121 files changed, 11109 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/26505-8.txt b/26505-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f95d8a1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,3557 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems, by 
+George W. Doneghy
+
+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: The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems
+
+Author: George W. Doneghy
+
+Release Date: September 1, 2008 [EBook #26505]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HANGING FORK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+OLD HANGING FORK
+
+and
+
+OTHER POEMS.
+
+
+BY
+
+GEORGE W. DONEGHY.
+
+
+FRANKLIN, OHIO:
+The Editor Publishing Co.
+1897.
+
+
+
+
+Copyright, 1897,
+By
+George W. Doneghy.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                    PAGE
+THE OLD HANGING FORK,                  9
+
+SWEET SEPTEMBER DAYS,                 11
+
+YER OLD COB PIPE,                     13
+
+TIM BLUSTER'S DREAM,                  15
+
+APPLE BLOSSOMS,                       18
+
+CHICKAMAUGA,                          20
+
+GEN. JOHN B. GORDON,                  22
+
+UP AND DOWN OLD CLARK'S RUN,          23
+
+ROBERT BURNS (A Paraphrase)           25
+
+WISHING--FISHING,                     27
+
+POE,                                  28
+
+A BARREN "IDEALTY,"                   29
+
+A CHERISHED RELIC,                    31
+
+"RESTLAND,"                           33
+
+MY VALENTINE,                         35
+
+A SMOKE,                              36
+
+PERRYVILLE,                           37
+
+LONGINGS,                             39
+
+DOWN ABOUT OLD SHAKERTOWN,            40
+
+MEMORIA IN ÆTERNA,                    41
+
+A MOTHER'S GRAVE,                     43
+
+A FRECKLE-FACED BOY,                  44
+
+THE DAM BELOW THE MILL,               46
+
+THE SERENADE,                         47
+
+"IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"           49
+
+THE TOKEN,                            50
+
+TO SCENES I USED TO KNOW,             52
+
+BEREFT,                               54
+
+THE "BULL SPRING,"                    56
+
+FAMILIAR HAUNTS,                      58
+
+A FADED LETTER,                       60
+
+THE HERMIT,                           61
+
+THE "MEDICAL SPRING,"                 63
+
+AN "IDYL" OF THE BALL,                64
+
+DREAMS,                               65
+
+A TWIST OF "NATURAL LEAF,"            66
+
+GEORGE W. CHILDS,                     68
+
+THE OLD SPRING-HOUSE,                 69
+
+CAMPING ON THE CUMBERLAND,            71
+
+AN EASTER FLOWER,                     73
+
+THE STAGE COACH,                      74
+
+DICK'S RIVER,                         76
+
+TO A LITTLE BOY,                      78
+
+WHEN THE COAL HOUSE'S FULL,           79
+
+DECEMBER,                             81
+
+SOLACE,                               82
+
+FRANK L. STANTON,                     84
+
+THE OLD CHURCH BELL,                  85
+
+A SUMMER EVENING,                     87
+
+FATHER RYAN,                          88
+
+THE MEADOW PATH,                      89
+
+THE FOX HUNTERS,                      91
+
+THE CHARMING GIRL OF SOMERSET,        93
+
+IN JULY,                              94
+
+TO J. R. M.,                          95
+
+TWILIGHT,                             96
+
+OUT UV "POLITICKS,"                   98
+
+JONES' MARE,                         100
+
+THAT OLD STRAW HAT OF MINE,          103
+
+TOM BARBEE'S POND,                   105
+
+WHERE?                               107
+
+THE HILLS OF LINCOLN,                109
+
+LOVED AND LOST,                      111
+
+A TRUE STORY,                        112
+
+
+
+
+The
+
+Old Hanging Fork
+
+and
+
+Other Poems.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD HANGING FORK.
+
+
+I.
+
+O don't you remember those days so divine,
+Around which the heart-strings all tenderly twine,
+When with sapling pole and a painted cork
+We fished up and down the old Hanging Fork--
+From the railroad bridge, with its single span,
+Clear down to the mill at Dawson's old dam--
+From early morn till the shades of night,
+And it made no difference if fish _didn't_ bite?
+
+
+II.
+
+What pleasure it gives to think and to dream
+Of those long, happy days, and the old winding stream,
+When we waded the creek with our pants to the knee,
+And got our lines tangled in a sycamore tree,
+And were most scared to death when out from the root
+The long, wriggling snake through the water did shoot,
+And you lost your line, your hook and your cork,
+And I slipped and fell in the old Hanging Fork!
+
+
+III.
+
+The years they have come, and the years they have fled,
+And frosted with silver the hairs of the head,
+But still in fond memory there lingers the joy
+Of scenes such as these, when a bare-footed boy
+I wandered away to the clear rippling stream--
+No cankering care to trouble life's dream;--
+And we spit on our bait and in whispers we'd talk,
+As we threw out our lines in the old Hanging Fork!
+
+
+IV.
+
+We sat there and fished with the sun beaming down
+On the tops of our heads through hats minus crown,
+And when I got a bite or you caught a perch
+We'd just give our lines a thundering lurch,
+And land him high up on the bank in the weeds,
+Then string him along with the pumpkin seeds!
+O don't you remember the hot, dusky walk,
+Along the white pike to the old Hanging Fork?
+
+
+
+
+SWEET SEPTEMBER DAYS.
+
+
+I.
+
+There's a something in the atmosphere, in sweet September days,
+That mantles all the landscape with its languid, dreamy haze;
+And you see the leaves a-dropping, in a lazy kind of way,
+Where the maple trees are standing in their Summer-time array.
+
+
+II.
+
+There's a yellowish tinge a-creeping over Nature's emerald sheen,
+And the cattle stand, half-sleeping, in the middle of the stream
+Where the glassy pool is shaded by the overhanging limb,
+And the pebbly bottom's glinting where the silvery minnows swim.
+
+
+III.
+
+The tasseled corn is nodding, and the crow on drowsy wing
+Is sailing o'er the orchard where the ripening apples swing,
+And the fleecy clouds are floating in the azure of the sky,
+And the gentle breeze is sighing as it's idly wafted by.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The cantaloupes are ripening in their yellow golden rinds;
+And the melons, round and juicy, are a-clinging to the vines;
+And the merry, laughing children, in their happy hour of play,
+Are a-romping in the meadow and a-sliding down the hay.
+
+
+V.
+
+The busy bees are buzzing where the grapes with purple blush,
+And the hanging bunches tempting with their weight the arbor crush,
+And the blue jays are a-wrangling in the wood across the road,
+Where the hickory boughs are bending 'neath an extra heavy load.
+
+
+VI.
+
+Let your poets keep a-singing about the Springtime gay,
+And the blossoms and the flowers in the merry month of May--
+But the early Autumn splendor, with its sweet September days,
+Eclipses boasted Springtime in a thousand kind of ways!
+
+
+
+
+YER OLD COB PIPE.
+
+
+I.
+
+When the chilling winds of Winter come a-knocking at the door,
+And the fleecy flakes are flying and the earth is covered o'er,
+And you've supped on sweet potatoes and a 'possum frosted ripe,
+Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+II.
+
+When the fire is blazing brightly and the room is snug and warm,
+And you've left your cares and troubles on the outside with the storm,
+And your natural leaf is colored with a golden yellow stripe,
+Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+III.
+
+When the old split-bottom rocker is far better than a throne,
+And the visions of the fancy are the fairest earth has known,
+And you watch the mystic shapes that the dancing shadows write,
+Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+IV.
+
+When your dressing gown and slippers might be envied by a king,
+And the voices of the children sound as sweet as birds' that sing,
+And the feelings that possess you are all of heavenly type,
+Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+V.
+
+When the ringlets aromatic have circled round your head,
+And a drowsiness o'ertakes you, and you want to go to bed,
+And the bowlful that you're smoking has burned to ashes white,
+Then glory hallelujah! Quit yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+
+
+TIM BLUSTER'S DREAM.
+
+
+'Twas a place of fifty acres, in a lonely neighborhood,
+And near a grove of somber pines the shackly farm-house stood;
+And all the folks, for miles around, did solemnly declare
+That ghosts and goblins horrible held nightly revel there.
+
+They said the house was "hanted," and that not a man alive,
+In all the country round about, could own the place and thrive;
+That the cattle died with fever, and the hogs the cholera took--
+And every one that tried it wore a mighty troubled look.
+
+But they put it up at auction, and Tim Bluster bid the most,
+Who always said "There want no hants nor any kind of ghost
+That ever walked a graveyard in the middle of the night
+Could make _his_ nerves unsteady, or could fill _him_ with affright!"
+
+So Tim got full possession, and he moved out to his home,
+And the first night, as he sat there, within his room alone,
+The door was softly opened, and a cat came walking in,
+With eyes like balls of fire and a coat as black as sin.
+
+Then squatting on its haunches, it said, in tones polite,
+"There seems to be but two of us to stay in here to-night!"
+Tim muttered in a trembling voice, as for the door he run,
+"Perhaps _you_ think there will be two, but darn me, there's but one!"
+
+Tim staid away the blessed night, but when the daylight came,
+It brought him back his courage, and it filled him full of shame;
+And then he said, unto himself, "There wasn't any cat
+Could make him leave that room again--he'd bet his life on that!"
+
+So when the shades of evening fell, Tim double-barred the door,
+And took precautions that, perhaps, he hadn't night before,
+And felt quite sure that nothing now could gain admittance there,
+And peacefully he dozed and slept, a-sitting in his chair.
+
+Then, all at once, he roused himself, and opening wide his eyes,
+Beheld a figure standing there that made his hair arise
+Like quills upon a porcupine, and froze his heart with fear,
+And headless though it was, it spoke, and said in accents clear,
+
+"There seems to be but two of us to stay in here to-night!"
+Tim made a bound, and took with him the sash and every light,
+And then he jumped a nine-rail fence, and down the road he spun,
+And said, "Perhaps _he_ thinks there's two, but darn _me_, there's but
+  one!"
+
+'Twas seven miles before he stopped and sat down on a log
+To catch his breath and rest awhile from his nocturnal jog
+And then he turned his head around, and right before his face
+The figure stood, and said to him, "I think we've had a race!"
+
+Tim tried to speak, and not a word he found to utter then,
+But as he jumped from off his seat and broke away again,
+He spluttered out, "I _know_ we have, but think it's not quite done,
+For you can bet right now's the time we'll have another one!"
+
+Away Tim flew--he left the road, and through the woods and fields
+The pace he set was wonderful, the ghost right at his heels!
+And that old house is tenantless, and slowly rotting down,
+Since that dread night Tim had his dream, and moved right back to town!
+
+
+
+
+APPLE BLOSSOMS.
+
+
+I.
+
+There's the rose and the lily, the daisy and pink,
+And many rare flowers which others may think
+Are the fairest and best, the sweetest that blow,
+With delicious perfume, and colors that glow--
+But go to the orchard and sniff the delight
+Of the incense that's shed by the pink and the white,
+And let the soul float away in a swoon
+On the ambient air where the apple trees bloom!
+
+
+II.
+
+There's the cowslip, narcissus, and sweet mignonette,
+The asters, verbenas, the fuschias; and yet,
+As much as I love them in Summer array,
+It's the white and the pink I dream of to-day,
+And I walk 'neath the branches that just interlace
+And shower their blossoms right down in my face
+When the breeze that is laden with rarest perfume
+Is wafted along where the apple trees bloom!
+
+
+III.
+
+With glad voices the birds as they flit to and fro
+Are singing their songs where the pink and the snow
+Of the orchard, bedecked in its garments so rare,
+Is diffusing and sending its breath on the air;
+And the rays of the sun sift through on the grass,
+And the dew-drops that sparkle no jewels surpass!
+In Springtime at evening, at morning, at noon,
+How sweet is the scent of the apple trees' bloom!
+
+
+IV.
+
+And when Summer is gone, and Autumn has shed
+It's soft, dreamy haze through the trees overhead,
+On each spreading branch where blossoms now cling
+The red and the gold to the fruit it will bring,
+And stripe with a skill and give it that blush
+Only Nature can paint with her delicate brush!
+O when life ebbs away, then make me a tomb
+Right out in the orchard, where the apple trees bloom!
+
+
+
+
+CHICKAMAUGA.
+
+
+To Chattanooga's vale, where flows the winding Tennessee,
+And rugged Lookout sentinels heroic dust of sixty-three--
+Where Chickamauga's gory field re-echoed to the cannon's roar,
+And shot and shell through serried ranks a bloody pathway tore,
+And mountain slope and wood and field were lumined with the blaze
+Of musketry from Blue and Gray in those September days--
+They come again, the gallant few, survivors of the fray,
+Their breasts with hallowed memories filled, but passion passed away!
+
+The fleeting years have silvered o'er the locks of those who live,
+And turned to dust the sleeping ones who to their flag did give
+The last drop of the crimson tide from ghastly wounds poured out
+Amid the conflict's awful din and wild resounding shout;
+And yet it seems but yesterday, or like a passing dream,
+When marshaled on the mountain's side they saw the bayonets gleam,
+As for a moment from the vale the battle's smoke was lifted,
+And circling o'er the Blue and Gray in lurid clouds it drifted!
+
+And now upon the blood-soaked ground once more they stand,
+Where the unyielding "Rock of Chickamauga" held command,
+And strewed the field with heaps of the assaulting Gray
+Who dauntless rushed where lines of Blue refused to give the way;
+And bloody scenes crowd thick and fast upon the memory here
+To fill the heart with grief and dim the eye with misty tear;
+And spanning Time's chasm with the imagination's bridge,
+They hear the thunder of the guns from Missionary Ridge!
+
+And there the pyramid of balls is reared to tell
+And mark the hallowed spot where tuneful genius fell;
+The vagrant winds around it now seem sighing
+The requiem sad of "I am dying, Egypt, dying!"
+Prophetic words by gallant LYTLE penned--
+A laurel wreath with immortelles to blend!
+A halo hovers round about this gifted son,
+Whose deathless name with pen and sword was nobly won!
+
+They come to mark with tokens of their love and pride
+Each consecrated spot where bleeding heroes fell and died,
+And gaze with reverence on some gently swelling mound
+Which hides the dust of comrade in his sleep profound;
+To picture to the mind--with melancholy pleasure trace
+The unforgotten outlines of a dear, remembered face,
+Which passed from loved ones and from life away,
+A victim on the bloody field of fratricidal fray!
+
+
+
+
+GENERAL JOHN B. GORDON.
+
+_Facile Princeps._
+
+
+I.
+
+O gifted one of the Sunny South, with lips so eloquent,
+  In whose great heart no malice e'er was found!
+And now thou art a messenger of Peace, by heaven sent
+  On mission of fraternity, to heal the cankering wound!
+
+
+II.
+
+In that dread day when fratricidal strife
+  Convulsed with passion--crimsoned with its blood--
+No nobler son than thou who staked his life
+  With veterans Gray withstood the overwhelming flood!
+
+
+III.
