, was staying Close indoors, and his boisterous classmates paying

[W.W.] A little maid, of summers four - Did you compute her years, -

[R.H.] Little Julia, since that we May not as our elders be,

[A.T.] Wind of the Sea, come fill my sail - Lend me the breath of a freshening gale

Say farewell, and let me go; Shatter every vow! All the future can bestow

I heard the bells at midnight Ring in the dawning year; And above the clanging chorus

I hain't no hand at tellin' tales, Er spinnin' yarns, as the sailors say; Someway o' 'nother, language fails

A woman's figure, on a ground of night Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there

AN OLD SWEETHEART. As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,

Let us be thankful - not only because Since last our universal thanks were told We have grown greater in the world's applause,

"That little dog 'ud scratch at that door And go on a-whinin' two hours before He'd ever let up! There! - Jane: Let him in. -

You and I, and that night, with its perfume and glory! - The scent of the locusts - the light of the moon; And the violin weaving the waltzers a story,

Maud Muller worked at making hay, And cleared her forty cents a day. Her clothes were coarse, but her health was fine,

O Printerman of sallow face, And look of absent guile, Is it the 'copy' on your 'case'

Grand Haven is in Michigan, and in possession, too, Of as many rare attractions as our party ever knew: - The fine hotel, the landlord, and the lordly bill of fare,

I. Thou dread, uncanny thing, With fuzzy breast and leathern wing,

THAT ALEX "IST MAKED UP HIS-OWN-SE'F" W'y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out

The Beautiful City! Forever Its rapturous praises resound; We fain would behold it - but never

I quarrel not with Destiny, But make the best of everything - The best is good enough for me.

When Old Folks they wuz young like us An' little as you an' me, - Them wuz the best times ever wuz

Blossoms crimson, white, or blue, Purple, pink, and every hue, From sunny skies, to tintings drowned

Blossoms crimson, white, or blue, Purple, pink, and every hue, From sunny skies, to tintings drowned

Bound and bordered in leaf-green, Edged with trellised buds and flowers And glad Summer-gold, with clean

You who to the rounded prime Of a life of toil and stress, Still have kept the morning-time

The boy lives on our Farm, he's not Afeard o' horses none! An' he can make 'em lope, er trot,

I want to be a Soldier! - A Soldier! - A Soldier! -

Where are they? - the friends of my childhood enchanted - The clear, laughing eyes looking back in my own, And the warm, chubby fingers my palms have so wanted,

Las' time 'at Uncle Sidney come, He bringed a watermelon home - An' half the boys in town,

Little brook! Little brook! You have such a happy look - Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and

You better not fool with a Bumblebee! - Ef you don't think they can sting - you'll see! They're lazy to look at, an' kindo' go

I bear dis cross dis many a mile. O de cross-bearin' chile - De cross-bearin' chile!

A Child-World, yet a wondrous world no less, To those who knew its boundless happiness. A simple old frame house - eight rooms in all -

Oh, the Circus-Day parade! How the bugles played and played! And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes, and neighed, As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer's time

Some sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose, And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime throws In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays

All hope of rest withdrawn me? - What dread command hath put This awful curse upon me -

So lone I stood, the very trees seemed drawn In conference with themselves. - Intense - intense Seemed everything; - the summer splendor on

O the days gone by! O the days gone by! The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye; The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail

Long years ago, a funny man, Flushed with a strange delight, Sat down and wrote a funny thing

Time is so long when a man is dead! Some one sews; and the room is made Very clean; and the light is shed

O the drum! There is some Intonation in thy grum

Within the sitting-room, the company Had been increased in number. Two or three Young couples had been added: Emma King,

Who am I but the Frog - the Frog! My realm is the dark bayou, And my throne is the muddy and moss-grown log

'Twas a Funny Little Fellow Of the very purest type, For he had a heart as mellow

Nosing around in an old box - packed away, and lost to memory for years - an hour ago I found a musty package of gilt paper, or rather, a roll it was, with the green-tarnished gold of the old sheet for the

