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diff --git a/1847-h/1847-h.htm b/1847-h/1847-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a45229b --- /dev/null +++ b/1847-h/1847-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2995 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Songs, Merry and Sad, by John Charles Mcneill + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs, Merry and Sad, by John Charles McNeill + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Songs, Merry and Sad + +Author: John Charles McNeill + +Release Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #1847] +Last Updated: February 6, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS, MERRY AND SAD *** + + + + +Produced by Alan R. Light, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + SONGS, MERRY AND SAD + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by John Charles McNeill + </h2> + <h3> + [American (North Carolina) poet. 1874-1907.] + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + To<br /> <br /> JOSEPH P. CALDWELL<br /> ("The Old Man") + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>SONGS, MERRY AND SAD</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> The Bride </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> "Oh, Ask Me Not" </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Isabel </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> To ——— </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> To Melvin Gardner: Suicide </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> Away Down Home </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> For Jane's Birthday </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> A Secret </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> The Old Bad Woman </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> Valentine </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> A Photograph </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> Jesse Covington </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> An Idyl </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Home Songs </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> M. W. Ransom </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> Protest </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> Oblivion </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> Now! </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> Tommy Smith </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> Before Bedtime </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> "If I Could Glimpse Him" </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> Attraction </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> Love's Fashion </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> Alcestis </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> Reminiscence </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> Sonnet </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> Lines </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> An Easter Hymn </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A Christmas Hymn </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> When I Go Home </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> Odessa </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> Trifles </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> Sunburnt Boys </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> Gray Days </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> An Invalid </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> A Caged Mocking-Bird </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> Dawn </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> Harvest </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> Two Pictures </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> October </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> The Old Clock </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> Tear Stains </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> A Prayer </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> She Being Young </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> Paul Jones </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> The Drudge </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> The Wife </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> Vision </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> September </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> Barefooted </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> Pardon Time </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> The Rattlesnake </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> The Prisoner </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> Sonnet </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> Folk Song </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> "97": The Fast Mail </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> Sundown </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> At Sea </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> L'envoi </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + SONGS, MERRY AND SAD + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Bride + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The little white bride is left alone + With him, her lord; the guests have gone; + The festal hall is dim. + No jesting now, nor answering mirth. + The hush of sleep falls on the earth + And leaves her here with him. + + Why should there be, O little white bride, + When the world has left you by his side, + A tear to brim your eyes? + Some old love-face that comes again, + Some old love-moment sweet with pain + Of passionate memories? + + Does your heart yearn back with last regret + For the maiden meads of mignonette + And the fairy-haunted wood, + That you had not withheld from love, + A little while, the freedom of + Your happy maidenhood? + + Or is it but a nameless fear, + A wordless joy, that calls the tear + In dumb appeal to rise, + When, looking on him where he stands, + You yield up all into his hands, + Pleading into his eyes? + + For days that laugh or nights that weep + You two strike oars across the deep + With life's tide at the brim; + And all time's beauty, all love's grace + Beams, little bride, upon your face + Here, looking up at him. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "Oh, Ask Me Not" + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love, should I set my heart upon a crown, + Squander my years, and gain it, + What recompense of pleasure could I own? + For youth's red drops would stain it. + + Much have I thought on what our lives may mean, + And what their best endeavor, + Seeing we may not come again to glean, + But, losing, lose forever. + + Seeing how zealots, making choice of pain, + From home and country parted, + Have thought it life to leave their fellows slain, + Their women broken-hearted; + + How teasing truth a thousand faces claims, + As in a broken mirror, + And what a father died for in the flames + His own son scorns as error; + + How even they whose hearts were sweet with song + Must quaff oblivion's potion, + And, soon or late, their sails be lost along + The all-surrounding ocean: + + Oh, ask me not the haven of our ships, + Nor what flag floats above you! + I hold you close, I kiss your sweet, sweet lips, + And love you, love you, love you! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Isabel + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When first I stood before you, + Isabel, + I stood there to adore you, + In your spell; + For all that grace composes, + And all that beauty knows is + Your face above the roses, + Isabel. + + You knew the charm of flowers, + Isabel, + Which, like incarnate hours, + Rose and fell + At your bosom, glowed and gloried, + White and pale and pink and florid, + And you touched them with your forehead, + Isabel. + + Amid the jest and laughter, + Isabel, + I saw you, and thereafter, + Ill or well, + There was nothing else worth seeing, + Worth following or fleeing, + And no reason else for being, + Isabel. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + To ——— + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Some time, far hence, when Autumn sheds + Her frost upon your hair, + And you together sit at dusk, + May I come to you there? + And lightly will our hearts turn back + To this, then distant, day + When, while the world was clad in flowers, + You two were wed in May. + + When we shall sit about your board + Three old friends met again, + Joy will be with us, but not much + Of jest and laughter then; + For Autumn's large content and calm, + Like heaven's own smile, will bless + The harvest of your happy lives + With store of happiness. + + May you, who, flankt about with flowers, + Will plight your faith to-day, + Hold, evermore enthroned, the love + Which you have crowned in May; + And Time will sleep upon his scythe, + The swallow rest his wing, + Seeing that you at autumntide + Still clasp the hands of spring. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + To Melvin Gardner: Suicide + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A flight of doves, with wanton wings, + Flash white against the sky. + In the leafy copse an oriole sings, + And a robin sings hard by. + Sun and shadow are out on the hills; + The swallow has followed the daffodils; + In leaf and blade, life throbs and thrills + Through the wild, warm heart of May. + + To have seen the sun come back, to have seen + Children again at play, + To have heard the thrush where the woods are green + Welcome the new-born day, + To have felt the soft grass cool to the feet, + To have smelt earth's incense, heavenly sweet, + To have shared the laughter along the street, + And, then, to have died in May! + + A thousand roses will blossom red, + A thousand hearts be gay, + For the summer lingers just ahead + And June is on her way; + The bee must bestir him to fill his cells, + The moon and the stars will weave new spells + Of love and the music of marriage bells— + And, oh, to be dead in May! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Away Down Home + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'T will not be long before they hear + The bullbat on the hill, + And in the valley through the dusk + The pastoral whippoorwill. + A few more friendly suns will call + The bluets through the loam + And star the lanes with buttercups + Away down home. + + "Knee-deep!" from reedy places + Will sing the river frogs. + The terrapins will sun themselves + On all the jutting logs. + The angler's cautious oar will leave + A trail of drifting foam + Along the shady currents + Away down home. + + The mocking-bird will feel again + The glory of his wings, + And wanton through the balmy air + And sunshine while he sings, + With a new cadence in his call, + The glint-wing'd crow will roam + From field to newly-furrowed field + Away down home. + + When dogwood blossoms mingle + With the maple's modest red, + And sweet arbutus wakes at last + From out her winter's bed, + 'T would not seem strange at all to meet + A dryad or a gnome, + Or Pan or Psyche in the woods + Away down home. + + Then come with me, thou weary heart! + Forget thy brooding ills, + Since God has come to walk among + His valleys and his hills! + The mart will never miss thee, + Nor the scholar's dusty tome, + And the Mother waits to bless thee, + Away down home. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + For Jane's Birthday + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If fate had held a careless knife + And clipped one line that drew, + Of all the myriad lines of life, + From Eden up to you; + If, in the wars and wastes of time, + One sire had met the sword, + One mother died before her prime + Or wed some other lord; + + Or had some other age been blest, + Long past or yet to be, + And you had been the world's sweet guest + Before or after me: + I wonder how this rose would seem, + Or yonder hillside cot; + For, dear, I cannot even dream + A world where you are not! + + Thus heaven forfends that I shall drink + The gall that might have been, + If aught had broken a single link + Along the lists of men; + And heaven forgives me, whom it loves, + For feigning such distress: + My heart is happiest when it proves + Its depth of happiness. + + Enough to see you where you are, + Radiant with maiden mirth! + To bless whatever blessed star + Presided o'er your birth, + That, on this immemorial morn, + When heaven was bending low, + The gods were kind and you were born + Twenty sweet years ago! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Secret + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A little baby went to sleep + One night in his white bed, + And the moon came by to take a peep + At the little baby head. + + A wind, as wandering winds will do, + Brought to the baby there + Sweet smells from some quaint flower that grew + Out on some hill somewhere. + + And wind and flower and pale moonbeam + About the baby's bed + Stirred and woke the funniest dream + In the little sleepy head. + + He thought he was all sorts of things + From a lion to a cat; + Sometimes he thought he flew on wings, + Or fell and fell, so that + + When morning broke he was right glad + But much surprised to see + Himself a soft, pink little lad + Just like he used to be. + + I would not give this story fame + If there were room to doubt it, + But when he learned to talk, he came + And told me all about it. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Old Bad Woman + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Old Bad Woman was coming along, + Busily humming a sort of song. + + You could barely see, below her bonnet, + Her chin where her long nose rested on it. + + One tooth thrust out on her lower lip, + And she held one hand upon her hip. + + Then we went to thinking mighty fast, + For we knew our time had come at last. + + For what we had done and didn't do + The Old Bad Woman would put us through. + + If you cried enough to fill your hat, + She wouldn't care; she was used to that. + + Of the jam we had eaten, she would know; + How we ran barefooted in the snow; + + How we cried when they made us take our bath; + How we tied the grass across the path; + + How we bound together the cat and cur— + We couldn't deny these things to her. + + She pulled her nose up off her chin + And blinked at us with an awful grin. + + And we almost died, becaze and because + Her bony fingers looked like claws. + + When she came on up to where we were, + How could we be polite to her? + + You needn't guess how she put us through. + If you are bad, she'll visit you. + + And when she leaves and hobbles off + You'll think that she has done enough; + + For the Old Bad Woman will and can + Be just as bad as the Old Bad Man! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Valentine + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This is the time for birds to mate; + To-day the dove + Will mark the ancient amorous date + With moans of love; + The crow will change his call to prate + His hopes thereof. + + The starling will display the red + That lights his wings; + The wren will know the sweet things said + By him who swings + And ducks and dips his crested head + And sings and sings. + + They are obedient to their blood, + Nor ask a sign, + Save buoyant air and swelling bud, + At hands divine, + But choose, each in the barren wood, + His valentine. + + In caution's maze they never wait + Until they die; + They flock the season's open gate + Ere time steals by. + Love, shall we see and imitate, + You, love, and I? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Photograph + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When in this room I turn in pondering pace + And find thine eyes upon me where I stand, + Led on, as by Enemo's silken strand, + I come and gaze and gaze upon thy face. + + Framed round by silence, poised on pearl-white grace + Of curving throat, too sweet for beaded band, + It seems as if some wizard's magic wand + Had wrought thee for the love of all the race. + + Dear face, that will not turn about to see + The tulips, glorying in the casement sun, + Or, other days, the drizzled raindrops run + + Down the damp walls, but follow only me, + Would that Pygmalion's goddess might be won + To change this lifeless image into thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Jesse Covington + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If I have had some merry times + In roaming up and down the earth, + Have made some happy-hearted rhymes + And had my brimming share of mirth, + And if this song should live in fame + When my brief day is dead and gone, + Let it recall with mine the name + Of old man Jesse Covington. + + Let it recall his waggish heart— + Yeke-hey, yeke-hey, hey-diddle-diddle— + When, while the fire-logs fell apart, + He snatched the bow across his fiddle, + And looked on, with his eyes half shut, + Which meant his soul was wild with fun, + At our mad capers through the hut + Of old man Jesse Covington. + + For all the thrilling tales he told, + For all the tunes the fiddle knew, + For all the glorious nights of old + We boys and he have rollicked through, + For laughter all unknown to wealth + That roared responsive to a pun, + A hale, ripe age and ruddy health + To old man Jesse Covington! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + An Idyl + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Upon a gnarly, knotty limb + That fought the current's crest, + Where shocks of reeds peeped o'er the brim, + Wild wasps had glued their nest. + + And in a sprawling cypress' grot, + Sheltered and safe from flood, + Dirt-daubers each had chosen a spot + To shape his house of mud. + + In a warm crevice of the bark + A basking scorpion clung, + With bright blue tail and red-rimmed eyes + And yellow, twinkling tongue. + + A lunging trout flashed in the sun, + To do some petty slaughter, + And set the spiders all a-run + On little stilts of water. + + Toward noon upon the swamp there stole + A deep, cathedral hush, + Save where, from sun-splocht bough and bole, + Sweet thrush replied to thrush. + + An angler came to cast his fly + Beneath a baffling tree. + I smiled, when I had caught his eye, + And he smiled back at me. + + When stretched beside a shady elm + I watched the dozy heat, + Nature was moving in her realm, + For I could hear her feet. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Home Songs + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The little loves and sorrows are my song: + The leafy lanes and birthsteads of my sires, + Where memory broods by winter's evening fires + O'er oft-told joys, and ghosts of ancient wrong; + The little cares and carols that belong + To home-hearts, and old rustic lutes and lyres, + And spreading acres, where calm-eyed desires + Wake with the dawn, unfevered, fair, and strong. + + If words of mine might lull the bairn to sleep, + And tell the meaning in a mother's eyes; + Might counsel love, and teach their eyes to weep + Who, o'er their dead, question unanswering skies, + More worth than legions in the dust of strife, + Time, looking back at last, should count my life. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + M. W. Ransom + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (Died October 8, 1904) +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For him, who in a hundred battles stood + Scorning the cannon's mouth, + Grimy with flame and red with foeman's blood, + For thy sweet sake, O South; + + Who, wise as brave, yielded his conquered sword + At a vain war's surcease, + And spoke, thy champion still, the statesman's word + In the calm halls of peace; + + Who pressed the ruddy wine to thy faint lips, + Where thy torn body lay, + And saw afar time's white in-sailing ships + Bringing a happier day: + + Oh, mourn for him, dear land that gave him birth! + Bow low thy sorrowing head! + Let thy seared leaves fall silent on the earth + Whereunder he lies dead! + + In field and hall, in valor and in grace, + In wisdom's livery, + Gentle and brave, he moved with knightly pace, + A worthy son of thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Protest + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, I am weary, weary, weary + Of Pan and oaten quills + And little songs that, from the dictionary, + Learn lore of streams and hills, + Of studied laughter, mocking what is merry, + And calculated thrills! + + Are we grown old and past the time of singing? + Is ardor quenched in art + Till art is but a formal figure, bringing + A money-measured heart, + Procrustean cut, and, with old echoes, ringing + Its bells about the mart? + + The race moves on, and leaves no wildernesses + Where rugged voices cry; + It reads its prayer, and with set phrase it blesses + The souls of men who die, + And step by even step its rank progresses, + An army marshalled by. + + If it be better so, that Babel noises, + Losing all course and ken, + And grief that wails and gladness that rejoices + Should never wake again + To shock a world of modulated voices + And mediocre men, + + Then he is blest who wears the painted feather + And may not turn about + To dusks when muses romped the dewy heather + In unrestricted rout + And dawns when, if the stars had sung together, + The sons of God would shout! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Oblivion + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Green moss will creep + Along the shady graves where we shall sleep. + + Each year will bring + Another brood of birds to nest and sing. + + At dawn will go + New ploughmen to the fields we used to know. + + Night will call home + The hunter from the hills we loved to roam. + + She will not ask, + The milkmaid, singing softly at her task, + + Nor will she care + To know if I were brave or you were fair. + + No one will think + What chalice life had offered us to drink, + + When from our clay + The sun comes back to kiss the snow away. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Now! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Her brown hair knew no royal crest, + No gems nor jeweled charms, + No roses her bright cheek caressed, + No lilies kissed her arms. + In simple, modest womanhood + Clad, as was meet, in white, + The fairest flower of all, she stood + Amid the softest light. + + It had been worth a perilous quest + To see the court she drew,— + My rose, my gem, my royal crest, + My lily moist with dew; + Worth heaven, when, with farewells from each + The gay throng let us be, + To see her turn at last and reach + Her white hands out to me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Tommy Smith + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When summer's languor drugs my veins + And fills with sleep the droning times, + Like sluggish dreams among my brains, + There runs the drollest sort of rhymes, + Idle as clouds that stray through heaven + And vague as if they were a myth, + But in these rhymes is always given + A health for old Bluebritches Smith. + + Among my thoughts of what is good + In olden times and distant lands, + Is that do-nothing neighborhood + Where the old cider-hogshead stands + To welcome with its brimming gourd + The canny crowd of kin and kith + Who meet about the bibulous board + Of old Bluebritches Tommy Smith. + + In years to come, when stealthy change + Hath stolen the cider-press away + And the gnarled orchards of the grange + Have fallen before a slow decay, + Were I so cunning, I would carve + From some time-scorning monolith + A sculpture that should well preserve + The fame of old Bluebritches Smith. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Before Bedtime + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The cat sleeps in a chimney jam + With ashes in her fur, + An' Tige, from on the yuther side, + He keeps his eye on her. + + The jar o' curds is on the hearth, + An' I'm the one to turn it. + I'll crawl in bed an' go to sleep + When maw begins to churn it. + + Paw bends to read his almanax + An' study out the weather, + An' bud has got a gourd o' grease + To ile his harness leather. + + Sis looks an' looks into the fire, + Half-squintin' through her lashes, + An' I jis watch my tater where + It shoots smoke through the ashes. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "If I Could Glimpse Him" + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When in the Scorpion circles low + The sun with fainter, dreamier light, + And at a far-off hint of snow + The giddy swallows take to flight, + And droning insects sadly know + That cooler falls the autumn night; + + When airs breathe drowsily and sweet, + Charming the woods to colors gay, + And distant pastures send the bleat + Of hungry lambs at break of day, + Old Hermes' wings grow on my feet, + And, good-by, home! I'm called away! + + There on the hills should I behold, + Sitting upon an old gray stone + That humps its back up through the mold, + And piping in a monotone, + Pan, as he sat in days of old, + My joy would bid surprise begone! + + Dear Pan! 'Tis he that calls me out; + He, lying in some hazel copse, + Where lazily he turns about + And munches each nut as it drops, + Well pleased to see me swamped in doubt + At sound of his much-changing stops. + + If I could glimpse him by the vine + Where purple fox-grapes hang their store, + I'd tell him, in his leafy shrine, + How poets say he lives no more. + He'd laugh, and pluck a muscadine, + And fall to piping, as of yore! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Attraction + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He who wills life wills its condition sweet, + Having made love its mother, joy its quest, + That its perpetual sequence might not rest + On reason's dictum, cold and too discreet; + + For reason moves with cautious, careful feet, + Debating whether life or death were best, + And why pale pain, not ruddy mirth, is guest + In many a heart which life hath set to beat. + + But I will cast my fate with love, and trust + Her honeyed heart that guides the pollened bee + And sets the happy wing-seeds fluttering free; + + And I will bless the law which saith, Thou must! + And, wet with sea or shod with weary dust, + Will follow back and back and back to thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Love's Fashion + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, I can jest with Margaret + And laugh a gay good-night, + But when I take my Helen's hand + I dare not clasp it tight. + + I dare not hold her dear white hand + More than a quivering space, + And I should bless a breeze that blew + Her hair into my face. + + 'T is Margaret I call sweet names: + Helen is too, too dear + For me to stammer little words + Of love into her ear. + + So now, good-night, fair Margaret, + And kiss me e'er we part! + But one dumb touch of Helen's hand, + And, oh, my heart, my heart! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Alcestis + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not long the living weep above their dead, + And you will grieve, Admetus, but not long. + The winter's silence in these desolate halls + Will break with April's laughter on your lips; + The bees among the flowers, the birds that mate, + The widowed year, grown gaunt with memory + And yearning toward the summer's fruits, will come + With lotus comfort, feeding all your veins. + The vining brier will crawl across my grave, + And you will woo another in my stead. + Those tender, foolish names you called me by, + Your passionate kiss that clung unsatisfied, + The pressure of your hand, when dark night hushed + Life's busy stir, and left us two alone, + Will you remember? or, when dawn creeps in, + And you bend o'er another's pillowed head, + Seeing sleep's loosened hair about her face, + Until her low love-laughter welcomes you, + Will you, down-gazing at her waking eyes, + Forget? + So have I loved you, my Admetus, + I thank the cruel fates who clip my life + To lengthen yours, they tarry not for age + To dim my eye and blanch my cheek, but now + Take me, while my lips are sweet to you + And youth hides yet amid this hair of mine, + Brown in the shadow, golden in the light. + Bend down and kiss me, dying for your sake, + Not gratefully, but sadly, love's farewell; + And if the flowering year's oblivion + Lend a new passion to thy life, far down + In the dim Stygian shadows wandering, + I will not know, but still will cherish there, + Where no change comes, thy love upon my lips. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Reminiscence + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We sang old love-songs on the way + In sad and merry snatches, + Your fingers o'er the strings astray + Strumming the random catches. + + And ever, as the skiff plied on + Among the trailing willows, + Trekking the darker deeps to shun + The gleaming sandy shallows, + + It seemed that we had, ages gone, + In some far summer weather, + When this same faery moonlight shone, + Sung these same songs together. + + And every grassy cape we passed, + And every reedy island, + Even the bank'd cloud in the west + That loomed a sombre highland; + + And you, with dewmist on your hair, + Crowned with a wreath of lilies, + Laughing like Lalage the fair + And tender-eyed like Phyllis: + + I know not if 't were here at home, + By some old wizard's orders, + Or long ago in Crete or Rome + Or fair Provencal borders, + + But now, as when a faint flame breaks + From out its smouldering embers, + My heart stirs in its sleep, and wakes, + And yet but half-remembers + + That you and I some other time + Moved through this dream of glory, + Like lovers in an ancient rhyme, + A long-forgotten story. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Sonnet + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I would that love were subject unto law! + Upon his person I should lay distraint + And force him thus to answer my complaint, + Which I, in well-considered counts, should draw. + Not free to fly, he needs must seek some flaw + To mar my pleading, though his heart were faint; + Declare his counsel to me, and acquaint + Himself with maxim, precedent, and saw. + + Ah, I could win him with authorities, + If suing thus in such a sober court; + Could read him many an ancient rhym'd report + Of such sad cases, tears would fill his eyes + And he confess a judgment, or resort + To some well-pleasing terms of compromise! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Lines + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To you, dear mother heart, whose hair is gray + Above this page to-day, + Whose face, though lined with many a smile and care, + Grows year by year more fair, + + Be tenderest tribute set in perfect rhyme, + That haply passing time + May cull and keep it for strange lips to pay + When we have gone our way; + + And, to strange men, weary of field and street, + Should this, my song, seem sweet, + Yours be the joy, for all that made it so + You know, dear heart, you know. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + An Easter Hymn + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Sun has come again and fed + The lily's lamp with light, + And raised from dust a rose, rich red, + And a little star-flower, white; + He also guards the Pleiades + And holds his planets true: + But we—we know not which of these + The easier task to do. + + But, since from heaven he stoops to breathe + A flower to balmy air, + Surely our lives are not beneath + The kindness of his care; + And, as he guides the blade that gropes + Up from the barren sod, + So, from the ashes of our hopes, + Will beauty grow toward God. + + Whate'er thy name, O Soul of Life,— + We know but that thou art,— + Thou seest, through all our waste of strife, + One groping human heart, + Weary of words and broken sight, + But moved with deep accord + To worship where thy lilies light + The altar of its Lord. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Christmas Hymn + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Near where the shepherds watched by night + And heard the angels o'er them, + The wise men saw the starry light + Stand still at last before them. + No armored castle there to ward + His precious life from danger, + But, wrapped in common cloth, our Lord + Lay in a lowly manger. + No booming bells proclaimed his birth, + No armies marshalled by, + No iron thunders shook the earth, + No rockets clomb the sky; + The temples builded in his name + Were shapeless granite then, + And all the choirs that sang his fame + Were later breeds of men. + But, while the world about him slept, + Nor cared that he was born, + One gentle face above him kept + Its mother watch till morn; + And, if his baby eyes could tell + What grace and glory were, + No roar of gun, no boom of bell + Were worth the look of her. + Now praise to God that ere his grace + Was scorned and he reviled + He looked into his mother's face, + A little helpless child; + And praise to God that ere men strove + About his tomb in war + One loved him with a mother's love, + Nor knew a creed therefor. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + When I Go Home + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I go home, green, green will glow the grass, + Whereon the flight of sun and cloud will pass; + Long lines of wood-ducks through the deepening gloam + Will hold above the west, as wrought on brass, + And fragrant furrows will have delved the loam, + When I go home. + + When I go home, the dogwood stars will dash + The solemn woods above the bearded ash, + The yellow-jasmine, whence its vine hath clomb, + Will blaze the valleys with its golden flash, + And every orchard flaunt its polychrome, + When I go home. + + When I go home and stroll about the farm, + The thicket and the barnyard will be warm. + Jess will be there, and Nigger Bill, and Tom— + On whom time's chisel works no hint of harm— + And, oh, 'twill be a day to rest and roam, + When I go home! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Odessa + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A horror of great darkness over them, + No cloud of fire to guide and cover them, + Beasts for the shambles, tremulous with dread, + They crouch on alien soil among their dead. + + "Thy shield and thy exceeding great reward," + This was thine ancient covenant, O Lord, + Which, sealed with mirth, these many thousand years + Is black with blood and blotted out with tears. + + Have these not toiled through Egypt's burning sun, + And wept beside the streams of Babylon, + Led from thy wilderness of hill and glen + Into a wider wilderness of men? + + Life bore them ever less of gain than loss, + Before and since Golgotha's piteous Cross, + And surely, now, their sorrow hath sufficed + For all the hate that grew from love of Christ! + + Thou great God-heart, heed thou thy people's cry, + Bare-browed and empty-handed where they die, + Sea-sundered from wall-girt Jerusalem, + There being no sword that wills to succor them,— + + And Miriam's song, long hushed, will rise to thee, + And all thy people lift their eyes to thee, + When, for the darkness' horror over them, + Thou comest, a cloud of light to cover them. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Trifles + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What shall I bring you, sweet? + A posy prankt with every April hue: + The cloud-white daisy, violet sky-blue, + Shot with the primrose sunshine through and through? + + Or shall I bring you, sweet, + Some ancient rhyme of lovers sore beset, + Whose joy is dead, whose sadness lingers yet, + That you may read, and sigh, and soon forget? + + What shall I bring you, sweet? + Was ever trifle yet so held amiss + As not to fill love's waiting heart with bliss, + And merit dalliance at a long, long kiss? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Sunburnt Boys + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Down on the Lumbee river + Where the eddies ripple cool + Your boat, I know, glides stealthily + About some shady pool. + The summer's heats have lulled asleep + The fish-hawk's chattering noise, + And all the swamp lies hushed about + You sunburnt boys. + + You see the minnow's waves that rock + The cradled lily leaves. + From a far field some farmer's song, + Singing among his sheaves, + Comes mellow to you where you sit, + Each man with boatman's poise, + There, in the shimmering water lights, + You sunburnt boys. + + I know your haunts: each gnarly bole + That guards the waterside, + Each tuft of flags and rushes where + The river reptiles hide, + Each dimpling nook wherein the bass + His eager life employs + Until he dies—the captive of + You sunburnt boys. + + You will not—will you?—soon forget + When I was one of you, + Nor love me less that time has borne + My craft to currents new; + Nor shall I ever cease to share + Your hardships and your joys, + Robust, rough-spoken, gentle-hearted + Sunburnt boys! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Gray Days + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A soaking sedge, + A faded field, a leafless hill and hedge, + + Low clouds and rain, + And loneliness and languor worse than pain. + + Mottled with moss, + Each gravestone holds to heaven a patient Cross. + + Shrill streaks of light + Two sycamores' clean-limbed, funereal white, + + And low between, + The sombre cedar and the ivy green. + + Upon the stone + Of each in turn who called this land his own + + The gray rain beats + And wraps the wet world in its flying sheets, + + And at my eaves + A slow wind, ghostlike, comes and grieves and grieves. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + An Invalid + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I care not what his name for God may be, + Nor what his wisdom holds of heaven and hell, + The alphabet whereby he strives to spell + His lines of life, nor where he bends his knee, + Since, with his grave before him, he can see + White Peace above it, while the churchyard bell + Poised in its tower, poised now, to boom his knell, + Seems but the waiting tongue of liberty. + + For names and knowledge, idle breed of breath, + And cant and creed, the progeny of strife, + Thronging the safe, companioned streets of life, + Shrink trembling from the cold, clear eye of death, + And learn too late why dying lips can smile: + That goodness is the only creed worth while. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Caged Mocking-Bird + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I pass a cobbler's shop along the street + And pause a moment at the door-step, where, + In nature's medley, piping cool and sweet, + The songs that thrill the swamps when spring is near, + Fly o'er the fields at fullness of the year, + And twitter where the autumn hedges run, + Join all the months of music into one. + + I shut my eyes: the shy wood-thrush is there, + And all the leaves hang still to catch his spell; + Wrens cheep among the bushes; from somewhere + A bluebird's tweedle passes o'er the fell; + From rustling corn bob-white his name doth tell; + And when the oriole sets his full heart free + Barefooted boyhood comes again to me. + + The vision-bringer hangs upon a nail + Before a dusty window, looking dim + On marts where trade goes hot with box and bale; + The sad-eyed passers have no time for him. + His captor sits, with beaded face and grim, + Plying a listless awl, as in a dream + Of pastures winding by a shady stream. + + Gray bird, what spirit bides with thee unseen? + For now, when every songster finds his love + And makes his nest where woods are deep and green, + Free as the winds, thy song should mock the dove. + If I were thou, my grief in moans should move + At thinking—otherwhere, by others' art + Charmed and forgetful—of mine own sweetheart. + + But I, who weep when fortune seems unkind + To prison me within a space of walls, + When far-off grottoes hold my loves enshrined + And every love is cruel when it calls; + Who sulk for hills and fern-fledged waterfalls,— + I blush to offer sorrow unto thee, + Master of fate, scorner of destiny! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Dawn + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The hills again reach skyward with a smile. + Again, with waking life along its way, + The landscape marches westward mile on mile + And time throbs white into another day. + + Though eager life must wait on livelihood, + And all our hopes be tethered to the mart, + Lacking the eagle's wild, high freedom, would + That ours might be this day the eagle's heart! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Harvest + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Cows in the stall and sheep in the fold; + Clouds in the west, deep crimson and gold; + A heron's far flight to a roost somewhere; + The twitter of killdees keen in the air; + The noise of a wagon that jolts through the gloam + On the last load home. + + There are lights in the windows; a blue spire of smoke + Climbs from the grange grove of elm and oak. + The smell of the Earth, where the night pours to her + Its dewy libation, is sweeter than myrrh, + And an incense to Toil is the smell of the loam + On the last load home. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Two Pictures + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + One sits in soft light, where the hearth is warm, + A halo, like an angel's, on her hair. + She clasps a sleeping infant in her arm. + A holy presence hovers round her there, + And she, for all her mother-pains more fair, + Is happy, seeing that all sweet thoughts that stir + The hearts of men bear worship unto her. + + Another wanders where the cold wind blows, + Wet-haired, with eyes that sting one like a knife. + Homeless forever, at her bosom close + She holds the purchase of her love and life, + Of motherhood, unglorified as wife; + And bitterer than the world's relentless scorn + The knowing her child were happier never born. + + Whence are the halo and the fiery shame + That fashion thus a crown and curse of love? + Have roted words such power to bless and blame? + Ay, men have stained a raven from many a dove, + And all the grace and all the grief hereof + Are the two words which bore one's lips apart + And which the other hoarded in her heart. + + He who stooped down and wrote upon the sand, + The God-heart in him touched to tenderness, + Saw deep, saw what we cannot understand,— + We, who draw near the shrine of one to bless + The while we scourge another's sore distress, + And judge like gods between the ill and good, + The glory and the guilt of womanhood. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + October + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The thought of old, dear things is in thine eyes, + O, month of memories! + Musing on days thine heart hath sorrow of, + Old joy, dead hope, dear love, + + I see thee stand where all thy sisters meet + To cast down at thy feet + The garnered largess of the fruitful year, + And on thy cheek a tear. + + Thy glory flames in every blade and leaf + To blind the eyes of grief; + Thy vineyards and thine orchards bend with fruit + That sorrow may be mute; + + A hectic splendor lights thy days to sleep, + Ere the gray dusk may creep + Sober and sad along thy dusty ways, + Like a lone nun, who prays; + + High and faint-heard thy passing migrant calls; + Thy lazy lizard sprawls + On his gray stone, and many slow winds creep + About thy hedge, asleep; + + The sun swings farther toward his love, the south, + To kiss her glowing mouth; + And Death, who steals among thy purpling bowers, + Is deeply hid in flowers. + + Would that thy streams were Lethe, and might flow + Where lotus blossoms blow, + And all the sweets wherewith thy riches bless + Might hold no bitterness! + + Would, in thy beauty, we might all forget + Dead days and old regret, + And through thy realm might fare us forth to roam, + Having no thought for home! + + And yet I feel, beneath thy queen's attire, + Woven of blood and fire, + Beneath the golden glory of thy charm + Thy mother heart beats warm, + + And if, mayhap, a wandering child of thee, + Weary of land and sea, + Should turn him homeward from his dreamer's quest + To sob upon thy breast, + + Thine arm would fold him tenderly, to prove + How thine eyes brimmed with love, + And thy dear hand, with all a mother's care, + Would rest upon his hair. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Old Clock + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All day low clouds and slanting rain + Have swept the woods and dimmed the plain. + Wet winds have swayed the birch and oak, + And caught and swirled away the smoke, + But, all day long, the wooden clock + Went on, Nic-noc, nic-noc. + + When deep at night I wake with fear, + And shudder in the dark to hear + The roaring storm's unguided strength, + Peace steals into my heart at length, + When, calm amid the shout and shock, + I hear, Nic-noc, nic-noc. + + And all the winter long 't is I + Who bless its sheer monotony— + Its scorn of days, which cares no whit + For time, except to measure it: + The prosy, dozy, cosy clock, + Nic-noc, nic-noc, nic-noc! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Tear Stains + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tear-marks stain from page to page + This book my fathers left to me,— + So dull that nothing but its age + Were worth its freight across the sea. + + But tear stains! When, by whom, and why? + Thus takes my fancy to its wings; + For grief is old, and one may cry + About so many things! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Prayer + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If many years should dim my inward sight, + Till, stirred with no emotion, + I might stand gazing at the fall of night + Across the gloaming ocean; + + Till storm, and sun, and night, vast with her stars, + Would seem an oft-told story, + And the old sorrow of heroic wars + Be faded of its glory; + + Till, hearing, while June's roses blew their musk, + The noise of field and city, + The human struggle, sinking tired at dusk, + I felt no thrill of pity; + + Till dawn should come without her old desire, + And day brood o'er her stages,— + O let me die, too frail for nature's hire, + And rest a million ages. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + She Being Young + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The home of love is her blue eyes, + Wherein all joy, all beauty lies, + More sweet than hopes of paradise, + She being young. + + Speak of her with a miser's praise; + She craves no golden speech; her ways + Wind through charmed nights and magic days, + She being young. + + She is so far from pain and death, + So warm her cheek, so sweet her breath + Glad words are all the words she saith, + She being young. + + Seeing her face, it seems not far + To Troy's heroic field of war, + To Troy and all great things that are, + She being young. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Paul Jones + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A century of silent suns + Have set since he was laid on sleep, + And now they bear with booming guns + And streaming banners o'er the deep + A withered skin and clammy hair + Upon a frame of human bones: + Whose corse? We neither know nor care, + Content to name it John Paul Jones. + + His dust were as another's dust; + His bones—what boots it where they lie? + What matter where his sword is rust, + Or where, now dark, his eagle eye? + No foe need fear his arm again, + Nor love, nor praise can make him whole; + But o'er the farthest sons of men + Will brood the glory of his soul. + + Careless though cenotaph or tomb + Shall tower his country's monument, + Let banners float and cannon boom, + A million-throated shout be spent, + Until his widowed sea shall laugh + With sunlight in her mantling foam, + While, to his tomb or cenotaph, + We bid our hero welcome home. + + Twice exiled, let his ashes rest + At home, afar, or in the wave, + But keep his great heart with us, lest + Our nation's greatness find its grave; + And, while the vast deep listens by, + When armored wrong makes terms to right, + Keep on our lips his proud reply, + "Sir, I have but begun to fight!