+
+No sweeter tribute could be paid by mortal tongue--
+  No nobler sentiment the human heart could fill--
+In grander strains no poet's praises e'er were sung
+  Of private soldier--than thy words that burn and thrill!
+
+
+IV.
+
+No treasured wrong within thy noble soul
+  Has tainted with its slimy trail of hate--
+No broader love of country could embrace the whole,
+  Or bow more gracefully to iron hand of fate!
+
+
+V.
+
+Speak on! And scatter broadcast healing seed
+  That shall a harvest of good feeling yield--
+And Peace, no less than War, shall lend her meed
+  And crown anew this hero of the bloody field!
+
+
+
+
+UP AND DOWN OLD CLARK'S RUN.
+
+
+Bright visions of childhood! How dear to the heart
+Are the scenes which from memory can never depart!
+Undimmed by the sorrows, the grief and the tears
+Which have shadowed the pathway of life's later years,
+They come like the rainbow which follows the storm--
+On remembrance reflected with colors as warm--
+And in dreams of delight they picture the fun
+That we had long ago when we fished in Clark's Run!
+
+With a can full of worms and a heart full of joy,
+Up and down the old stream, a bare-footed boy,
+A truant from school, my footsteps would stray
+To the deep-shaded pool, or where ripples at play,
+As they flowed over beds of smooth-polished stones,
+Sang a lullaby sweet in soft undertones!
+From the dawn of the day to the set of the sun
+What pleasures we've had when we fished in Clark's Run!
+
+Equipped with a pole, a hook and a line,
+And stowed in some pocket a long piece of twine
+On which you could string, if you seined for a week,
+Every fish that was found up and down the old creek--
+With one "gallus" to pants that were rolled to the knee,
+And holes in our hats through which you could see
+Where the sunbeams had turned the light hair to dun--
+We hied us away to the banks of Clark's Run!
+
+There we baited the hook and threw out the line,
+And watched the cork disappear with a rapture divine!
+And felt just as proud as a prince or a king
+When we landed high up, with a jerk and a swing,
+A fish that would measure two inches or more,
+Then anchored him fast with the string to the shore!
+But unnumbered now are the silver strands spun
+With the hair of the head since we fished in Clark's Run!
+
+O who can there be with a heart in his breast
+Would forget the dear scenes which so lovingly rest
+In the bosom when life has grown old and cold,
+And feel no delight when such pictures unfold,
+And would blot out forever from memory's page
+The records of childhood which solace old age?
+'Till time ends for me and with life I have done,
+I'll dream of the days when we fished in Clark's Run!
+
+
+
+
+ROBERT BURNS.
+
+(A PARAPHRASE.)
+
+
+I.
+
+Thou lingering Star! No less'ning ray
+  Will e'er bedim thy natal morn,
+Or usher in the unhallowed day
+  When we forget that thou wert born!
+O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
+  Where is thy place of blissful rest?
+See'st thou again a Highland maid,
+  Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?
+
+
+II.
+
+That sacred day can we forget,
+  Can we forget the hallowed spot
+Where by the winding Ayr was set
+  The sparkling jewel in lowly cot?
+Eternity will not efface
+  The record dear of time that's past;
+Thy memory sweet we still embrace,
+  And will as long as life shall last!
+
+
+III.
+
+Ayr, congealèd to its pebbled shore,
+  O'erhung with wild woods, shorn of green;
+The leafless birch and hawthorn hoar
+  Were planted round the wintry scene;
+No flowers sprang wanton to be pressed--
+  No birds sang love on every spray--
+But brightest yet o'er all the rest
+  Will ever shine thy natal day!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Still o'er thy songs our rapture wakes,
+  And memory broods with miser care!
+Time but their music sweeter makes,
+  As streams their channels deeper wear.
+O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
+  Where is thy place of blissful rest?
+See'st thou again a Highland maid,
+  Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?
+
+
+
+
+WISHING--FISHING.
+
+
+I.
+
+Full well I know that wishing never yet has brought
+  The things that seem to us would satisfy the heart,
+And that anticipated pleasure, when at last 'tis caught,
+  Has naught but transitory solace to impart;
+And yet, somehow, I've ever felt and thought
+  A joy there is that never can depart--
+(As long as we are capable of feeling--wishing)--
+  And that's to leave dull care behind, and--go a-fishing!
+
+
+II.
+
+Some dream of wealth--of place--of fame--
+  And fleeting shadows vainly they pursue;
+And some have sighed to win a deathless name
+  Where fields of carnage corpses thickly strew,
+And shrieks of agony are heard 'mid smoke and flame;
+  But these are dizzy heights attained by few;
+So, when Dame Fortune is her favors dishing,
+  I hope that I'll get mine in ample time to--go a-fishing!
+
+
+III.
+
+Oh, was there ever any sweeter dream,
+  Or music with a tone that's more entrancing,
+Than just to wander where some mountain stream
+  Is o'er the rocks and polished pebbles dancing?
+And nothing short of heaven itself, I ween,
+  Is like the moment when, his scales all glancing,
+You see the happy consummation of your wishing,
+  And catch the very fish for which you have been fishing!
+
+
+
+
+POE.
+
+
+I.
+
+Oh, melancholy child of want and woe!
+  A brilliant meteor in an ebon sky!
+Thy soul's weird music all did flow
+  From heart-strings touched by destiny!
+
+
+II.
+
+The Raven, perched above thy chamber door,
+  Responsive croaked with a prophetic word--
+For in the realm of song may "Nevermore"
+  Such strains as thine by mortal ear be heard!
+
+
+III.
+
+Where now doth that proud spirit dwell,
+  Whose earthly days were clouded o'er with gloom?
+In regions with the sweet-voiced "Israfel,"
+  Where never-fading flowerets bloom?
+
+
+IV.
+
+Dost rest within some "distant Aidenn,
+  Beyond the Night's Plutonian shore?
+And clasp again a sainted maiden
+  Whom the angels name Lenore?"
+
+
+V.
+
+Yes, "echo through the corridors of Time"
+  Will have a tone that ages yet will know,
+And blend with all that's beautiful--sublime--
+  The deathless name of Edgar Allan Poe!
+
+
+
+
+A BARREN "IDEALTY."
+
+
+  This song that I sing--
+  It is not of a spring,
+Nor yet of a silvery stream--
+  But of a vision bright
+  Which came last night
+In the garb of a blissful dream--
+  When I thought, as I lay,
+  It was Thanksgiving Day,
+And I was invited to dine
+  Where a table stood
+  On which everything good
+Spread a feast that was almost divine!
+
+  Where the savors arose,
+  Right under my nose,
+From turkey--and pumpkin pies;
+  And from jolly roast pig
+  Were slices as big
+As some of the campaign lies!
+  And celery so white
+  'Twas a thing of delight
+To bite the crisp stalks in two.
+  And the cranberry sauce--
+  Oh, I tell you 'twas boss--
+And flanked by an oyster stew!
+
+  Where the bread and the cake--
+  The best they can bake--
+Were cut into slices heroic.
+  And the amber ice cream
+  Melted into my dream
+Like love to the heart of a 'poet';
+  And they heaped up my plate,
+  And I sat there and ate
+Till I awoke with a yell,
+  And a shiver and shake
+  And a pain and an ache
+That rudely my dream did dispel!
+
+  But dreams, as you know,
+  By contraries go,
+And thus I fear if it will be
+  With the one of delight
+  That came last night
+When I feasted so heartily;
+  And Thanksgiving Day
+  In the usual way
+Will come to me, don't you see,
+  And the dinner I had
+  And the ache that was bad
+Prove a----barren "idealty"!
+
+
+
+
+A CHERISHED RELIC.
+
+
+In the attic, unused, there they put it away;
+The old oaken frame has begun to decay;
+What iron's about it is eaten with rust,
+And upon and around it are cobwebs and dust;
+The dear, loving hands that on it have spun,
+With labor and toil forever are done,
+And long is the time since I saw them unreel
+The threads, snowy white, from the old spinning-wheel!
+
+It stood on a porch where the Summer sunshine
+Sifted down to the floor through a clambering vine,
+Whose tendrils about the lattice-work clung
+Like my heart-strings round her, and the song that she sung;
+And the pictures of fancy I con o'er and o'er,
+Till, raptured, I see the dear features once more,
+And thrill with the touch when her lips set the seal
+Of her love, as she spun on the old spinning-wheel!
+
+Then through the shadows and mists of many long years
+The old cottage home to the vision appears;
+And though youth it has fled, and the hair it is gray,
+I'm a bare-footed boy returned to his play--
+Forgetting the present to dream once again
+That life had no anguish, no sorrow, no pain;
+And sweetly the bells of the memory peal
+When communing up there with the old spinning-wheel!
+
+And back from the past, with its grief and its joy,
+Come the tones of a voice I heard when a boy,
+And I see once again, as it moved to and fro,
+A form that now rests where the wild roses blow,
+And the sentinel stars their love vigils keep
+Above the dear one in her long, dreamless sleep;
+But memories sweet to a heart that can feel
+Still cluster around the old spinning-wheel.
+
+Some spokes from the rim are broken and gone,
+And it stands there forsaken, neglected, alone;
+It knows naught of language, but a story can tell
+With a charm that for me time cannot dispel;
+And often I climb the old attic stair
+The love of my childhood with it to share,
+And emotions possess me I cannot conceal
+When fondly I gaze on the old spinning-wheel!
+
+The distaff is worn and smooth with the touch
+Of the now folded hands that used it so much;
+And lingering there I clearly can trace
+The sweet smile of love from a well-cherished face,
+Which sheds round about it a halo divine
+When thus I am kneeling at memory's shrine,
+And hallows the thoughts which on the mind steal,
+When up there alone with the old spinning-wheel!
+
+'Tis then that I see her in saintly guise,
+Through the fast-welling tears that come to my eyes--
+A vision arrayed in raiment white
+That beckons to me from the regions of light,
+And illumines the way that my footsteps may tread
+Unerringly where her love for me led--
+Along the straight path that she tried to reveal
+As she taught me, and spun on the old spinning-wheel!
+
+Yes, the finger of Time has furrowed the brow,
+And silvered the hair, yet I dream of her now
+As when, long ago, I heard as a child
+The words of her love that my sorrows beguiled;
+And this relic she used but brings back anew
+The morning of life, that was fresh with the dew
+Distilled from the heart, as she taught me to kneel
+Right down by her side, and the old spinning-wheel!
+
+
+
+
+"RESTLAND."
+
+WRITTEN IN THE DANVILLE (KY.) CEMETERY.
+
+
+I.
+
+Within thy hallowed precincts on this sweet autumnal day,
+  We're wandering 'neath the cedar and the pine,
+Where rests the sacred dust of loved ones passed away,
+  And bleeding hearts a melancholy pleasure find.
+
+
+II.
+
+In memory's faithful mirror here once more we trace
+  Familiar forms of those in life we knew,
+And see again the shadowy outlines of some face
+  That, living, beamed with kindness--ever true.
+
+
+III.
+
+Old age, and manhood's prime, and helpless infancy
+  Have dotted o'er with many an emerald mound,
+And marked each stone with mournful tracery
+  Which stands within this consecrated ground.
+
+
+IV.
+
+And there the marble shaft its stately head
+  In polished whiteness pointing to the sky,
+And here the modest tribute to the lowly dead--
+  The silent monitors that tell us all must die.
+
+
+V.
+
+Here lavish Nature her bright smile imparts
+  And decks with lovely flowers in early Spring,
+And here the sympathetic tear unbidden starts,
+  And loving hands their sweetest tributes bring.
+
+
+VI.
+
+Loved spot! A solace to the living 'tis to know
+  That when at last--life's fitful fever o'er--
+The cortege sad, with solemn step and slow,
+  Shall bear us here, to rest forever more,--
+
+
+VII.
+
+'Till that bright day when ransomed spirits rise,
+  And loved and lost shall reunited be,
+To dwell in realms beyond the star-lit skies
+  Throughout one circling, vast eternity!
+
+
+
+
+MY VALENTINE.
+
+
+I.
+
+I passed her on the crowded street--
+This winsome maid, demure and sweet--
+And envious saw the silken tresses
+That seemed to give her cheeks caresses,
+And rapture felt that thrilled me through
+When on me glanced those eyes of blue
+From underneath the drooping lashes
+That could not hide their azure flashes!
+And oh, I dreampt of bliss divine
+If she would be--my Valentine!
+
+
+II.
+
+And visions of as fair a face
+As painter's pencil e'er did trace
+Would haunt the mind each waking hour,
+And slumber owned its magic power--
+Until I found by merest chance
+That belladonna made the glance,
+And borrowed hair had lent its aid
+For silken tresses of this maid--
+And padding--paint--did all combine
+To make for me--my Valentine!
+
+
+
+
+A SMOKE.
+
+
+I.
+
+O others may boast of their pleasures galore--
+The miser with rapture may count o'er his store,
+And some may imagine great happiness there
+In the gay shining beam of Society's glare;
+But best of all comforts a feller can know,
+While wintry winds whistle and fast flies the snow,
+Is a pipe after supper, by a bright blazing fire,
+Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher!
+
+
+II.
+
+O doctors may tell you and others declare
+It'll shorten your days and your heart will impair--
+That nicotine poison will flow through your veins
+And nervous distraction will rack with its pains;
+But what cares a feller in slippers and gown,
+When wintry winds whistle and snow's pouring down,
+With papers and books, and his feet near the fire,
+Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher?
+
+
+III.
+
+O rare are the fancies, contentment and bliss,
+That drive away care in an hour such as this!
+When the ills of this life and the things that provoke
+Are lost for the while in the blue curling smoke
+Of a pipe and tobacco that's yellow as gold,
+And raptures supernal the senses unfold.
+O give me a chair by a bright blazing fire,
+And sweet-smelling ringlets that curl high and higher!
+
+
+
+
+PERRYVILLE.
+
+FOUGHT OCTOBER 8th, 1862.
+
+
+Here on this spot, where Nature now, with chilling, icy breath,
+Has mantled in a robe of white the field of strife and death,
+We view in memory once again the awful scenes where met
+In serried ranks the Blue and Gray--and tears the lashes wet;
+For those who fell that dreadful day are mingled with the dust,
+And often here the plow upturns a bayonet red with rust:
+A sad memento of the time when passion held full sway--
+Reminder to the rustic swain of fratricidal fray.
+
+From yonder hill the shotted guns in dreadful chorus rang--
+And on this plain was heard that day the glittering sabre's clang,
+And in that vale, where wound the brook, with waters murmuring,
+We stood and heard the Minie balls their deadly message sing,
+And saw the life blood, gushing red, from stricken comrade near,
+Whose gentle voice his loved ones then no more should ever hear--
+His blue eyes close--his bosom heave--his pulse forever still,
+A sacrifice to cause held dear, on the field of Perryville!
+
+And the swiftly circling years can ne'er erase
+From Memory's tablets or from Nature's face
+One spot of all the rest we're standing near--
+By fiercely battling hosts the prize held dear;
+The old spring's waters still are gurgling from the rock
+Where famished soldiers knelt--grim Death himself to mock;
+Here on that day in ghastly heaps they lay--
+Commingling with the Blue the men that wore the Gray!