When we hear Uncle Sidney tell About the long-ago An' old, old friends he loved so well

I'm thist a little cripple boy, an' never goin' to grow An' get a great big man at all! - 'cause Aunty told me so. When I was thist a baby onc't, I falled out of the bed

The harp of the minstrel has never a tone As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, For the magical touch of his fingers alone

Like a drift of faded blossoms Caught in a slanting rain, His fingers glimpsed down the strings of his harp

Hereafter!    O we need not waste Our smiles or tears, whatever befall: No happiness but holds a taste

The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before, In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was

We must get home - for we have been away So long it seems forever and a day! And O so very homesick we have grown,

Owned a pair o' skates onc't. - Traded Fer 'em, - stropped 'em on and waded Up and down the crick, a-waitin'

The Hoosier Folk-Child - all unsung - Unlettered all of mind and tongue; Unmastered, unmolested - made

"The hoss he is a splendud beast; He is man's friend, as heaven desined, And, search the world from west to east,

No song is mine of Arab steed - My courser is of nobler blood, And cleaner limb and fleeter speed,

The Jaybird he's my favorite Of all the birds they is! I think he's quite a stylish sight

[Restored Romaunt.] It was a Jolly Miller lived on the River Dee; He looked upon his piller, and there he found a flea:

Sometimes I keep From going to sleep, To hear the katydids "cheep-cheep!"

They rode right out of the morning sun - A glimmering, glittering cavalcade Of knights and ladies and every one

"I deem that God is not disquieted" - This in a mighty poet's rhymes I read; And blazoned so forever doth abide

Here's his ragged "roundabout"; Turn the pockets inside out: See; his pen-knife, lost to use,

He seemed so strange to me, every way - In manner, and form, and size, From the boy I knew but yesterday, -

O The Little Lady's dainty As the picture in a book, And her hands are creamy-whiter

When I was a little boy, long ago, And spoke of the theater as the "show," The first one that I went to see,

The little old poem that nobody reads Blooms in a crowded space, Like a ground-vine blossom, so low in the weeds

" - And any little tiny kickshaws." - Shakespeare. O the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me, 'Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree,

You kin boast about yer cities, and their stiddy growth and size, And brag about yer County-seats, and business enterprise, And railroads, and factories, and all sich foolery -

"Hey, Bud! O Bud!" rang out a gleeful call, - "The Loehrs is come to your house!" And a small But very much elated little chap,

I put by the half-written poem, While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, Writes on, "Had I words to complete it,

Alone they walked - their fingers knit together, And swaying listlessly as might a swing Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather

The rhyme o' The Raggedy Man's 'at's best Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs, - 'Cause that-un's the strangest of all o' the rest,

I Who would be A merman gay,

It's many's the scenes which is dear to my mind As I think of my childhood so long left behind; The home of my birth, with it's old puncheon-floor,

They all climbed up on a high board-fence - Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes - Nine little Goblins that had no sense,

O big old tree, so tall an' fine, Where all us childern swings an' plays, Though neighbers says you're on the line

It's mighty good to git back to the old town, shore, Considerin' I've be'n away twenty year and more. Sence I moved then to Kansas, of course I see a change,

The old days - the far days - The overdear and fair! - The old days - the lost days -

Neglected now is the old guitar And moldering into decay; Fretted with many a rift and scar

The Old Hay-mow's the place to play Fer boys, when it's a rainy day! I good-'eal ruther be up there

This is "The old Home by the Mill" - far we still call it so, Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, and a few

Lo! steadfast and serene, In patient pause between The seen and the unseen,

Old man never had much to say - 'Ceptin' to Jim, - And Jim was the wildest boy he had -

The old sea captain has sailed the seas So long, that the waves at mirth, Or the waves gone wild, and the crests of these,

He puts the poem by, to say His eyes are not themselves to-day! A sudden glamour o'er his sight -

"Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below

Friends, my heart is half aweary Of its happiness to-night: Though your songs are gay and cheery,

A Old Tramp slep' in our stable wunst, An' The Raggedy Man he caught An' roust him up, an' chased him off