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Drudge + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Repose upon her soulless face, + Dig the grave and leave her; + But breathe a prayer that, in his grace, + He who so loved this toiling race + To endless rest receive her. + + Oh, can it be the gates ajar + Wait not her humble quest, + Whose life was but a patient war + Against the death that stalked from far + With neither haste nor rest; + + To whom were sun and moon and cloud, + The streamlet's pebbly coil, + The transient, May-bound, feathered crowd, + The storm's frank fury, thunder-browed, + But witness of her toil; + + Whose weary feet knew not the bliss + Of dance by jocund reed; + Who never dallied at a kiss! + If heaven refuses her, life is + A tragedy indeed! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Wife + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They locked him in a prison cell, + Murky and mean. + She kissed him there a wife's farewell + The bars between. + And when she turned to go, the crowd, + Thinking to see her shamed and bowed, + Saw her pass out as calm and proud + As any queen. + + She passed a kinsman on the street, + To whose sad eyes + She made reply with smile as sweet + As April skies. + To one who loved her once and knew + The sorrow of her life, she threw + A gay word, ere his tale was due + Of sympathies. + + She met a playmate, whose red rose + Had never a thorn, + Whom fortune guided when she chose + Her marriage morn, + And, smiling, looked her in the eye; + But, seeing the tears of sympathy, + Her smile died, and she passed on by + In quiet scorn. + + They could not know how, when by night + The city slept, + A sleepless woman, still and white, + The watches kept; + How her wife-loyal heart had borne + The keen pain of a flowerless thorn, + How hot the tears that smiles and scorn + Had held unwept. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Vision + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The wintry sun was pale + On hill and hedge; + The wind smote with its flail + The seeded sedge; + High up above the world, + New taught to fly, + The withered leaves were hurled + About the sky; + And there, through death and dearth, + It went and came,— + The Glory of the earth + That hath no name. + + I know not what it is; + I only know + It quivers in the bliss + Where roses blow, + That on the winter's breath + It broods in space, + And o'er the face of death + I see its face, + And start and stand between + Delight and dole, + As though mine eyes had seen + A living Soul. + + And I have followed it, + As thou hast done, + Where April shadows flit + Beneath the sun; + In dawn and dusk and star, + In joy and fear, + Have seen its glory far + And felt it near, + And dared recall his name + Who stood unshod + Before a fireless flame, + And called it God. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have not been among the woods, + Nor seen the milk-weeds burst their hoods, + + The downy thistle-seeds take wing, + Nor the squirrel at his garnering. + + And yet I know that, up to God, + The mute month holds her goldenrod, + + That clump and copse, o'errun with vines, + Twinkle with clustered muscadines, + + And in deserted churchyard places + Dwarf apples smile with sunburnt faces. + + I know how, ere her green is shed, + The dogwood pranks herself with red; + + How the pale dawn, chilled through and through, + Comes drenched and draggled with her dew; + + How all day long the sunlight seems + As if it lit a land of dreams, + + Till evening, with her mist and cloud, + Begins to weave her royal shroud. + + If yet, as in old Homer's land, + Gods walk with mortals, hand in hand, + + Somewhere to-day, in this sweet weather, + Thinkest thou not they walk together? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Barefooted + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The girls all like to see the bluets in the lane + And the saucy johnny-jump-ups in the meadow, + But, we boys, we want to see the dogwood blooms again, + Throwin' a sort of summer-lookin' shadow; + For the very first mild mornin' when the woods are white + (And we needn't even ask a soul about it) + We leave our shoes right where we pulled them off at night, + And, barefooted once again, we run and shout it: + You may take the country over— + When the bluebird turns a rover, + And the wind is soft and hazy, + And you feel a little lazy, + And the hunters quit the possums— + It's the time for dogwood blossoms. + + We feel so light we wish there were more fences here; + We'd like to jump and jump them, all together! + No sleds for us, no guns, nor even 'simmon beer, + No nothin' but the blossoms and fair weather! + The meadow is a little sticky right at first, + But a few short days 'll wipe away that trouble. + To feel so good and gay, I wouldn't mind the worst + That could be done by any field o' stubble. + O, all the trees are seemin' sappy! + O, all the folks are smilin' happy! + And there's joy in every little bit of room; + But the happiest of them all + At the Shanghai rooster's call + Are we barefoots when the dogwoods burst abloom! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Pardon Time + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Give over now; forbear. The moonlight steeps + In silver silence towered castle-keeps + And cottage crofts, where apples bend the bough. + Peace guards us round, and many a tired heart sleeps. + Let me brush back the shadow from your brow. + Give over now. + + On such a night, how sweet, how sweet is life, + Even to the insect piper with his fife! + And must your troubled face still bear the blight + Of strength that runs itself to waste in strife? + For love's own heart should throb through all the light + Of such a night. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Rattlesnake + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Coiled like a clod, his eyes the home of hate, + Where rich the harvest bows, he lies in wait, + Linking earth's death and music, mate with mate. + + Is 't lure, or warning? Those small bells may sing + Like Ariel sirens, poised on viewless wing, + To lead stark life where mailed death is king; + + Else nature's voice, in that cold, earthy thrill, + Bids good avoid the venomed fang of ill, + And life and death fight equal in her will. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Prisoner + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From pacing, pacing without hope or quest + He leaned against his window-bars to rest + And smelt the breeze that crept up from the west. + + It came with sundown noises from the moors, + Of milking time and loud-voiced rural chores, + Of lumbering wagons and of closing doors. + + He caught a whiff of furrowed upland sweet, + And certain scents stole up across the street + That told him fireflies winked among the wheat. + + Over the dusk hill woke a new moon's light, + Shadowed the woods and made the waters white, + And watched above the quiet tents of night. + + Alas, that the old Mother should not know + How ached his heart to be entreated so, + Who heard her calling and who could not go! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Sonnet + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To-day was but a dead day in my hands. + Hour by hour did nothing more than pass, + Mere idle winds above the faded grass. + And I, as though a captive held in bands, + Who, seeing a pageant, wonders much, but stands + Apart, saw the sun blaze his course with brass + And sink into his fabled sea of glass + With glory of farewell to many lands. + + Thou knowest, thou who talliest life by days, + That I have suffered more than pain of toil, + Ah, more than they whose wounds are soothed with oil, + And they who see new light on beaten ways! + The prisoner I, who grasps his iron bars + And stares out into depth on depth of stars! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Folk Song + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When merry milkmaids to their cattle call + At evenfall + And voices range + Loud through the gloam from grange to quiet grange, + + Wild waif-songs from long distant lands and loves, + Like migrant doves, + Wake and give wing + To passion dust-dumb lips were wont to sing. + + The new still holds the old moon in her arms; + The ancient charms + Of dew and dusk + Still lure her nomad odors from the musk, + + And, at each day's millennial eclipse, + On new men's lips, + Some old song starts, + Made of the music of millennial hearts, + + Whereto one listens as from long ago + And learns to know + That one day's tears + And love and life are as a thousand years', + + And that some simple shepherd, singing of + His pain and love, + May haply find + His heart-song speaks the heart of all his kind. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "97": The Fast Mail + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Where the rails converge to the station yard + She stands one moment, breathing hard, + + And then, with a snort and a clang of steel, + She settles her strength to the stubborn wheel, + + And out, through the tracks that lead astray, + Cautiously, slowly she picks her way, + + And gathers her muscle and guards her nerve, + When she swings her nose to the westward curve, + + And takes the grade, which slopes to the sky, + With a bound of speed and a conquering cry. + + The hazy horizon is all she sees, + Nor cares for the meadows, stirred with bees, + + Nor the long, straight stretches of silent land, + Nor the ploughman, that shades his eye with his hand, + + Nor the cots and hamlets that know no more + Than a shriek and a flash and a flying roar; + + But, bearing her tidings, she trembles and throbs, + And laughs in her throat, and quivers and sobs; + + And the fire in her heart is a red core of heat, + That drives like a passion through forest and street, + + Till she sees the ships in their harbor at rest, + And sniffs at the trail to the end of her quest. + + If I were the driver who handles her reins, + Up hill and down hill and over the plains, + + To watch the slow mountains give back in the west, + To know the new reaches that wait every crest, + + To hold, when she swerves, with a confident clutch, + And feel how she shivers and springs to the touch, + + With the snow on her back and the sun in her face, + And nothing but time as a quarry to chase, + + I should grip hard my teeth, and look where she led, + And brace myself stooping, and give her her head, + + And urge her, and soothe her, and serve all her need, + And exult in the thunder and thrill of her speed. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Sundown + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hills, wrapped in gray, standing along the west; + Clouds, dimly lighted, gathering slowly; + The star of peace at watch above the crest— + Oh, holy, holy, holy! + + We know, O Lord, so little what is best; + Wingless, we move so lowly; + But in thy calm all-knowledge let us rest— + Oh, holy, holy, holy! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + At Sea + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When the dim, tall sails of the ships were in motion, + Ghostly, and slow, and silent-shod, + We gazed where the dusk fled over the ocean, + A great gray hush, like the shadow of God. + + The sky dome cut with its compass in sunder + A circle of sea from the darkened land,— + A circle of tremulous waste and wonder, + O'er which one groped with a childish hand. + + The true stars came to their stations in heaven, + The false stars shivered deep down in the sea, + And the white crests went like monsters, driven + By winds that never would let them be, + + And there, where the elements mingled and muttered, + We stood, each man with a lone dumb heart, + Full of the vastness that never was uttered + By symbol of words or by echo of art. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + L'envoi + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God willed, who never needed speech, + "Let all things be:" + And, lo, the starry firmament + And land and sea + And his first thought of life that lives + In you and me. + + His circle of eternity + We see in part; + Our spirits are his breath, our hearts + Beat from his heart; + Hence we have played as little gods + And called it art. + + Lacking his power, we shared his dream + Of perfect things; + Between the tents of hope and sweet + Rememberings + Have sat in ashes, but our souls + Went forth on wings. + + Where life fell short of some desire + In you and me, + Feeling for beauty which our eyes + Could never see, + Behold, from out the void we willed + That it should be, + + And sometimes dreamed our lisping songs + Of humanhood + Might voice his silent harmony + Of waste and wood, + And he, beholding his and ours, + Might find it good. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + [End of original text.] + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_NOTE" id="link2H_NOTE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Notes: + </h2> + <p> + John Charles McNeill was born in Scotland County, near Laurinburg, North + Carolina, on 26 July 1874, and died on 17 October 1907 (when he was 33 + years old). He only produced this one volume before he died, though he + planned a second, which was published posthumously. "Songs, Merry and + Sad", first published in Charlotte in 1906, went through at least five + printings over more than 60 years. (This text is taken from the very first + edition.) + </p> + <p> + Both of McNeill's grandfathers came from Scotland. + </p> + <p> + McNeill attended Wake Forest College, where he received both his + Bachelor's and Master's degrees. In 1899-1900 he taught English at Mercer + University. + </p> + <p> + Some of his poems were published nationally as early as 1901. More of his + poems were published by `The Charlotte Observer' starting in 1903, and in + 1904 he joined its staff. + </p> + <p> + This etext was created by entering the text (manually) twice, once from + the first printing (1906) and once from the second printing (no date), and + comparing the two. There were some slight differences in the two + printings. + </p> + <p> + A portrait of John Charles McNeill faces the title page (p. 3) in the + second printing, but is absent in the first. + </p> + <p> + The first printing gives the publisher as Stone & Barringer Co. and + gives the date as 1906. The second printing gives the publisher as Stone + Publishing Co., and gives no date. Both were printed in Charlotte, N.C. + </p> + <p> + One error was corrected (the second printing also corrected this error): + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (p. 73) + [ A holy presence hovers round here there, ] + changed to: + [ A holy presence hovers round her there, ] +</pre> + <p> + The second printing also changed the title of the poem [ To Melvin + Gardner: Suicide ], on p. 19, to [ To Melvin Gardner: ]—in the text, + but not in the table of Contents. This may have been done in deference to + the family—attitudes on suicide were once quite different than now—but + as it has been quite some time, and the original title gives more meaning + to the poem, it has been retained. + </p> + <p> + The Title of the poem [ Now! ] did not have the exclamation point in the + table of Contents. It has been added to match the text. The Title of the + poem [ "97": The Fast Mail ] appeared as such in the text, but as ["97:" + The Fast Mail ] in the Contents. The latter was changed to match the text. + </p> + <p> + In the original, the book's title does not separate the Contents from the + first poem. It has been placed there as a sort of divider. + </p> + <p> + In two places ASCII fails to provide enough characters for a correct + rendering. They are the words Provencal (the c with a cedilla) and mailed + (the e with an acute accent, to indicate that the word is to be said with + two syllables). These occur in "Reminiscence" and "The Rattlesnake". + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Songs, Merry and Sad, by John Charles McNeill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS, MERRY AND SAD *** + +***** This file should be named 1847-h.htm or 1847-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/1847/ + +Produced by Alan R. Light, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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