+
+And now the virgin snow has covered o'er the sod
+Where once in fierce array contending armies trod;
+The wintry wind makes mournful music through the trees
+Where then the clash of arms was floating on the breeze,
+And deep-toned guns belched forth the screaming shell
+Like fiendish messengers of Death let loose from hell;
+Now Nature's peaceful emblem spread o'er glade and hill
+Enwraps beneath its folds the bloody field of Perryville.
+
+December 26, 1895.
+
+
+
+
+LONGINGS.
+
+
+I.
+
+Gim me back my stone-bruised heel,
+  And them tow-linen pants,
+An' that old pole an' line an' reel,
+  An' all them boyhood ha'nts,
+An' that old hat I used to wear,
+  That didn't hav' no crown,
+An' that same crop uv yeller hair--
+  Sun-burnt on top ter brown--
+An' them playmates I used ter know,
+  An' loved like very brothers--
+An' you kin let the old world go
+  An' giv' its wealth ter others!
+
+
+II.
+
+Gim me back one gallus, too,
+  That buttoned with a peg,
+An' them blamed ticks that burrowed through
+  The skin uv either leg,
+An' that old single-barrel gun,
+  As crooked as a rail,
+An' that same dog that used ter run
+  The molly cotton-tail,
+An' lem me hav' the tops I spun--
+  The kites that I hav' sailed--
+An' then at last, when life is done,
+  Who'd keer if it had failed?
+
+
+
+
+DOWN ABOUT OLD SHAKERTOWN.
+
+
+You may boast about the landscapes fair so far across the sea
+Of castled Rhine, and southern France, and favored Italy--
+But have you seen, when Springtime flings the scented blossoms down,
+The forests and the meadows green around old Shakertown?
+
+You may boast of some that bask beneath perpetual Summer's smiles--
+Those "Eden's of the eastern wave"--the sunny Grecian isles--
+And others that perhaps you've seen, of beauty and renown,
+But come and view the country spread around old Shakertown!
+
+O come and boast that you have been where Nature's lavish hand
+Bestowed the gifts of wood and field that vie with any land--
+Where valleys wear a velvet robe--the hills an emerald crown
+Of bluegrass shimmering in the sun, around old Shakertown!
+
+O come to old Kentucky then, and to her garden spot,
+Then wander wheresoe'er you will, it ne'er will be forgot--
+For Nature's face is wreathed in smiles nor wears a single frown
+To mar the beauty she has spread around old Shakertown!
+
+
+
+
+MEMORIA IN ÆTERNA.
+
+
+Sweet Memory! thou faculty divine--
+Triumphant o'er the cruel hand of Time!
+On thy tablets we may trace
+The lines his fingers ne'er efface,
+And take with us till latest day
+The images that light our way,
+And picture thus in a shadowy form
+The loved and lost he's from us torn--
+Their lids by Death so early sealed--
+Life's crimson tide by him congealed--
+The tyrant has not all concealed--
+They in thy mirror still revealed!
+
+Before the morning sunbeams kissed
+The face of Nature--veiled in mist--
+And heralded with golden ray
+The opening of the perfect day--
+Ere yet the sable shades of night
+At dawn's approach had winged their flight--
+We've listed to the whispering breeze
+That's wafted o'er the trembling trees,
+And seemed to hear the voices sweet
+Of loved ones now we ne'er can meet
+Till earthly night shall pass away--
+Supplanted by immortal day!
+
+And thus in retrospective mood,
+Alone with Nature's solitude
+In some secluded sylvan dell,
+Her myriad voices float and swell
+And flitting shadows softly tell
+Of dear ones lost--yet loved so well!
+Then to the sunny home where dwelt--
+(Ere yet the envious tyrant dealt
+The blow that blighted hopes have felt)--
+Fond fancy wanders, and can see
+Once happy scenes that ne'er can be
+Lost in thy shades, O Memory!
+
+But those to us so cruelly denied
+Are drifting now upon some fairer tide--
+Their scattered ashes on Hope's pinions rise
+And people realms beyond the azure skies!
+Then may our faltering footsteps lead
+To where fond hearts may never bleed--
+Where vanished faces, cherished forms,
+Are anchored safe from life's rude storms;
+Where strains seraphic, soft and low,
+The rapt ear greet, and we shall know
+The loved and lost we only see
+In visions of sweet Memory!
+
+
+
+
+A MOTHER'S GRAVE.
+
+
+I.
+
+The years have passed in ceaseless round
+  Since first they laid her here to rest
+In dreamless sleep beneath the silent mound,
+  With folded hands upon her gentle breast.
+
+
+II.
+
+The ivy twines about the crumbling stone,
+  And Springtime's scented blossoms fling
+Their incense o'er the peaceful home
+  That knows no more of suffering.
+
+
+III.
+
+Full many a Summer's sun has shed
+  Its brightest smile upon the hallowed spot,
+And sobered Autumn and wild Winter spread
+  Their garments here--she heeds them not!
+
+
+IV.
+
+The feathered wildlings of the wood and field
+  Their untaught melody around it make,
+But she who sleeps with eyes so softly sealed
+  Their gladsome songs can never more awake.
+
+
+V.
+
+O restful sleep beneath the crumbling mold
+  To dream no more of hopes unrealized!
+O Grave! What treasures do thy confines hold
+  By us so dearly loved and fondly prized!
+
+
+
+
+A FRECKLE-FACED BOY.
+
+
+I.
+
+I'm just in my glory when the cat I can tease,
+Or I'm hunting for bird nests up in the trees,
+And I wear out my pants in the seat and the knees;
+I'm the pride of my daddy, my mammy's own joy--
+A frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+II.
+
+I can make a top hum, and at marbles, you bet,
+I'm the cock of the walk and the king of the "set;"
+I'm hearty and healthy--and don't you forget
+The dead loads of "goodies" that I can destroy--
+I'm a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+III.
+
+They send me to school with my satchel and books,
+And my pockets bulged out with nails and fish-hooks;
+And sometimes while there my teacher she looks
+And captures the things that provoke and annoy
+From a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+IV.
+
+My mammy she says that it's quite evident
+Of the country some day I'll be President;
+But auntie, she says from the way I am bent
+The gold of her dream will be full of alloy
+From a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+V.
+
+I'm huntin' for fun, and I don't have a care,
+And there's dirt on my hands, and I don't comb my hair,
+And off-colored patches quite often I wear;
+But there's no kind of sport the young heart can cloy
+Of a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+
+
+THE DAM BELOW THE MILL.
+
+
+The Springtime am a-comin', and the dogwood soon will bloom,
+With the blossoms ten times thicker than the green leaves are in June,
+And if yer want some pleasure that I nominate divine,
+Just git yer minnow bucket, and yer hook and pole and line,
+And slip away some mornin', when the weather's bright and still,
+And hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!
+
+There are lots of other pleasures in the old world here below,
+And a mighty heap of happiness a feller 'll never know--
+But never mind about 'em--just yer slip away and feel
+That something so delectable that over yer will steal;
+For it sets the pulses beatin' with a magic kind of thrill
+When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!
+
+When yer 'gin to take the fever, and yer feel it comin' on,
+Why yer boun' ter go a-fishin', just as shore as yer born;
+Then ye'd better git yer trapping's in the proper kind o' fix,
+And go and hear the music when yer reel a-spinnin' clicks;
+For he rushes through the water at a pace that's fit ter kill
+When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!
+
+
+
+
+THE SERENADE.
+
+
+I.
+
+The winds were hushed, and thin and high
+  The fleecy clouds were drifting,
+And through them as she sailed the sky
+  The moon's soft light was sifting.
+
+
+II.
+
+Beneath her pale and tender ray,
+  Its silvery kiss imprinting,
+All dew-bedecked each flower and spray
+  Like myriad jewels glinting.
+
+
+III.
+
+Across the lawn there floats the sound
+  Of music sweet--entrancing--
+'Neath a latticed casement, ivy-bound,
+  Where love-lit eyes were glancing.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The flute and harp and mandolin
+  There dulcet notes were blending,
+And strains divine from a violin
+  In harmony ascending.
+
+
+V.
+
+Enraptured by the magic spell,
+  I lingering stood, and listening,
+It seemed to me that I could tell
+  What love to her was whispering.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+VI.
+
+I looked above and chanced to see
+  The man in the moon was scowling,
+For they had struck up "Sweet Marie,"
+  And the old watch-dog was howling!
+
+
+
+
+"IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"
+
+
+I.
+
+I wouldn't mind the weather much--I'd sizzle and I'd stew,
+And do the very best I could the heat to struggle through,
+If I could find some way, you know, the feller to eschew,
+Who greets you with the chestnut phrase--
+            "IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"
+
+
+II.
+
+The mercury might climb the tube and spill right out the top--
+The sweat might ooze from every pore and off my carcass drop--
+I wouldn't mind the heat at all, and keep my temper too,
+If it wasn't for the cuss who says--
+            "IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"
+
+
+III.
+
+The sun might shine his level best--the sky seem molten brass--
+The heat might dry up every stream, and burn up all the grass--
+The evening come without a breeze--the morning have no dew--
+If it wasn't for the 'moke' who asks
+            "IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"
+
+
+
+
+THE TOKEN.
+
+
+I.
+
+Only a ringlet of flaxen hair,
+  Tied with a ribbon blue,
+Laid by the hand of a mother there--
+  Cherished with love so true!
+
+
+II.
+
+Only a soft and silken curl,
+  Bound with a knotted bow;
+Worn on the head of a little girl
+  Lost in the long-ago.
+
+
+III.
+
+Only a hallowed treasure kept
+  From the grave's decay and mold,
+Over which her eyes have wept
+  With anguish all untold!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Only a link in the golden chain,
+  By Death's cold hand unbroken,
+Which leads to where she'll meet again
+  The wearer of this token.
+
+
+V.
+
+Only a relic undefiled,
+  Enshrined in a broken heart--
+Rent in twain when a darling child
+  And a loving mother part!
+
+
+VI.
+
+Only a ringlet of flaxen hair,
+  Tied with a ribbon blue,
+Clipped from the head of an angel fair,
+  Whose hands are beckoning you!
+
+
+
+
+TO SCENES I USED TO KNOW.
+
+
+I can see the back-log blazing and the sparkles take their flight
+Up the cavernous old chimney on a merry Christmas night;
+I can see the old folks smiling and the children's cheeks aglow,
+And a saucy maiden standing there beneath the mistletoe;
+I can hear the laughter mingle with the strains of music sweet
+As we tripped the light fantastic with the "many-twinkling feet;"
+I can see the moonlight gleaming through the trees upon the snow,
+When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.
+
+I can see the candles burning bright upon the Christmas tree;
+I can see the presents handed round, and hear the shouts of glee,
+And from the buried years there comes a-stealing on the heart
+A something indefinable which bids the tear-drop start;
+I can see the blue smoke curling, through the little strip of wood
+Between the winding turnpike road and where the farmhouse stood;
+I can see the colts a-playing, I can hear the cattle low--
+When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.
+
+I can see it all when fancy weaves its magic with a dream,
+And I hear the tones from voices like the murmur of a stream;
+And oh, the heart seems young again and from its anguish free
+When I gaze upon these pictures that are ever dear to me;
+Then I see the darkies dancing, I can hear the fiddle ring
+As they gathered in the cabin and they cut the pigeon-wing;
+I can smell the 'possum roasting, I can see the cider flow,
+When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.
+
+
+
+
+BEREFT.
+
+
+I.
+
+No more to feel the pressure warm
+  Of dimpled arms around your neck--
+No more to clasp the little form
+  That Nature did with beauty deck.
+
+
+II.
+
+No more to hear the music sweet
+  Of merry laugh and prattling talk--
+No more to see the busy feet
+  Come toddling down the shaded walk.
+
+
+III.
+
+No more the glint of flaxen hair
+  That nestled 'round the lilied brow--
+No more the rose's bloom will wear
+  The cheek so cold and pallid now.
+
+
+IV.
+
+No more the light from loving eyes,
+  Whose hue was like the violet blown
+Where Summer's softest, bluest skies,
+  Had lent it coloring from their own.
+
+
+V.
+
+No more to fondly bend above
+  The little one when slumber wrought,
+With sweetest dreams, the smile of love
+  The placid features then had caught.
+
+
+VI.
+
+No more on earth--oh, nevermore!
+  The shattered idols of the heart
+Can yearning love nor time restore--
+  But--you may meet to never part!
+
+
+
+
+THE "BULL SPRING."
+
+
+When the burning sun of Summer shines from out a brassy sky,
+And has parched and browned the meadows, and the creek's run dry,
+O sweet it is to wander there and hear the water sing
+It's rippling song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+Since Logan and the pioneers first stood upon its bank,
+And heard it gurgle from the rock, and of its waters drank,
+With ceaseless music in its flow, like silvery chimes that ring,
+Has been the song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+Around about the fields and woods of old "Magnolia" spread--
+Indigenous to "tansy"--"mint"--and the lithe-limbed thoroughbred;
+And far above, on drowsy wing, the crow seems listening
+To the rippling song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+No music that I've ever heard seems half so soft and sweet
+As that in silvery tones it makes while flowing at your feet;
+And sometimes when I'm far away I'd give most anything
+To hear the song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+'Tis then that fancy wanders, and I sit and fondly dream
+That I'm gazing in its liquid depths and see the pebbles gleam,
+As when in happy childhood, and free from sorrow's sting,
+I heard the song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+And I sniff again the flavor of the aromatic breeze
+From the mint-bed and the tansy, as it floated through the trees,
+And hear music mingle of the birds upon the wing
+With the laughing song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+
+
+
+FAMILIAR HAUNTS.
+
+
+I.
+
+Give me the patches on my pants, the freckles on my face--
+The happy heart where cankering care had never found a place--
+And let my bare feet walk again that dirt road down the hill
+That led me to the river's brink, beyond the old Mock Mill!
+
+
+II.
+
+Give me the youthful friends I knew, now scattered far and wide--
+The loved ones who have passed beyond the bounds of time and tide--
+And let me see the rose's hue that mantled every cheek
+When we were run-aways from school, a-fishing in the creek.
+
+
+III.
+
+Give me the stone-bruise on my heel, the hat without a crown--
+The unkempt suit of yellow hair the sun had burnt to brown--
+And let me go and soak myself, just where we used to walk,
+In that old swimmin' pool we had, up on the Hanging Fork!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Give me the wealth I used to have--a wealth of vast content--
+The pockets that were always full--but in them not a cent--
+And let me hear the music sweet the wild birds used to sing
+In woods and fields I wandered o'er, beyond the Old Cove Spring!
+
+
+V.
+
+Give me--but what's the use of wishing for the days that won't return--
+The vanished faces of the friends for whom we fondly yearn?
+And what's the use of trying to look beyond the misty screen
+Time's hand has hung between the eye and each familiar scene?
+
+
+
+
+A FADED LETTER.
+
+
+I.
+
+O what memories sweet entwine
+Around each word and faded line!