O the old trundle-bed where I slept when a boy! What canopied king might not covet the joy? The glory and peace of that slumber of mine,

I. As one in sorrow looks upon The dead face of a loyal friend,

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood That now but in mem'ry I sadly review; The old meeting-house at the edge of the wildwood,

Such was the Child-World of the long-ago - The little world these children used to know: - Johnty, the oldest, and the best, perhaps,

The orchard lands of Long Ago! O drowsy winds, awake, and blow The snowy blossoms back to me,

O touch me with your hands - For pity's sake! My brow throbs ever on with such an ache

The greeting of the company throughout Was like a jubilee, - the children's shout And fusillading hand-claps, with great guns

"When little 'Pollus Morton he's A-go' to speak a piece, w'y, nen The Teacher smiles an' says 'at she's

Noey Bixler ketched him, and fetched him in to me When he's ist a little teenty-weenty baby-coon 'Bout as big as little pups, an' tied him to a tree;

It was just a very Merry fairy dream! - All the woods were airy

Season of snows, and season of flowers, Seasons of loss and gain! - Since grief and joy must alike be ours,

Kindly and warm and tender, He nestled each childish palm So close in his own that his touch was a prayer

They faced each other: Topaz-brown And lambent burnt her eyes and shot Sharp flame at his of amethyst. -

I am looking for Love. Has he passed this way, With eyes as blue as the skies of May, And a face as fair as the summer dawn? -

The man that rooms next door to me: Two weeks ago, this very night, He took possession quietly,

O The Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa; An' he's the goodest man ever you saw! He comes to our house every day,

I. The rain! the rain! the rain! It gushed from the skies and streamed

The dawn of the day was dreary, And the lowering clouds o'erhead Wept in a silent sorrow

When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree - It's a long, sweet way across the orchard! - The bird sings low as the bumble-bee -

Knightly Rider of the Knee Of Proud-prancing Unclery! Gaily mount, and wave the sign

The ripest peach is highest on the tree - And so her love, beyond the reach of me, Is dearest in my sight. Sweet breezes bow

I so loved once, when Death came by I hid Away my face, And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid

A TRAGI-COMEDY, IN ONE ACT. PERSONS REPRESENTED. BILLY MILLER            )        The Rivals

It tossed its head at the wooing breeze; And the sun, like a bashful swain, Beamed on it through the waving frees

Wunst I sassed my Pa, an' he Won't stand that, an' punished me, - Nen when he was gone that day,

The same old story told again - The maiden droops her head, The ripening glow of her crimson cheek

The midnight is not more bewildering To her drowsed eyes, than to her ears, the sound Of dim, sweet singing voices, interwound

Wilful we are in our infirmity Of childish questioning and discontent. Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant -

Thou Poet, who, like any lark, Dost whet thy beak and trill From misty morn till murky dark,

The landscape, like the awed face of a child, Grew curiously blurred; a hush of death Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild

MAY 30, 1878, Dying for victory, cheer on cheer Thundered on his eager ear.

While with Ambition's hectic flame He wastes the midnight oil, And dreams, high-throned on heights of fame,

I But yesterday I looked away

O the South Wind and the Sun How each loved the other one - Full of fancy - full of folly -

O The South Wind and the Sun! How each loved the other one Full of fancy - full folly -

A king - estranged from his loving Queen By a foolish royal whim - Tired and sick of the dull routine

I know all about the Sphinx - I know even what she thinks, Staring with her stony eyes

Uncle Sidney, when he wuz here, Maked me a squirtgun out o' some Elder-bushes 'at growed out near

First she come to our house, Tommy run and hid; And Emily and Bob and me

The touches of her hands are like the fall Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;

The Town Karnteel! It's who'll reveal Its praises jushtifiable? For who can sing av anything

At Union Station 'Ll where in the world my eyes has bin - Ef I hain't missed that train ag'in!