+Yellow and dim with the touch of years,
+And soiled with the marks of tears--
+A sacred treasure of the heart
+Which death alone can from him part--
+A letter--cherished as no other--
+And ending with the name of--Mother!
+
+
+II.
+
+Writ it was to a wayward boy,
+When life to him seemed full of joy--
+Pleading with him so to live
+That he her heart no grief would give--
+That after years might ne'er be fraught
+With sorrow that himself had wrought:--
+"May guardian angels 'round you hover,"
+She wrote--and signed the name of--Mother!
+
+
+III.
+
+The paper has the taint of must--
+The hand that traced the lines is dust,
+And silvery hair is on the head
+Of that same boy since first he read
+This missive from the sainted one
+That bore her love to an erring son--
+More fondly prized than any other--
+'Twas written by the hand of--Mother!
+
+
+
+
+THE HERMIT.
+
+
+By the waters of a river, where the rocks like giants stand,
+There a stranger, young and favored, built a home with his own hand.
+
+Hewed the logs and reared the roof-tree, where for years alone he dwelt,
+Wanderer from the sunny Southland, and from pangs his heart had felt.
+
+Legend says high-born and wealthy, seeking there in Nature's wilds
+To forget a maiden fickle, basking in a rival's smiles.
+
+Where the music of the wild birds, echoed from the cliffs around,
+Blended with the voice of waters, flowing past with silvery sound;
+
+Where in Springtime wild flowers blooming shed their incense day and night,
+And the rugged cliff-sides wearing robes of dogwood, snowy white;
+
+Where in Summer old trees spreading overhead a leafy roof
+Flung their shadows, deep and cooling, 'gainst the burning sunbeams proof;
+
+Where in Winter wild winds raving whistled 'round his lonely home,
+And the swollen torrent rushing struck the rocks with sullen tone--
+
+He a sunnier clime forsaking for the "dark and bloody ground,"
+Where the forest stretched unbroken--there the wanderer rest had found.
+
+All of human-kind deserting, where no din of toil and strife
+Ever came to break the stillness--there he spent a hermit's life.
+
+All his frugal wants supplying from the storehouse Nature gave,
+Nevermore his footsteps bending toward where Hope had found its grave.
+
+Striving to forget the false one, dwelling 'neath her sunny skies,
+Who had left the arrow rankling in his heart with honied lies.
+
+Long ago she was forgotten, and at last surcease had come--
+For his heart was stilled forever, and his lips were sealed and dumb.
+
+Long he lay beside the river, flowing sweetly there to-day,
+Where was found a bleaching skeleton, and a rude hut in decay.
+
+There where briars in tangled network sway above a little mound,
+Rest the bones of Southern stranger, in the "dark and bloody ground!"
+
+
+
+
+THE "MEDICAL SPRING."
+
+
+I.
+
+Let tipplers all boast of the pleasure divine
+That is found in old whisky, in beer and in wine--
+But what are all those to a feller who knows
+Where the "Medical Spring" in its purity flows,
+And has knelt at its brink and just drank his fill
+Of the clear, sparkling fluid, from Nature's own still?
+
+
+II.
+
+How often I've strayed on a hot Summer's day
+Where it gurgles and gushes, then flows on its way
+With a ripple as sweet as the music that died
+When the tones of loved voices are to us denied,
+And mirrored my face in the "Medical Spring,"
+Where the beetling old cliffs their cool shadows fling!
+
+
+III.
+
+Not riches, nor honors, nor place do I crave,
+Ere they lay me at last to rest in the grave,
+But oh, let me hear its music once more,
+And drink from its depths while I kneel on its shore--
+Then bear me away on the Death Angel's wing
+While my lips are yet moist from the "Medical Spring!"
+
+
+
+
+AN "IDYL" OF THE BALL.
+
+
+I.
+
+In reel, in waltz, in lancer's maze,
+  She moved with pretty air of grace,
+And all the ball-room's brilliant blaze
+  Seemed borrowed brightness from her face!
+O, winsome maid, demure and sweet!
+  I'll ne'er forget when first I met her,
+And saw the dainty slippered feet
+  Glide o'er the floor at Linnietta!
+
+
+II.
+
+O, dreams of youth and beauty rare,
+  What rose-hued visions thou canst paint!
+But none in loveliness compare
+  With her who seemed Love's patron saint!
+Her pictured image haunts the mind,
+  And, oh, I never can forget her,
+Nor rarer pleasure hope to find
+  Than dance with her at Linnietta!
+
+
+III.
+
+Arrayed in softly flowing gown,
+  The love-light flashing from her eyes--
+With cheeks aglow like roses blown
+  Beneath the ardent summer skies--
+No artist hand could fitly trace
+  The wondrous charm that did beset her,
+When tripping with a fairy's grace
+  O'er the waxen floor at Linnietta!
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS.
+
+
+I.
+
+The sweetest dreams, it seems to me, that we can ever know,
+Are those the fancy brings to us of days of long-ago,
+When rainbow-tinted pictures all are like a mirage flung
+Upon the canvas memory weaves--of days when we were young.
+
+
+II.
+
+The step may falter, eye be dim--the brow may wrinkles wear,
+And underneath the crumbling mould our friends be sleeping there--
+But oh, these visions come to us as to the rose the dew,
+And while with raptured gaze we look the heart seems ever new.
+
+
+III.
+
+Oh, when perhaps at last we're left a laggard on life's stage,
+This is the mellowed draught we quaff our longings to assuage--
+As sweet as that from Paradise the smiling Houris hand
+The Prophet's faithful followers when at its gates they stand!
+
+
+IV.
+
+If one last prayer were left to me for my declining days,
+Its form should be that I might hear the chimes that memory plays,
+And when at last upon my grave the wavy grass had sprung,
+Some passer-by could truly say "His heart was ever young!"
+
+
+
+
+A TWIST OF "NATURAL LEAF."
+
+
+Some sing of the lily, some sing of the rose,
+Some sing of each flower in beauty that blows;
+But sing me a song that shall render its meed
+To the fragrance and aroma found in a weed,
+Which banishes care and mitigates grief--
+I mean a big twist of old "natural leaf!"
+
+When sorrow's dark mantle the spirit doth wear,
+And the heart is oppressed with the demon of care,
+Then get out your pipe and its magic invoke
+And all of your troubles will vanish in smoke!
+O, you who have tried it will know what I mean
+When the praises I sing of a hank of long green!
+
+Since the days of King James and his old counterblast
+Its sway of all classes has ever held fast,
+And its patron saint Raleigh forever will live
+In remembrance as sweet as affection can give,
+And the incense we burn is an offering seen
+In wreaths of blue smoke from a twist of long green!
+
+Now some may advise you and others may swear
+That nicotine poison your nerves will impair,
+And if from the weed you'd just kept aloof
+From heartburn and palsy you'd surely been proof--
+For a man who had died at a hundred fifteen
+Was hastened away by smoking long green!
+
+But a cigar, a pipe, or a good juicy chew
+Will yield you more comfort than harm they will do,
+And murder the microbes that float in the air,
+And make magical dreams in the old arm-chair,
+If you will remember, and never forget,
+To just draw the line at a vile cigarette!
+
+
+
+
+GEORGE W. CHILDS.
+
+FEBRUARY 4TH, 1894.
+
+
+"Gone to his exceeding great reward,"
+  The friend of rich and poor alike;
+And there'll rest not beneath the sward
+  More shining mark that death could strike.
+
+The benefactor of his race--
+  His noble soul from avarice free;
+By heaven lent the sordid earth to grace--
+  A nation's tears sincerely shed for thee!
+
+Thrice blest the one, in lowly lot,
+  Contented with an humble place,
+Who by thy noble heart was ne'er forgot
+  And knew thy smiling, loving face!
+
+Oh, thus too early snatched away
+  From generous act and loving deed;
+Thousands will now deplore the day--
+  Thousands now whose hearts will bleed!
+
+The heaven-pointing shaft for thee
+  Its stately head might never raise;
+But thy sweet memory would ever be
+  Hymned by thy fellow-mortals' praise!
+
+Oh, thanks to Him who in His image made
+  And to the world this beacon gave;
+With tears we'll water flowers that never fade
+  And gently drop upon his new-made grave!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD SPRING-HOUSE.
+
+
+With its rude walls of stone and its moss-covered roof--
+('Tis a picture inwoven with memory's woof)--
+It stands there to-day, as it stood in the years
+When we knew naught of sorrow--nor anguish--nor tears;
+And though far from it now, I can see it at will--
+The old spring-house at the foot of the hill!
+
+O flights of fond fancy that deeply inurn
+Sweet scenes of our childhood, no more to return!
+Which carry us back in visions and dreams
+And illumine life's pathway with memory's gleams--
+Till we see once again, though with tears the eyes fill,
+The old spring-house at the foot of the hill!
+
+There we children, bare-footed, would wander to play,
+And wade in the branch that flowed on its way
+Through the meadows and fields with current so fleet,
+And a gurgle and ripple that sounded so sweet!
+And the water that helped turn the wheel at the mill
+Was from the spring-house at the foot of the hill!
+
+And, oh! I remember a pair of blue eyes,
+With glances as tender and soft as the skies,
+And a little brown head that was covered with curls,
+And the laughter that rippled between rows of pearls,
+Which was changed to a cry of despair and of woe
+When the craw-fish was clinging to a little pink toe!
+
+Distilled by the heart into memory's wine,
+'Tis thus that we drink a draught that's divine,
+And lighten the burdens which after years bear,
+And banish with dreaming the demon of Care!
+O in fond recollection I linger there still,
+By the old spring-house at the foot of the hill!
+
+Though vanished forever the faces that smiled,
+And hushed is the laughter I heard when a child--
+Yet often when musing they float back to me,
+And I see them and hear it as clear as can be!
+And I'm playing again, while the heart strings all thrill,
+By the old spring house at the foot of the hill!
+
+
+
+
+CAMPING ON THE CUMBERLAND.
+
+
+Where the Cumberland flows on its way to the South,
+From its source in the hills half-way to its mouth--
+When Autumn has come and tempered the rays
+Of the hot blazing sun with its soft mellow haze,
+Is an Eden of bliss and a place of delight,
+When the minnows are good and the "jumpers" will bite,
+And a fellow's well fixed with a reel and a pole,
+And other "equipments"--(of which I've been told)!
+
+To camp there and fish for a week at a time,
+And have the four-pounders just tug at your line,
+Is a feeling akin to sweet visions we see
+When we dream of that home where we all hope to be;
+And no king in the world who sits on a throne
+E'er felt the rare joy that thrills to the bone
+When you throw out your line and it whizzes away,
+Just cutting the water to foamy white spray!
+
+He darts here and there, dead game to the last,
+When he feels the barbed hook and finds that he's fast,
+And plunges and struggles, disdaining to yield,
+Till exhausted at last to the bank he is reeled,
+And carefully lifted from out the old stream,
+While he flounders and gasps and his scaly sides gleam,
+And you measure his length and guess at his weight--
+(Five inches too long and a pound too great)!
+
+And when shadows of evening are gathering around,
+And the sun with pure gold each hill-top has crowned,
+Then pick up your trappings and leisurely wend
+Your way back to camp, above the long bend,
+Where the cook has prepared a supper, I trow,
+Ne'er dreamt of in thoughts of Delmonico!
+And you'll sit there and eat for an hour or more
+With an appetite keen--and unheard of before!
+
+Now bring out your pipe and fill up the bowl,
+And loll there and smoke till it seems that the soul
+Is wafted away like the ringlets that rise
+As blue as the dome of the star-jeweled skies!
+Then roll in a blanket with your feet to the blaze,
+And the croak of the frogs and the ripple that plays
+Will lull you to sleep with music as sweet
+As that of the song when the angels you greet!
+
+
+
+
+AN EASTER FLOWER.
+
+
+I.
+
+The flower that she gave to me
+  Has withered now and died--
+But yet with fond fidelity
+  Its faded leaves abide.
+
+
+II.
+
+The petals that so fragrant then
+  She wore upon her breast--
+Still clinging to the lifeless stem,
+  With miser care possessed.
+
+
+III.
+
+As when in sweetest purity
+  It shed its perfume rare,
+A symbol dear 'twill ever be
+  Of one divinely fair!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Plucked by the cruel hand of Death
+  In beauty's youthful bloom--
+She perished with his chilling breath,
+  And withered in the tomb.
+
+
+V.
+
+But I will cherish ever thus
+  The token that she gave
+When sun-lit skies were over us,
+  Unclouded by the grave!
+
+
+
+
+THE STAGE COACH.
+
+
+No matter what the weather was, in good old stage coach days,
+The driver with his ruddy face and spanking team of bays
+Would spin along the turnpike road, o'er level stretch and hill,
+That wound away from "Idleburg" to classic Nicholasville.
+
+The depths beneath his seat were filled with leathern sacks of mail,
+And all the coach's top at times was crowded to the rail
+With trunks, valises, packages, and bundles by the score,
+That must have weighed, it seemed to me, five thousand pounds or more.
+
+And strapped within the bulging boot, that hung far out behind,
+Was added weight enough to make a team of oxen blind;
+And counting all the passengers that filled the coach within,
+The load those horses had to drag--I thought it was a sin!
+
+How proud of them the driver was! And often he would brag
+That they could pull a heavier load and never balk or flag;
+If all the road was ankle-deep in miry, sticky mud,
+That was the time his team would show its metal and its blood.
+
+The "ribbons" then he'd gather up, and give his whip a crack,
+And any team in front of him had better clear the track;
+He seemed to own the turnpike road, and kept the right of way
+Unto himself as jealously as bloomers do to-day.
+
+By wood and field he wound along, and by the river's bank,
+And when he reached the covered bridge the hoof-beats on the plank
+Were echoed from the cliffs around and from the vale below;
+And going up the hill beyond he'd let 'em walk and blow.
+
+Then urged into a trot again around the curves they spun
+Till hove in sight the manor-house of Camp Dick Robinson;
+And on beyond where Nelson lay, the bravest of the brave,
+Till Nicholasville at last was reached, to them the reins he gave.
+
+And when the sun was hanging low and slanting shadows fell,
+Along the streets of "Idleburg" that old familiar yell
+Would greet the ears of villagers from small boys as they ran
+With open mouths and lusty lungs a-shouting "Here comes Sam!"
+
+Ah me! The old stage coach, abandoned now, stands in the stable lot,
+A victim to the tooth of rust, and slow decay and rot;
+Its whole-souled driver years ago forever passed away,
+And crumbled now to dust the hand that drove each gallant bay!
+
+
+
+
+DICK'S RIVER.
+
+
+I.
+
+Rock-sentineled, romantic stream!
+Thy waters flow with silvery gleam
+Where glassy pools and visions greet
+Embosomed in some cool retreat;
+Then rippling o'er a pebbly bed,
+With current fleet thy course is led
+To where, walled in by beetling cliffs,
+It plunges o'er the hidden rifts.
+
+
+II.