I Could I pour out the nectar the gods only can, I would fill up my glass to the brim

O the night was dark and the night was late, And the robbers came to rob him; And they picked the locks of his palace-gate,

"'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad, "I've twittered fer rain all day; And I got up soon,

"'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad, "I've twittered far rain all day; And I got up soon,

One 's the pictur' of his Pa, And the other of her Ma - Jes the bossest pair o' babies 'at a mortal ever saw!

The stars are falling, and the sky Is like a field of faded flowers; The winds on weary wings go by;

The stars are failing, and the sky Is like a field of faded flowers; The winds on weary wings go by;

O the waiting in the watches of the night! In the darkness, desolation, and contrition and affright; The awful hush that holds us shut away from all delight:

Las' July - an', I persume 'Bout as hot As the ole Gran'-Jury room

I. In youth he wrought, with eyes ablur, Lorn-faced and long of hair -

They meet to say farewell: Their way Of saying this is hard to say. He holds her hand an Instant, wholly

They meet to say farewell: Their way Of saying this is hard to say. - He holds her hand an instant, wholly

Take a feller 'at's sick and laid up on the shelf, All shaky, and ga'nted, and pore - Jes all so knocked out he can't handle hisself

Pap he allus ust to say, "Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!" Liked to hear him that-a-way,

I've ben thinkin' back, of late, S'prisin'! - And I'm here to state I'm suspicious it's a sign

This man Jones was what you'd call A feller 'at had no sand at all; Kind o' consumpted, and undersize,

Tommy's alluz playin' jokes, An' actin' up, an' foolin' folks; An' wunst one time he creep

The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees; And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees, And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly,

Always suddenly they are gone - The friends we trusted and held secure - Suddenly we are gazing on,

Where do you go when you go to sleep, Little Boy! Little Boy! where? 'Way - 'way in where's Little Bo-Peep,

The ticking - ticking - ticking of the clock! That vexed me so last night! "For though Time keeps Such drowsy watch," I moaned, "he never sleeps,

Wait for the morning! Ah! We wait indeed For daylight, we who toss about through stress Of vacant-armed desires and emptiness

I. Time of crisp and tawny leaves, And of tarnished harvest sheaves,

"tired out!"    Yet face and brow Do not look aweary now, And the eyelids lie like two

The smiling face of a happy boy With its enchanted key Is now unlocking in memory

INSCRIBED IN "TALES OF THE OCEAN" This first book that I ever knew Was read aloud to me by you -

Get gone, thou most uncomfortable ghost! Thou really dost annoy me with thy thin Impalpable transparency of grin;

When the lids of dusk are falling O'er the dreamy eyes of day, And the whippoorwills are calling,

To hear her sing - to hear her sing - It is to hear the birds of Spring In dewy groves on blooming sprays

In fancy, always, at thy desk, thrown wide, Thy most betreasured books ranged neighborly - The rarest rhymes of every land and sea

Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me, Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity, You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart,

Sweet Singer that I loe the maist O' ony, sin' wi' eager haste I smacket bairn-lips ower the taste

Most tangible of all the gods that be, O Santa Claus - our own since Infancy! As first we scampered to thee - now, as then,

The deadnin' and the thicket's jes' a b'ilin' full o' June, From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yaller-hammer's tune; And the catbird in the bottom and the sap-suck on the snag,

A Voice From the Interior of Old Hoop-Pole Township Friend of my earliest youth, Can't you arrange to come down

AFTER HIS LONG SILENCE Dear old friend of us all in need Who know the worth of a friend indeed,

Tinkle on, O sweet guitar, Let the dancing fingers Loiter where the low notes are

The bookman he's a humming-bird - His feasts are honey-fine, - (With hi! hilloo!