+
+Past where the meadows gently sweep
+The limpid waters silent creep,
+Until, o'erhung with cooling shade,
+They lave the shores of sylvan glade,
+And many a wild-flower blooming there
+Its incense flings upon the air;
+And spreading o'er each sloping side
+An emerald carpet stretches wide.
+
+
+III.
+
+Now gliding out, the waters gleam
+And sparkle with the sun's warm beam,
+Reflecting then some mirrored cloud
+Like specter wrapt in filmy shroud--
+Till pouring down with fretful whirl
+They o'er the mill-dam rush and curl,
+And foaming round in eddies deep,
+The circles wide and wider creep!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Oh, by thy wave I've loved to stray
+On many a balmy summer's day--
+When youth, and hope, and life were sweet--
+Thy wooded banks and cliffs to greet!
+And often back to days of yore
+My fancy strays along thy shore,
+And musing thus I fondly dream
+I see again thy waters gleam!
+
+
+
+
+TO A LITTLE BOY.
+
+
+I.
+
+Dear little one with eyes so blue,
+  And silken ringlets of flaxen hair!
+Oh, may life have in store for you
+  Something better than anguish and care!
+      Oh, may thy footsteps guided be
+        In paths of peace and pleasantness!
+      Oh, may those bright eyes never see
+        Much of the cold world's bitterness!
+
+
+II.
+
+Dear little one with innocent lips,
+  Tasting life's cup at the sparkling brim!
+Oh, may the dregs that sorrow sips
+  Ever be kept aloof from him!
+      Oh, may the smile on his dimpled face
+        Through the years to come still linger there!
+      Oh, may Time's fingers gently place
+        The silver strands in his flaxen hair!
+
+
+
+
+WHEN THE COAL HOUSE'S FULL.
+
+
+When the nights are gittin' chilly and the leaves begin to fade,
+An' the mercury's down to thirty, 'stead o' ninety in the shade,
+There's a happy kind o' feelin' takes possession o' the soul--
+With the smoke house full o' middlin', and the coal house full o' coal!
+
+When the wintry winds are whistlin' through the branches o' the trees,
+An' the dead leaves are a-flyin' and a-rustlin' in the breeze,
+You kin feel the vast contentment that over you will roll--
+If the barn is full o' fodder, and the coal house full o' coal!
+
+When the 'skeeter's ceased from troublin' and the fly is chilled to death,
+An' the window-pane is written with the Frost King's icy breath,
+You kin dream about the Summer-time, an' that old fishin' pole--
+If the pantry's full o' victuals, an' the coal house full o' coal!
+
+When your supper's been digested an' you're dozin' in your chair,
+Or you're tucked between the blankets from the frosty, nippin' air,
+Why, your dreams will be the sweeter if you've helped some sufferin' soul
+Whose larder's scant o' victuals, and his coal house minus coal!
+
+
+
+
+DECEMBER.
+
+
+I.
+
+White-shrouded, latest-born of all the year,
+  In thy cold hands no bud or floweret bearing,
+Thou comest now to wail above the bier
+  Of thy dead sisters--on thy bosom wearing
+The icy jewel and the frosted gem--
+But on thy marble brow the Star of Bethlehem!
+
+
+II.
+
+Beneath thy foot-prints lie the Autumn leaves,
+  Mould'ring and hast'ning to decay;
+And where the drifting snow its mantle weaves
+  The Summer songsters sang the happy hours away.
+What tho' the birds have flown the blighted stem?
+There's in thy jeweled crown the Star of Bethlehem!
+
+
+
+
+SOLACE.
+
+
+One Autumn evening, wandering, when the sun was hanging low,
+Through a woodland where the music of a streamlet's gentle flow
+Commingled with the rustling of the yellow golden leaves,
+And the idling breeze's sighing as it floated through the trees,
+I heard sweet voices whispering in accents soft and low,
+That lulled to rest the troubled soul, like those of long ago.
+
+Enchanted thus I lingered, by unseen hands fast bound,
+My willing fancy captive to the magic of sweet sound,
+And eagerly I listened to the whispering voices tell
+Of happy days of childhood, and the tear unbidden fell,
+As were pictured to the mind again the halcyon scenes of yore,
+And loved ones that no more I'll meet till on the silent shore!
+
+And as the slanting shadows fell athwart the scattered leaves
+The language that the voices spoke was formed of words like these:
+"You may mingle with the sordid world, in eager, restless haste,
+To struggle for the golden fruit that Mammon loves to taste,
+But find at last, the end attained, that there are better things
+To satisfy the longing heart--that sweeter solace brings.
+
+"Thy Springtime, thy Summer, and thy Autumn's mellowed haze,
+If rightly lived and rightly spent, will bring rare, happy days,
+That temper with their sunshine the frigid Winter's wrath,
+When gathering storms are darkling o'er life's declining path,
+And lend a ray celestial that hoarded gold ne'er gave
+To lighten all thy journey, from the cradle to the grave."
+
+
+
+
+FRANK L. STANTON.
+
+
+I.
+
+The sweetest music put in song since Robby Burns's time
+Is that which breathes its harmony from Georgia's sunny clime,
+Where the fragrant-scented odor that the climbing jasmine flings
+Commingles with the melody that gifted Stanton sings!
+
+
+II.
+
+It may not suit a bookish clan that cannot understand
+The rhythm and the cadences they never can command--
+But what is that to him that knows and touches all the strings
+Of hearts responsive to his strain when gifted Stanton sings?
+
+
+III.
+
+We read his songs and hear the notes repeated once again
+His ear has caught when listening to the mocking-bird's refrain,
+And interwoven with the sense a mystic something rings
+That fills the soul with ecstasy when gifted Stanton sings!
+
+
+IV.
+
+O Sunny South! where blooming flowers and where the whispering pine
+Attunes his harp till every string gives forth a sound divine!
+We love you for the many gifts that generous Nature brings,
+But best of all--we love you for the song that Stanton sings!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD CHURCH BELL.
+
+
+It hangs today where it has hung for fifty years or more,
+But some who loved its silver tones the church-yard covers o'er,
+And many are the times since then, with deep and solemn knell,
+Has tolled for dear departed ones the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+Within a latticed tower it swings, high up above the street,
+And every Sabbath morn is heard the music clear and sweet
+Which floats above the village roofs, and over hill and dell,
+Upborne upon the vagrant wind, from the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+Full many a change the hand of Time has in the village wrought,
+And passing years have often been with grief and anguish fraught,
+Yet age has never changed its tones, and years cannot dispel
+The magic of the music from the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+Since it was placed within the tower, in days of long ago,
+The tempests wild have round it raved, and many a driven snow
+Has sifted through the slats up there, and mantled as it fell
+In robes of white its dwelling place, and the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+Though gone from earth and earthly things--forever passed away--
+The faithful ones who loved while here its summons to obey
+Now rest beyond the tide of Time, with rapture long to dwell,
+For there their footsteps guided were by the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+
+
+
+A SUMMER EVENING.
+
+
+I.
+
+The sun has sunk in the crimson west,
+  And "around the languid eyes of day"
+The Twilight's dreamy shadows rest
+  And light and shade alternate play;
+The winds are hushed, nor leaf nor flower
+Is swayed with motion by their power.
+
+
+II.
+
+The fireflies with meteor lamps
+  Arise from out the dewy lawn,
+And there the elfin cricket chants
+  His vespers when the day is gone,
+And far above, the sky's coquette
+With all her starry train is met.
+
+
+
+
+FATHER RYAN.
+
+
+I.
+
+In Southern sunny clime there is a hallowed tomb,
+  Where rest the ashes of a minstrel priest;
+And soft winds that are laden with a sweet perfume
+  Their requiems for him have never ceased.
+
+
+II.
+
+We read his songs, and hear again the tread
+  Of armed battalions, marching to the fray,
+Or see once more the features of belovèd dead
+  Whose life blood crimsoned uniforms of gray!
+
+
+III.
+
+We see the tattered banner that he loved so well
+  Again unfurled and fluttering in the breeze,
+And once again we hear the "rebel yell"
+  Triumphant wafted o'er the riven trees!
+
+
+IV.
+
+O, may thy minstrel spirit find eternal rest
+  In some fair clime where nothing can be lost!
+Where anguish never more can rend thy breast,
+  And fondest hope can ne'er be tempest tost!
+
+
+
+
+THE MEADOW PATH.
+
+
+I.
+
+It led adown the sloping hill, and through the valley wound,
+And where the blooming clover shed its fragrance all around,
+And then between the maple trees, across the little brook,
+To where the old fence bars let down, a tortuous course it took;
+And often are the times I've heard the merry, ringing laugh,
+From rosy-ankled children there, along the meadow path.
+
+
+II.
+
+Three boys--and a little girl whose hair was chestnut gold--
+(She's resting now in dreamless sleep beneath the crumbling mold;)--
+But I remember her as when, with innocence and glee,
+Her laughing eyes looked into mine--for she was dear to me;
+And thus it is I love to let the fancy photograph
+The merry group that idled there, along the meadow path.
+
+
+III.
+
+Adown it oft we used to go at twilight for the cows,
+Or wander from the beaten track a rabbit to arouse,
+And watch him as he scampered off, with frightened leap and bound,
+The while we made the welkin ring and with our shouts resound.
+The sweetest flowers that bloom for me--a fragrant aftermath--
+Are those that in the memory blow, along the meadow path!
+
+
+
+
+THE FOX HUNTERS.
+
+
+I.
+
+With fleet-limbed steeds and baying pack
+They follow close on Reynard's track,
+And wake the slumbering echoes round
+With music of the horn and hound;
+Through wood and field, o'er hill and dale,
+They course him in the moonlight pale,
+And sport they find which brings delight--
+These reckless riders of the night!
+
+
+II.
+
+The game is up! away, away!
+Nor hedge nor fence their course can stay;
+They clear them at a single leap,
+And like the wind they onward sweep!
+O'er fallen trunk and hidden ditch
+The fearless horsemen plunge and pitch,
+And heedless all they follow on
+With ringing shout and winding horn!
+
+
+III.
+
+Thy wondrous ride, oh Tam O'Shanter,
+To speed like theirs was but a canter;
+Had you bestrode that night instead
+Of gray mare Meg a thoroughbred
+(Such as Kentuckians only breed--
+To Scotia then an unknown steed),
+No carline could have caught his rump
+And left your brute with scarce a stump!
+
+
+IV.
+
+His foaming horse with throbbing sides
+Unslackened yet his pace he rides,
+Till in among the yelping hounds
+The foremost huntsman proudly bounds,
+And sees the leaders of the chase
+(Two matchless dogs that set the pace)
+O'ertake the game and win the race!
+And then dismounts and feels the flush
+Of victory as he takes the brush!
+
+
+V.
+
+O royal sport, befitting kings!
+It bids the demon Care take wings,
+And the rose's hue to the cheek it brings!
+And sweeter music none can hear
+Than that which greets the list'ning ear--
+By distance mellowed to a key
+That breathes divinest harmony--
+And wakes the slumbering echoes round--
+The winding horn and baying hound!
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARMING GIRL OF SOMERSET.
+
+
+By magic spell was I entranced
+When on me first thy brown eyes glanced,
+And sunbeams played at hide and seek
+Thro' silken ringlets on thy dimpling cheek,
+And like some glorious halo shed
+Their radiance o'er thy shapely head--
+And seemed as if they loved to dwell
+Where'er thy airy footsteps fell!
+And in my dreams I see thee now--
+The pearly teeth--the arching brow--
+The form that mocks the sculptor's art
+To add one curve that could impart
+More beauty and more witching grace,
+Or chisel out a sweeter face!
+Blest be the hour when first I met
+This charming girl of Somerset!
+
+
+
+
+IN JULY.
+
+
+I.
+
+Oh, for a deep-shaded spot where the shadows cool
+  Are hid from the rays of the glaring sun,
+And the sparkling waters from a limped pool
+  O'er the gleaming pebbles in ripples run!
+
+
+II.
+
+Where the sloping banks are with verdure clad,
+  And the hoary cliffs with moss o'ergrown,
+And the tangled vine and the wildflowers pad
+  The fallen trunk and the hidden stone!
+
+
+III.
+
+Where the song that wells from a feathered throat
+  The echoes repeat again and again,
+And the drifted sedge and the bubbles float
+  O'er the glassy depths of a miniature main!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Where the willows dip in the edge of the stream,
+  And sway and nod in the passing breeze,
+And a feller could tranquilly rest and dream
+  Of a howling blizzard and a good hard freeze!
+
+
+
+
+TO J. R. M.
+
+
+I walked within the silent city of the dead,
+Which then with Autumn leaves was carpeted,
+And where the faded flower and withered wreath
+Bespoke the love for those who slept beneath,
+And, weeping, stood beside a new-made grave
+Which held the sacred dust that friendship gave.
+That heart with milk of human kindness overflowed--
+That sympathetic hand its generous aid bestowed
+To lighten others' burdens on life's weary road!
+And there no polished shaft need lift its head
+In lettered eulogy above the sainted dead--
+His deeds are monuments above the dust whereon we tread!
+When from its fragile tenement of clay
+To fairer realms his spirit winged its way,
+With poignant grief we stood around the bier
+Which held the lifeless form of one held dear,
+And broken hearts that knew no comfort then
+Still mourn the loss of one of Nature's noblemen!
+
+
+
+
+TWILIGHT.
+
+
+The sun is sinking where the western hills
+  The vision bounds with rugged summits old,
+And with his latest beam he brightly gilds
+  And crowns with amethyst and gold.
+
+The distant music of a tinkling bell
+  Is floating o'er the meadow's gentle sweep--
+No discords mar the magic of the spell,
+  And stealthily the twilight shadows creep.
+
+And gently falls upon the listening ear--
+  Like tones from voices of the long-ago--
+The cadence of the murmuring waters near--
+  With rhythmic ripplings soft and low.
+
+Now grow apace the shadows' slanting shapes
+  And fade the rugged hills to misty gray,
+As dying day its calm departure takes
+  And yields to coming night her sable sway.
+
+The vaulted dome above now glows afar
+  With many a soft and tender light,
+Each sparkling gem it wears a jeweled star,
+  With sweet effulgence purely bright.
+
+Sweet scene! Sweet hour! If to the heart
+  No quick'ning pulses they can lend,
+And to the soul no rapture thus impart--
+  Vain were our lives--and vainer still the end!
+
+O, such the time when he who will may feel
+  Release from care, vexation, toil, and strife--
+And musing then will gently o'er him steal
+  The sweetest moments of the turmoil--life!
+
+
+
+
+OUT UV "POLITICKS."
+
+
+I.
+
+"I'll tell yer what," said Uncle Zeke, down at the country store,
+"I'd been a farmer all my life--fur twenty year or more--
+Until one day my noddle here, it got plumb out o' fix,
+Er-swellin' with the idy that I's made fur politicks.
+
+
+II.
+
+"I'd been ter hear them fellers speak, an' rip an' rant an' rave,
+When 'lection time's er-comin' on, who tell yer how ter save
+Ther kentry frum tarnation ruin, by sendin' only men
+That's fit ter draw ther salaries, an' honest--jest like them.
+
+
+III.
+
+"So listen, boys--yer'll profit by ther story that I tell--
+I left ther farm ter 'lectioneer an' run fur constable;
+I wouldn't hearken ter my wife--she said I'd lost my wit,
+An' as fur holdin' offices--_she_ knowed _I_ wusn't fit.
+
+
+IV.
+
+"But ennyhow, I sold er steer, an' then er heifer calf,
+An' bought er bran' new suit o' clothes fur twenty an' er half,
+An' 'fore ther 'lection day cum roun' I'd sold my wheat an' oats,
+An' spent ther proceeds that I got in purchasin' uv votes.
+
+
+V.
+
+"I knowed 'twus wrong--agin ther law--ter do er thing like that--
+But then ther boys all said, yer know, 'twould take er little 'fat,'
+Fur ther feller that I run agin could have no earthly hope
+Uv beatin' me if I'd use ther right amount uv 'soap.'
+
+
+VI.
+
+"I jocks I did--I won ther fight--I sarved er single term--
+(But fur ther salary that I got I wouldn't give er durn);
+An' right up here I wear ther scar that shows whar I wus hit
+Ther day I rid fur forty miles ter sarve that cussed 'writ!'"
+
+
+
+
+JONES' MARE.
+
+
+I.
+
+Now Farmer Jones was noted for fast horses on his place,
+And also as the father of a son with freckled face,
+And hair so red it looked as if it had been dyed in blood,
+And Ephraim was the "masher" of the country neighborhood.
+
+
+II.
+
+This Ephraim Jones' yellow mare, she was no nice and fleet
+That all the girls for miles around on Eph. were very "sweet,"
+In hopes to get a ride or two behind her on the road,
+With sleigh-bells jingling 'round her neck, some day when it had snowed.
+
+
+III.
+
+Or else to spin along the pike, with buggy top let down,
+And ribbons sailing out behind, when Eph. would drive to town,
+The envy of the country boys, and many maidens fair
+A-casting wistful glances at the youth with reddish hair.
+
+
+IV.
+
+This thing went on till finally our Ephraim fell in love
+With Tildy Ann Serepty Brown--as gentle as a dove--
+Of all the girls around about the reigning country bell,
+Whose father was as rich as cream--he'd struck an oil well!
+
+
+V.
+
+About three nights in every week could Ephraim's yellow mare
+Be found a-standing hitched outside, while he was courting there,
+And so the boys, with envy mad and jealousy aroused,
+To humble Eph. hit on a plan they heartily espoused.
+
+
+VI.
+
+If anything in all the world, beside sweet Tildy Ann,
+Was dear to Ephraim's eye and heart, it was his claybank, Fan;
+He boasted of her speed and looks, and of her pedigree--
+Said more intelligence in a brute no man would ever see.
+
+
+VII.
+
+He kept her curried till her coat it shone like burnished gold--
+With silver-mounted harness on, a beauty to behold.
+A brand new buggy hitched to her, a-glinting in the sun,
+She "took the cake" for speed and style from every other one.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+They heard that Eph. one night would call upon his Tildy Ann
+To make arrangements all complete to carry out a plan:
+It would be Sunday following, when all in style he'd go
+With Tildy and the yellow mare to the country "bonnet-show."
+
+
+IX.
+
+Supplied with brushes, cans of paint of every shade and hue,
+And to furnish light by which to work, a bull's-eye lantern, too,
+At ten o'clock that night so dark you couldn't see a wink,
+They striped his Fan with red and brown, and black and blue and pink.
+
+
+X.
+
+Next morning when he went to feed, and opened wide the door,
+No zebra that was ever foaled could boast the stripes she wore;
+Her ears were white, her legs were green, her tail was fiery red,
+And as he gazed upon her then I can't tell what he said!
+
+
+
+
+THAT OLD STRAW HAT OF MINE.
+
+(WITH APOLOGIES TO RILEY.)
+
+
+I.
+
+As one who dreams at evening o'er the new hats that he's worn,
+And muses on the better times that once to him were known,
+So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,
+I see the faded ribbon on that old straw hat of mine.
+
+
+II.
+
+The firelight seems to mock me as the ruddy flames arise,
+And I turn about to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes;
+And I ponder then in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
+Its fate with my condition, and to vanish like the smoke.
+
+
+III.
+
+With fondest recollection the loving thoughts that start
+Into being are but feelings from the bottom of my heart;
+And to wear the new hats over is a luxury divine--
+Till my truant fancy wanders with that old straw hat of mine.
+
+
+IV.
+
+Now I hear without my chamber, like a fluttering of wings,
+The rustling of the autumn wind as through the trees it sings,
+And I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any scheme
+That will bring to me a hat of which I now can only dream.
+
+
+V.
+
+In fact, to speak in earnest, if I could work a charm,
+I'd try it on old Isaacs--'twouldn't do him much of harm--
+And I'd find an extra flavor in memory's mellow wine
+When I thought of how I swapped him that old straw hat of mine.
+
+
+VI.
+
+A thing of real beauty, with a shape of airy grace,
+Floats out of Isaacs' storehouse, as the genii from the vase,
+And, oh! I gaze upon it with a pair of loving eyes,
+As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+VII.
+
+But, ah! my dream is broken when I gaze upon that chair,
+For my eyes are now wide open and--the same old hat is there;
+And reluctantly and sadly all my visions I resign
+To know that I must wear again that old straw hat of mine!
+
+
+
+
+TOM BARBEE'S POND.
+
+
+I.
+
+O sweet are the memories when backward we gaze
+Through the vista of years to our schoolboy days,
+When faces now vanished to the vision appear
+And the music of voices long hushed we can hear,
+As together we romped where the school-house stood,
+Or joyfully wended our way through the wood
+Where placidly lay, in the valley beyond,
+The moss-covered waters of Tom Barbee's pond!
+
+
+II.
+
+Though scattered by Time o'er the face of the earth,
+And sorrow and anguish have succeeded to mirth,
+Still many there be whose mist-bedewed eye
+Looks longingly back, while the breast heaves a sigh,
+To that far-away time, when together we played
+In the school-house yard, or on Saturdays strayed
+Where the knots in our sleeves were tied tight as a bond,
+As we splashed and we dived in Tom Barbee's pond!
+
+
+III.
+
+The "pleasures of memory" by Rogers were lined,
+With rhythm as sweet as in verse you will find,
+But could he e'er picture one-half of the joys
+We had when we wandered as barefooted boys
+Through the woods and the fields and the meadows out there,
+With our sun-blistered backs and the burrs in our hair,
+Or recall to the mind a remembrance more fond
+Than bathing and swimming in Tom Barbee's pond?
+
+
+
+
+WHERE?
+
+
+I.
+
+O, where are the friends that in youth we once knew,
+Whose smiles were like sunshine, whose hearts were so true?
+Alas! they are lost in the darkness and gloom
+That veils them from sight in the cold, silent tomb!
+
+
+II.
+
+O, where are the years that forever have fled,
+And over Life's morning their radiance shed?
+With the Past written down on the unending scroll
+Where Time--grim destroyer--his victims enroll!
+
+
+III.
+
+O, where are the fancies, the visions, the dreams,
+That filled the young breast--with which memory teems?
+They have faded away--from life they have passed--
+Like stars blotted out when the sky's overcast!
+
+
+IV.
+
+O, where are the hopes that have beckoned us on
+With their beacons of light, through sunshine and storm?
+Like spectres--like phantoms--like vapor and mist,
+They have vanished forever--a will-o'-the-wisp!
+
+
+V.
+
+O, where are the harbors, the havens of rest,
+That solace can give to a heart that's opprest?
+They are hid from the vision beyond the blue sky,
+Yet the eye of sweet Faith their portals descry!
+
+
+
+
+THE HILLS OF LINCOLN.
+
+
+I.
+
+O the hills of old Lincoln!--I can see them to-day
+As they stretch in dim distance far, far away,
+And on Fancy's swift pinions my spirit hath flown
+To rest 'mid the scenes which my childhood has known--
+Where the old Hanging Fork, with its silvery gleam,
+Glides away 'tween the meadows like thoughts in a dream,
+And far to the south, with their outlines so blue,
+The rugged knobs blend into heaven's own hue!
+
+
+II.
+
+O the hills of old Lincoln!--how fondly I gaze
+On their wildwoods and thickets and deep-tangled ways
+When memory's mirror presents them to view,
+And I dream once again that I tread them anew,
+While raptured I listen to the music of love
+That the song-birds are singing in the tree-tops above,
+And the soul drifts away in a swoon of delight,
+Unanchored from care and from sorrow's cold blight!
+
+
+III.
+
+O the hills of old Lincoln!--my footsteps have trod
+Up and down their green valleys, with shotgun and rod,
+And it seems to me now that the years that have fled
+Around their old summits a halo have shed
+That guides the fond fancy unerringly there
+When backward it wanders with childhood to share
+Sweet scenes such as these, inurned in the heart,
+And which from fond memory can never depart!
+
+
+
+
+LOVED AND LOST.
+
+
+I.
+
+Sweetly to sleep beneath the fresh green turf
+  They laid the loved and lost away;
+A chair is vacant by the household hearth,
+  And shadow-vested Sorrow's there to-day.
+
+
+II.
+
+The tender hands that guided us in youth
+  Are folded now upon the gentle breast,
+And those dear eyes whose depths were love and truth
+  Are closed to open in eternal rest.
+
+
+III.
+
+Through simple faith and duty well performed,
+  A crown of light forever shall be hers;
+And though with bitter grief and anguish mourned,
+  A consolation gleams through blinding tears!
+
+
+
+
+A TRUE STORY.
+
+(READ BEFORE A MEETING OF THE DANVILLE
+SCRIBBLER CLUB.)
+
+
+Dear friends, to-night the inspiration of my theme
+Is not the baseless fabric of a weird, fantastic dream--
+For truth, combined with justice, doth impel,
+And therefore it is fact--not fiction--that I tell.
+
+"Truth, crushed to earth, will rise again"--
+A maxim true as holy writ;--then it is plain,
+If rudely woven by an untaught hand it be,
+Sustains but transitory wrong and injury.
+
+And thus it is, in homely rhyme, I venture forth,
+Relating nothing here but under oath;
+And if, perchance, at times it sounds a little strange,
+You know that truth o'er fiction hath a wider range.
+
+These stanzas three I hope you'll deem explanatory--
+As introductory and preliminary to the story--
+A preface simply used before I introduce
+The proper characters essential for our use.
+
+And just one moment more attention I will claim,
+And crave indulgence while I here explain,
+That "character" is used in a Pickwickian sense--
+So truth and justice need not take offense.
+
+'Twas when the Autumn leaves, with russet hue,
+Scarce quivered in the gentle wind, and when the dew
+Lay sparkling on the grass, beneath the argent moon,
+A tragedy took place--of which I'll tell you soon.
+
+And ever and anon a fleecy, drifting cloud,
+Meek Dian's face would veil with filmy shroud,
+And lend to wood and field that softened ray
+Unmatched in beauty from the glaring god of day!
+
+But I will tell the story as 'twas told to me,
+And vouched for by some others--two or three--
+Whose word to doubt would be a heinous sin--
+So, armed with truth, in confidence I will begin.
+
+Ah, memory! Thou art a fickle jade,
+And oft responsible when grave mistakes are made,
+And therefore 'tis with caution that I hesitate
+When truthful things I undertake to state.
+
+This much is due to accuracy and circumspection,
+As well as to a rather faulty recollection;
+And so I'll trespass on your patience now no more,
+But straightway tell the story--as I said before.
+
+All good beginnings have that natural trend
+Which safely leads to a successful end,
+And stories all should have their plots well laid--
+Which neither prose nor verse can do, when haste is made.
+
+'Tis said "procrastination is the thief of time,"
+And this might seem to be the object of my rhyme.
+Had I not told you, as I should have done,
+The reason why the story's not begun.
+
+'Tis my sole object, then, to give without delay,
+The narrative in a direct and proper way,
+For as you know some critics may be here
+Whom scribbling rhymesters may, with justice, fear.
+
+"What shameless bards we have! And yet, 'tis true,
+There are as mad, abandoned critics, too!"
+This couplet, penned by Pope, is ever new--
+But then, dear friends, the second line was _not_ for you!
+
+I only quote that you may comprehend
+How modesty in _me_ has missed its end,
+And why it is I ever undertook to write
+The story that I'm going to tell--sometime to-night.
+
+An introduction that will keep the listener in suspense
+I deem derogatory to good taste and sense;
+And this is also why I'll nothing put as prefatory
+Before I launch right out into the story.
+
+I'm going to make it thrilling, crisp and short,
+In purest diction drest, with gems of thought
+So intermingled with the story's warp and woof,
+That from beginning I can scarcely keep aloof.
+
+I'll put quotation marks to shrive me of the sin
+Of plagiarism when such language I begin--
+That every one of you may plainly see
+I tell the story as 'twas told to me.
+
+So calmly, coolly then, I think I will proceed
+To give you now the story--taking heed
+To curtail all that truth and justice will permit--
+Remembering that "brevity's the soul of wit."
+
+But undue haste would cause me to forget
+And mar the memory of its telling with regret
+If I had overlooked some startling fact,
+Which on both truth and justice would re-act!
+
+And now, dear friends, don't think that you are "sold"
+If still as yet the story's left untold--
+But paper, ink, your patience, and my time
+Are all exhausted in this race with rhyme!
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+Variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been
+retained from the original book, except for the following changes:
+
+Page 9: raiload changed to railroad:
+  (From the raiload bridge, with its single span,).
+
+Page 49: Aud changed to And:
+  (Aud do the very best I could the heat to struggle through,).
+
+Page 56: Punctuation corrected from:
+  (Old "Bull "Spring?") to (Old "Bull Spring!").
+
+Page 62: Their changed to There:
+  (There where briars in tangled network sway).
+
+Page 101: Ephram's changed to Ephraim's:
+  (Was dear to Ephram's eye and heart, it was his claybank, Fan;).