Coming, clean from the Maryland-end Of this great National Road of ours, Through your vast West; with the time to spend,

A passel o' the boys last night - An' me amongst 'em - kindo got To talkin' Temper'nce left an' right,

Tom Van Arden, my old friend, Our warm fellowship is one Far too old to comprehend

Dimple-cheeked and rosy-lipped, With his cap-rim backward tipped, Still in fancy I can see

I'm one o' these cur'ous kind o' chaps You think you know when you don't, perhaps! I hain't no fool - ner I don't p'tend

I. Tugg Martin's tough. - No doubt o' that! And down there at

Ho! the old Snow-Man That Noey Bixler made! He looked as fierce and sassy

Marcellus, won't you tell us - Truly tell us, if you can, - What will you be, Marcellus,

Up and down old Brandywine, In the days 'at's past and gone - With a dad-burn hook-and line

Wait for the morning: - It will come, indeed, As surely as the night hath given need. The yearning eyes, at last, will strain their sight

Lawzy! don't I rickollect That-'air old swing in the lane! Right and proper, I expect,

"Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" Jeemses Rivers! won't some one ever shet that howl o' his? That-air yellin' drives me wild!

And you're the poet of this concern? I've seed your name in print A dozen times, but I'll be dern

We are not always glad when we smile: Though we wear a fair face and are gay, And the world we deceive

"Lord, I believe: help Thou mine unbelief." We must believe - Being from birth endowed with love and trust -

We must get home! How could we stray like this? - So far from home, we know not where it is, - Only in some fair, apple-blossomy place

"Rain and rain! and rain and rain!" Yesterday we muttered Grimly as the grim refrain

"Rain and rain! And rain and rain!" Yesterday we muttered Grimly as the grim refrain

It hain't no use to grumble and complane; It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. - When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,

'Tis said old Santa Claus one time Told this joke on himself in rhyme: One Christmas, in the early din

Wintertime, er Summertime, Of late years I notice I'm, Kindo'-like, more subjec' to

There wasn't two purtier farms in the state Than the couple of which I'm about to relate; - Jinin' each other - belongin' to Brown,

'I muse to-day, in a listless way, In the gleam of a summer land; I close my eyes as a lover may

When Age comes on! - "The deepening dusk is where the dawn Once glittered splendid, and the dew

If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped, And ne'er would nestle in your palm again; If the white feet into the grave had tripped"

What dat scratchin' at de kitchin do'? Done heah'n dat foh an hour er mo'! Tell you Mr. Niggah, das sho's yo' bo'n,

When country roads begin to thaw In mottled spots of damp and dust, And fences by the margin draw

When evening shadows fall, She hangs her cares away Like empty garments on the wall

When June is here - what art have we to sing The whiteness of the lilies midst the green Of noon-tranced lawns? Or flash of roses seen

When Lide married him - w'y, she had to jes dee-fy The whole poppilation! - But she never bat' an eye! Her parents begged, and threatened - she must give him up - that he

When Memory, with gentle hand, Has led me to that foreign land Of childhood days, I long to be

I When my dreams come true - when my dreams come true - Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew,

When Old Jack died, we stayed from school (they said, At home, we needn't go that day), and none Of us ate any breakfast - only one,

When she comes home again! A thousand ways I fashion, to myself, the tenderness Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble - yes;

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,

In Spring, when the green gits back in the trees, And the sun comes out and STAYS, And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,

A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street: The slow hearse and the hosses - slow enough, to say at least,

Wasn't it a good time, Long Time Ago - When we all were little tads

When we three meet? Ah! friend of mine Whose verses well and flow as wine, - My thirsting fancy thou dost fill

"Where shall we land you, sweet?" - Swinburne. All listlessly we float Out seaward in the boat

The old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, And filled it is with plenty and to spare, - But we are lonely here in life's decline,

The old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, And filled it is with plenty and to spare, But we are lonely here in life's decline,

O the Lands of Where-Away! Tell us - tell us - where are they? Through the darkness and the dawn

O it was but a dream I had While the musician played! - And here the sky, and here the glad

Who bides his time, and day by day Faces defeat full patiently, And lifts a mirthful roundelay,

Jes' a little bit o' feller - I remember still - Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will. Fourth o' July's nothin' to it! - New Year's ain't a smell!

I Winter without And warmth within;

Old wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin -

My dear old friends - It jes beats all, The way you write a letter So's ever' last line beats the first,

Her hair was, oh, so dense a blur Of darkness, midnight envied her; And stars grew dimmer in the skies