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems, by 
+George W. Doneghy
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HANGING FORK ***
+
+***** This file should be named 26505-8.txt or 26505-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/5/0/26505/
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/26505-8.zip b/26505-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..387891b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-8.zip
diff --git a/26505-h.zip b/26505-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2ea9803
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-h.zip
diff --git a/26505-h/26505-h.htm b/26505-h/26505-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c2b3fe1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-h/26505-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,3979 @@
+<!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">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems, by George W. Doneghy.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+    p {  margin-top: .75em;
+         text-align: justify;
+         margin-bottom: .75em;
+         }
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
+         text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
+         clear: both;
+         }
+    hr { width: 33%;
+	 margin-top: 2em;
+	 margin-bottom: 2em;
+         margin-left: auto;
+         margin-right: auto;
+         clear: both;
+       }
+
+    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}
+
+    body{margin-left: 10%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+        }
+
+    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+            /*  visibility: hidden;  */
+                position: absolute;
+                left: 92%;
+                font-size: smaller;
+                text-align: right;
+              } /* page numbers */
+
+
+    .center   {text-align: center;}
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+    .poem             {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem br          {display: none;}
+    .poem .stanza     {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem span.i0     {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i1     {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i2     {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i4     {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i6     {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i10    {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i12    {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i16    {display: block; margin-left: 16em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i18    {display: block; margin-left: 18em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i20    {display: block; margin-left: 20em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i22    {display: block; margin-left: 22em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem .sect       {margin-top: 2em; margin-left: 6em;}
+    // -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems, by 
+George W. Doneghy
+
+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: The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems
+
+Author: George W. Doneghy
+
+Release Date: September 1, 2008 [EBook #26505]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HANGING FORK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a></span></p>
+
+
+<h2>THE</h2>
+
+<h1><span class="smcap">Old Hanging Fork</span></h1>
+
+<h2>and</h2>
+
+<h1><span class="smcap">Other Poems</span>.<br /><br /></h1>
+
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>GEORGE W. DONEGHY.<br /><br /></h2>
+
+
+<h4>FRANKLIN, OHIO:<br />
+The Editor Publishing Co.<br />
+1897.</h4>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a></span></p>
+<p class="center">
+Copyright, 1897,<br />
+By<br />
+George W. Doneghy.<br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc">
+<tr><td align='left'>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;page</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Old Hanging Fork,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sweet September Days,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Yer Old Cob Pipe,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tim Bluster's Dream,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Apple Blossoms,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Chickamauga,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Gen. John B. Gordon,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Up And Down Old Clark's Run,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Robert Burns</span> (A Paraphrase)</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Wishing&mdash;Fishing,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Poe,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Barren "Idealty,"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Cherished Relic,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">"Restland,"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">My Valentine,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Smoke,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Perryville,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Longings,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Down About Old Shakertown,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Memoria in &AElig;terna,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Mother's Grave,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Freckle-Faced Boy,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Dam Below the Mill,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Serenade,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">"Is It Hot Enough Fer You?"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Token,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To Scenes I Used to Know,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Bereft,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The "Bull Spring,"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Familiar Haunts,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Faded Letter,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Hermit,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The "Medical Spring,"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">An "Idyl" of the Ball,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Dreams,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Twist of "Natural Leaf,"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">George W. Childs,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Old Spring-House,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Camping on the Cumberland,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">An Easter Flower,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Stage Coach,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Dick's River,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To a Little Boy,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">When the Coal House's Full,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">December,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Solace,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Frank L. Stanton,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Old Church Bell,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Summer Evening,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Father Ryan,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Meadow Path,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Fox Hunters,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Charming Girl of Somerset,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">In July,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To J. R. M.,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Twilight,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Out uv "Politicks,"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Jones' Mare,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">That Old Straw Hat of Mine,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tom Barbee's Pond,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Where?</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Hills of Lincoln,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Loved and Lost,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A True Story,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The" id="The"></a>The</h2>
+
+<h2>Old Hanging Fork</h2>
+
+<h3>and</h3>
+
+<h2>Other Poems.</h2>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_OLD_HANGING_FORK" id="THE_OLD_HANGING_FORK"></a>THE OLD HANGING FORK.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O don't you remember those days so divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Around which the heart-strings all tenderly twine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When with sapling pole and a painted cork<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We fished up and down the old Hanging Fork&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the railroad bridge, with its single span,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clear down to the mill at Dawson's old dam&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From early morn till the shades of night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it made no difference if fish <i>didn't</i> bite?<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What pleasure it gives to think and to dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of those long, happy days, and the old winding stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we waded the creek with our pants to the knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And got our lines tangled in a sycamore tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And were most scared to death when out from the root<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The long, wriggling snake through the water did shoot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you lost your line, your hook and your cork,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I slipped and fell in the old Hanging Fork!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The years they have come, and the years they have fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And frosted with silver the hairs of the head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still in fond memory there lingers the joy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of scenes such as these, when a bare-footed boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wandered away to the clear rippling stream&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No cankering care to trouble life's dream;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we spit on our bait and in whispers we'd talk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As we threw out our lines in the old Hanging Fork!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We sat there and fished with the sun beaming down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the tops of our heads through hats minus crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when I got a bite or you caught a perch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'd just give our lines a thundering lurch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And land him high up on the bank in the weeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then string him along with the pumpkin seeds!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O don't you remember the hot, dusky walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the white pike to the old Hanging Fork?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="SWEET_SEPTEMBER_DAYS" id="SWEET_SEPTEMBER_DAYS"></a>SWEET SEPTEMBER DAYS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's a something in the atmosphere, in sweet September days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That mantles all the landscape with its languid, dreamy haze;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you see the leaves a-dropping, in a lazy kind of way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the maple trees are standing in their Summer-time array.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's a yellowish tinge a-creeping over Nature's emerald sheen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the cattle stand, half-sleeping, in the middle of the stream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the glassy pool is shaded by the overhanging limb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the pebbly bottom's glinting where the silvery minnows swim.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The tasseled corn is nodding, and the crow on drowsy wing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is sailing o'er the orchard where the ripening apples swing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the fleecy clouds are floating in the azure of the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the gentle breeze is sighing as it's idly wafted by.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The cantaloupes are ripening in their yellow golden rinds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the melons, round and juicy, are a-clinging to the vines;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the merry, laughing children, in their happy hour of play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are a-romping in the meadow and a-sliding down the hay.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The busy bees are buzzing where the grapes with purple blush,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the hanging bunches tempting with their weight the arbor crush,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the blue jays are a-wrangling in the wood across the road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the hickory boughs are bending 'neath an extra heavy load.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VI.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let your poets keep a-singing about the Springtime gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the blossoms and the flowers in the merry month of May&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the early Autumn splendor, with its sweet September days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eclipses boasted Springtime in a thousand kind of ways!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="YER_OLD_COB_PIPE" id="YER_OLD_COB_PIPE"></a>YER OLD COB PIPE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the chilling winds of Winter come a-knocking at the door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the fleecy flakes are flying and the earth is covered o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you've supped on sweet potatoes and a 'possum frosted ripe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then glory hallelujah! Git yer<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Cob<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Pipe!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the fire is blazing brightly and the room is snug and warm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you've left your cares and troubles on the outside with the storm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And your natural leaf is colored with a golden yellow stripe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then glory hallelujah! Git yer<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Cob<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Pipe!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the old split-bottom rocker is far better than a throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the visions of the fancy are the fairest earth has known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you watch the mystic shapes that the dancing shadows write,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then glory hallelujah! Git yer<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Cob<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Pipe!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When your dressing gown and slippers might be envied by a king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the voices of the children sound as sweet as birds' that sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the feelings that possess you are all of heavenly type,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then glory hallelujah! Git yer<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Cob<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Pipe!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the ringlets aromatic have circled round your head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a drowsiness o'ertakes you, and you want to go to bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the bowlful that you're smoking has burned to ashes white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then glory hallelujah! Quit yer<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Cob<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Pipe!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TIM_BLUSTERS_DREAM" id="TIM_BLUSTERS_DREAM"></a>TIM BLUSTER'S DREAM.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas a place of fifty acres, in a lonely neighborhood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And near a grove of somber pines the shackly farm-house stood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the folks, for miles around, did solemnly declare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That ghosts and goblins horrible held nightly revel there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They said the house was "hanted," and that not a man alive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In all the country round about, could own the place and thrive;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the cattle died with fever, and the hogs the cholera took&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every one that tried it wore a mighty troubled look.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But they put it up at auction, and Tim Bluster bid the most,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who always said "There want no hants nor any kind of ghost<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That ever walked a graveyard in the middle of the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could make <i>his</i> nerves unsteady, or could fill <i>him</i> with affright!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So Tim got full possession, and he moved out to his home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the first night, as he sat there, within his room alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The door was softly opened, and a cat came walking in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With eyes like balls of fire and a coat as black as sin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then squatting on its haunches, it said, in tones polite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"There seems to be but two of us to stay in here to-night!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tim muttered in a trembling voice, as for the door he run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Perhaps <i>you</i> think there will be two, but darn me, there's but one!"<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tim staid away the blessed night, but when the daylight came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It brought him back his courage, and it filled him full of shame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then he said, unto himself, "There wasn't any cat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could make him leave that room again&mdash;he'd bet his life on that!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So when the shades of evening fell, Tim double-barred the door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And took precautions that, perhaps, he hadn't night before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And felt quite sure that nothing now could gain admittance there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And peacefully he dozed and slept, a-sitting in his chair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, all at once, he roused himself, and opening wide his eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beheld a figure standing there that made his hair arise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like quills upon a porcupine, and froze his heart with fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And headless though it was, it spoke, and said in accents clear,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"There seems to be but two of us to stay in here to-night!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tim made a bound, and took with him the sash and every light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then he jumped a nine-rail fence, and down the road he spun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And said, "Perhaps <i>he</i> thinks there's two, but darn <i>me</i>, there's but one!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas seven miles before he stopped and sat down on a log<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To catch his breath and rest awhile from his nocturnal jog<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then he turned his head around, and right before his face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The figure stood, and said to him, "I think we've had a race!"<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tim tried to speak, and not a word he found to utter then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as he jumped from off his seat and broke away again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He spluttered out, "I <i>know</i> we have, but think it's not quite done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For you can bet right now's the time we'll have another one!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Away Tim flew&mdash;he left the road, and through the woods and fields<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pace he set was wonderful, the ghost right at his heels!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that old house is tenantless, and slowly rotting down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since that dread night Tim had his dream, and moved right back to town!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="APPLE_BLOSSOMS" id="APPLE_BLOSSOMS"></a>APPLE BLOSSOMS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's the rose and the lily, the daisy and pink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many rare flowers which others may think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are the fairest and best, the sweetest that blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With delicious perfume, and colors that glow&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But go to the orchard and sniff the delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the incense that's shed by the pink and the white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let the soul float away in a swoon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the ambient air where the apple trees bloom!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's the cowslip, narcissus, and sweet mignonette,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The asters, verbenas, the fuschias; and yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As much as I love them in Summer array,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's the white and the pink I dream of to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I walk 'neath the branches that just interlace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shower their blossoms right down in my face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the breeze that is laden with rarest perfume<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is wafted along where the apple trees bloom!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With glad voices the birds as they flit to and fro<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are singing their songs where the pink and the snow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the orchard, bedecked in its garments so rare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is diffusing and sending its breath on the air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the rays of the sun sift through on the grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the dew-drops that sparkle no jewels surpass!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Springtime at evening, at morning, at noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How sweet is the scent of the apple trees' bloom!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when Summer is gone, and Autumn has shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's soft, dreamy haze through the trees overhead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On each spreading branch where blossoms now cling<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The red and the gold to the fruit it will bring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stripe with a skill and give it that blush<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only Nature can paint with her delicate brush!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O when life ebbs away, then make me a tomb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Right out in the orchard, where the apple trees bloom!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHICKAMAUGA" id="CHICKAMAUGA"></a>CHICKAMAUGA.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To Chattanooga's vale, where flows the winding Tennessee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rugged Lookout sentinels heroic dust of sixty-three&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Chickamauga's gory field re-echoed to the cannon's roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shot and shell through serried ranks a bloody pathway tore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mountain slope and wood and field were lumined with the blaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of musketry from Blue and Gray in those September days&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They come again, the gallant few, survivors of the fray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their breasts with hallowed memories filled, but passion passed away!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fleeting years have silvered o'er the locks of those who live,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And turned to dust the sleeping ones who to their flag did give<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The last drop of the crimson tide from ghastly wounds poured out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amid the conflict's awful din and wild resounding shout;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet it seems but yesterday, or like a passing dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When marshaled on the mountain's side they saw the bayonets gleam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As for a moment from the vale the battle's smoke was lifted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And circling o'er the Blue and Gray in lurid clouds it drifted!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now upon the blood-soaked ground once more they stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the unyielding "Rock of Chickamauga" held command,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And strewed the field with heaps of the assaulting Gray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who dauntless rushed where lines of Blue refused to give the way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bloody scenes crowd thick and fast upon the memory here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To fill the heart with grief and dim the eye with misty tear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spanning Time's chasm with the imagination's bridge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They hear the thunder of the guns from Missionary Ridge!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And there the pyramid of balls is reared to tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mark the hallowed spot where tuneful genius fell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The vagrant winds around it now seem sighing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The requiem sad of "I am dying, Egypt, dying!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prophetic words by gallant <span class="smcap">Lytle</span> penned&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A laurel wreath with immortelles to blend!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A halo hovers round about this gifted son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose deathless name with pen and sword was nobly won!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They come to mark with tokens of their love and pride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each consecrated spot where bleeding heroes fell and died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gaze with reverence on some gently swelling mound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which hides the dust of comrade in his sleep profound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To picture to the mind&mdash;with melancholy pleasure trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The unforgotten outlines of a dear, remembered face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which passed from loved ones and from life away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A victim on the bloody field of fratricidal fray!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="GENERAL_JOHN_B_GORDON" id="GENERAL_JOHN_B_GORDON"></a>GENERAL JOHN B. GORDON.</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Facile Princeps.</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O gifted one of the Sunny South, with lips so eloquent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In whose great heart no malice e'er was found!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now thou art a messenger of Peace, by heaven sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">On mission of fraternity, to heal the cankering wound!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In that dread day when fratricidal strife<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Convulsed with passion&mdash;crimsoned with its blood&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No nobler son than thou who staked his life<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With veterans Gray withstood the overwhelming flood!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No sweeter tribute could be paid by mortal tongue&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No nobler sentiment the human heart could fill&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In grander strains no poet's praises e'er were sung<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of private soldier&mdash;than thy words that burn and thrill!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No treasured wrong within thy noble soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Has tainted with its slimy trail of hate&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No broader love of country could embrace the whole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or bow more gracefully to iron hand of fate!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Speak on! And scatter broadcast healing seed<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That shall a harvest of good feeling yield&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Peace, no less than War, shall lend her meed<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And crown anew this hero of the bloody field!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="UP_AND_DOWN_OLD_CLARKS_RUN" id="UP_AND_DOWN_OLD_CLARKS_RUN"></a>UP AND DOWN OLD CLARK'S RUN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bright visions of childhood! How dear to the heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are the scenes which from memory can never depart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Undimmed by the sorrows, the grief and the tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which have shadowed the pathway of life's later years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They come like the rainbow which follows the storm&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On remembrance reflected with colors as warm&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in dreams of delight they picture the fun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we had long ago when we fished in Clark's Run!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With a can full of worms and a heart full of joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up and down the old stream, a bare-footed boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A truant from school, my footsteps would stray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the deep-shaded pool, or where ripples at play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As they flowed over beds of smooth-polished stones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sang a lullaby sweet in soft undertones!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the dawn of the day to the set of the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What pleasures we've had when we fished in Clark's Run!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Equipped with a pole, a hook and a line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stowed in some pocket a long piece of twine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On which you could string, if you seined for a week,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Every fish that was found up and down the old creek&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With one "gallus" to pants that were rolled to the knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And holes in our hats through which you could see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the sunbeams had turned the light hair to dun&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We hied us away to the banks of Clark's Run!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There we baited the hook and threw out the line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And watched the cork disappear with a rapture divine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And felt just as proud as a prince or a king<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we landed high up, with a jerk and a swing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fish that would measure two inches or more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then anchored him fast with the string to the shore!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But unnumbered now are the silver strands spun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the hair of the head since we fished in Clark's Run!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O who can there be with a heart in his breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would forget the dear scenes which so lovingly rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the bosom when life has grown old and cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And feel no delight when such pictures unfold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And would blot out forever from memory's page<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The records of childhood which solace old age?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Till time ends for me and with life I have done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll dream of the days when we fished in Clark's Run!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="ROBERT_BURNS" id="ROBERT_BURNS"></a>ROBERT BURNS.</h2>
+
+<h3>(A PARAPHRASE.)</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou lingering Star! No less'ning ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will e'er bedim thy natal morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or usher in the unhallowed day<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When we forget that thou wert born!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where is thy place of blissful rest?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See'st thou again a Highland maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That sacred day can we forget,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Can we forget the hallowed spot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where by the winding Ayr was set<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The sparkling jewel in lowly cot?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eternity will not efface<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The record dear of time that's past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy memory sweet we still embrace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And will as long as life shall last!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ayr, congeal&egrave;d to its pebbled shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O'erhung with wild woods, shorn of green;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The leafless birch and hawthorn hoar<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Were planted round the wintry scene;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No flowers sprang wanton to be pressed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No birds sang love on every spray&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But brightest yet o'er all the rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will ever shine thy natal day!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still o'er thy songs our rapture wakes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And memory broods with miser care!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Time but their music sweeter makes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As streams their channels deeper wear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where is thy place of blissful rest?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See'st thou again a Highland maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="WISHING_FISHING" id="WISHING_FISHING"></a>WISHING&mdash;FISHING.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Full well I know that wishing never yet has brought<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The things that seem to us would satisfy the heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that anticipated pleasure, when at last 'tis caught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Has naught but transitory solace to impart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet, somehow, I've ever felt and thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A joy there is that never can depart&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(As long as we are capable of feeling&mdash;wishing)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And that's to leave dull care behind, and&mdash;go a-fishing!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some dream of wealth&mdash;of place&mdash;of fame&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And fleeting shadows vainly they pursue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some have sighed to win a deathless name<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where fields of carnage corpses thickly strew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shrieks of agony are heard 'mid smoke and flame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But these are dizzy heights attained by few;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, when Dame Fortune is her favors dishing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I hope that I'll get mine in ample time to&mdash;go a-fishing!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, was there ever any sweeter dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or music with a tone that's more entrancing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than just to wander where some mountain stream<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is o'er the rocks and polished pebbles dancing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And nothing short of heaven itself, I ween,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is like the moment when, his scales all glancing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You see the happy consummation of your wishing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And catch the very fish for which you have been fishing!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="POE" id="POE"></a>POE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, melancholy child of want and woe!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A brilliant meteor in an ebon sky!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy soul's weird music all did flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From heart-strings touched by destiny!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Raven, perched above thy chamber door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Responsive croaked with a prophetic word&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For in the realm of song may "Nevermore"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Such strains as thine by mortal ear be heard!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where now doth that proud spirit dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whose earthly days were clouded o'er with gloom?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In regions with the sweet-voiced "Israfel,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where never-fading flowerets bloom?<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dost rest within some "distant Aidenn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Beyond the Night's Plutonian shore?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clasp again a sainted maiden<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whom the angels name Lenore?"<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, "echo through the corridors of Time"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will have a tone that ages yet will know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blend with all that's beautiful&mdash;sublime&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The deathless name of Edgar Allan Poe!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_BARREN_IDEALTY" id="A_BARREN_IDEALTY"></a>A BARREN "IDEALTY."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">This song that I sing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It is not of a spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor yet of a silvery stream&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But of a vision bright<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which came last night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the garb of a blissful dream&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When I thought, as I lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It was Thanksgiving Day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I was invited to dine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where a table stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On which everything good<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spread a feast that was almost divine!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Where the savors arose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Right under my nose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From turkey&mdash;and pumpkin pies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And from jolly roast pig<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were slices as big<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As some of the campaign lies!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And celery so white<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twas a thing of delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bite the crisp stalks in two.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the cranberry sauce&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh, I tell you 'twas boss&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And flanked by an oyster stew!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Where the bread and the cake&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The best they can bake&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were cut into slices heroic.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">And the amber ice cream<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Melted into my dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like love to the heart of a 'poet';<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And they heaped up my plate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I sat there and ate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I awoke with a yell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And a shiver and shake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And a pain and an ache<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That rudely my dream did dispel!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">But dreams, as you know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By contraries go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus I fear if it will be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With the one of delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That came last night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I feasted so heartily;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Thanksgiving Day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the usual way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will come to me, don't you see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the dinner I had<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the ache that was bad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prove a&mdash;&mdash;barren "idealty"!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_CHERISHED_RELIC" id="A_CHERISHED_RELIC"></a>A CHERISHED RELIC.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the attic, unused, there they put it away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old oaken frame has begun to decay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What iron's about it is eaten with rust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And upon and around it are cobwebs and dust;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dear, loving hands that on it have spun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With labor and toil forever are done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And long is the time since I saw them unreel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The threads, snowy white, from the old spinning-wheel!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It stood on a porch where the Summer sunshine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sifted down to the floor through a clambering vine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose tendrils about the lattice-work clung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like my heart-strings round her, and the song that she sung;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the pictures of fancy I con o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till, raptured, I see the dear features once more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thrill with the touch when her lips set the seal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of her love, as she spun on the old spinning-wheel!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then through the shadows and mists of many long years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old cottage home to the vision appears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though youth it has fled, and the hair it is gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm a bare-footed boy returned to his play&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forgetting the present to dream once again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That life had no anguish, no sorrow, no pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sweetly the bells of the memory peal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When communing up there with the old spinning-wheel!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And back from the past, with its grief and its joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come the tones of a voice I heard when a boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I see once again, as it moved to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A form that now rests where the wild roses blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sentinel stars their love vigils keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above the dear one in her long, dreamless sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But memories sweet to a heart that can feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still cluster around the old spinning-wheel.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some spokes from the rim are broken and gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it stands there forsaken, neglected, alone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It knows naught of language, but a story can tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a charm that for me time cannot dispel;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And often I climb the old attic stair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The love of my childhood with it to share,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And emotions possess me I cannot conceal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When fondly I gaze on the old spinning-wheel!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The distaff is worn and smooth with the touch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the now folded hands that used it so much;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lingering there I clearly can trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweet smile of love from a well-cherished face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which sheds round about it a halo divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thus I am kneeling at memory's shrine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hallows the thoughts which on the mind steal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When up there alone with the old spinning-wheel!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis then that I see her in saintly guise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the fast-welling tears that come to my eyes&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A vision arrayed in raiment white<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That beckons to me from the regions of light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And illumines the way that my footsteps may tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unerringly where her love for me led&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the straight path that she tried to reveal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As she taught me, and spun on the old spinning-wheel!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, the finger of Time has furrowed the brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And silvered the hair, yet I dream of her now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As when, long ago, I heard as a child<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The words of her love that my sorrows beguiled;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this relic she used but brings back anew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The morning of life, that was fresh with the dew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Distilled from the heart, as she taught me to kneel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Right down by her side, and the old spinning-wheel!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="RESTLAND" id="RESTLAND"></a>"RESTLAND."</h2>
+
+<h3>WRITTEN IN THE DANVILLE (KY.) CEMETERY.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Within thy hallowed precincts on this sweet autumnal day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We're wandering 'neath the cedar and the pine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where rests the sacred dust of loved ones passed away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And bleeding hearts a melancholy pleasure find.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In memory's faithful mirror here once more we trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Familiar forms of those in life we knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And see again the shadowy outlines of some face<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That, living, beamed with kindness&mdash;ever true.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Old age, and manhood's prime, and helpless infancy<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Have dotted o'er with many an emerald mound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And marked each stone with mournful tracery<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which stands within this consecrated ground.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And there the marble shaft its stately head<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In polished whiteness pointing to the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here the modest tribute to the lowly dead&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The silent monitors that tell us all must die.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here lavish Nature her bright smile imparts<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And decks with lovely flowers in early Spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here the sympathetic tear unbidden starts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And loving hands their sweetest tributes bring.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VI.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Loved spot! A solace to the living 'tis to know<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That when at last&mdash;life's fitful fever o'er&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cortege sad, with solemn step and slow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shall bear us here, to rest forever more,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VII.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Till that bright day when ransomed spirits rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And loved and lost shall reunited be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To dwell in realms beyond the star-lit skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Throughout one circling, vast eternity!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="MY_VALENTINE" id="MY_VALENTINE"></a>MY VALENTINE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I passed her on the crowded street&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This winsome maid, demure and sweet&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And envious saw the silken tresses<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That seemed to give her cheeks caresses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rapture felt that thrilled me through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When on me glanced those eyes of blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From underneath the drooping lashes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That could not hide their azure flashes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oh, I dreampt of bliss divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she would be&mdash;my Valentine!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And visions of as fair a face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As painter's pencil e'er did trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would haunt the mind each waking hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slumber owned its magic power&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until I found by merest chance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That belladonna made the glance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And borrowed hair had lent its aid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For silken tresses of this maid&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And padding&mdash;paint&mdash;did all combine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make for me&mdash;my Valentine!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_SMOKE" id="A_SMOKE"></a>A SMOKE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O others may boast of their pleasures galore&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The miser with rapture may count o'er his store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some may imagine great happiness there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the gay shining beam of Society's glare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But best of all comforts a feller can know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While wintry winds whistle and fast flies the snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a pipe after supper, by a bright blazing fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O doctors may tell you and others declare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It'll shorten your days and your heart will impair&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That nicotine poison will flow through your veins<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And nervous distraction will rack with its pains;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what cares a feller in slippers and gown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When wintry winds whistle and snow's pouring down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With papers and books, and his feet near the fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher?<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O rare are the fancies, contentment and bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That drive away care in an hour such as this!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the ills of this life and the things that provoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are lost for the while in the blue curling smoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a pipe and tobacco that's yellow as gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And raptures supernal the senses unfold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O give me a chair by a bright blazing fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sweet-smelling ringlets that curl high and higher!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="PERRYVILLE" id="PERRYVILLE"></a>PERRYVILLE.</h2>
+
+<h3>FOUGHT OCTOBER 8th, 1862.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here on this spot, where Nature now, with chilling, icy breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has mantled in a robe of white the field of strife and death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We view in memory once again the awful scenes where met<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In serried ranks the Blue and Gray&mdash;and tears the lashes wet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For those who fell that dreadful day are mingled with the dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And often here the plow upturns a bayonet red with rust:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sad memento of the time when passion held full sway&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reminder to the rustic swain of fratricidal fray.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From yonder hill the shotted guns in dreadful chorus rang&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on this plain was heard that day the glittering sabre's clang,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in that vale, where wound the brook, with waters murmuring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We stood and heard the Minie balls their deadly message sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saw the life blood, gushing red, from stricken comrade near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose gentle voice his loved ones then no more should ever hear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His blue eyes close&mdash;his bosom heave&mdash;his pulse forever still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sacrifice to cause held dear, on the field of Perryville!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the swiftly circling years can ne'er erase<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Memory's tablets or from Nature's face<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">One spot of all the rest we're standing near&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By fiercely battling hosts the prize held dear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old spring's waters still are gurgling from the rock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where famished soldiers knelt&mdash;grim Death himself to mock;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here on that day in ghastly heaps they lay&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Commingling with the Blue the men that wore the Gray!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now the virgin snow has covered o'er the sod<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where once in fierce array contending armies trod;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wintry wind makes mournful music through the trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where then the clash of arms was floating on the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deep-toned guns belched forth the screaming shell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like fiendish messengers of Death let loose from hell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now Nature's peaceful emblem spread o'er glade and hill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enwraps beneath its folds the bloody field of Perryville.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">December 26, 1895.</span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="LONGINGS" id="LONGINGS"></a>LONGINGS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Gim me back my stone-bruised heel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And them tow-linen pants,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' that old pole an' line an' reel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">An' all them boyhood ha'nts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' that old hat I used to wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That didn't hav' no crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' that same crop uv yeller hair&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Sun-burnt on top ter brown&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' them playmates I used ter know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">An' loved like very brothers&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' you kin let the old world go<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">An' giv' its wealth ter others!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Gim me back one gallus, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That buttoned with a peg,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' them blamed ticks that burrowed through<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The skin uv either leg,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' that old single-barrel gun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As crooked as a rail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' that same dog that used ter run<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The molly cotton-tail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' lem me hav' the tops I spun&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The kites that I hav' sailed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' then at last, when life is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who'd keer if it had failed?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="DOWN_ABOUT_OLD_SHAKERTOWN" id="DOWN_ABOUT_OLD_SHAKERTOWN"></a>DOWN ABOUT OLD SHAKERTOWN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You may boast about the landscapes fair so far across the sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of castled Rhine, and southern France, and favored Italy&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But have you seen, when Springtime flings the scented blossoms down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The forests and the meadows green around old Shakertown?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You may boast of some that bask beneath perpetual Summer's smiles&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those "Eden's of the eastern wave"&mdash;the sunny Grecian isles&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And others that perhaps you've seen, of beauty and renown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But come and view the country spread around old Shakertown!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O come and boast that you have been where Nature's lavish hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bestowed the gifts of wood and field that vie with any land&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where valleys wear a velvet robe&mdash;the hills an emerald crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of bluegrass shimmering in the sun, around old Shakertown!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O come to old Kentucky then, and to her garden spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then wander wheresoe'er you will, it ne'er will be forgot&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Nature's face is wreathed in smiles nor wears a single frown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To mar the beauty she has spread around old Shakertown!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="MEMORIA_IN_AETERNA" id="MEMORIA_IN_AETERNA"></a>MEMORIA IN &AElig;TERNA.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet Memory! thou faculty divine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Triumphant o'er the cruel hand of Time!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On thy tablets we may trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lines his fingers ne'er efface,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And take with us till latest day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The images that light our way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And picture thus in a shadowy form<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The loved and lost he's from us torn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their lids by Death so early sealed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life's crimson tide by him congealed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tyrant has not all concealed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They in thy mirror still revealed!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Before the morning sunbeams kissed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The face of Nature&mdash;veiled in mist&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heralded with golden ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The opening of the perfect day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere yet the sable shades of night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At dawn's approach had winged their flight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've listed to the whispering breeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That's wafted o'er the trembling trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seemed to hear the voices sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of loved ones now we ne'er can meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till earthly night shall pass away&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Supplanted by immortal day!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And thus in retrospective mood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone with Nature's solitude<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In some secluded sylvan dell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her myriad voices float and swell<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And flitting shadows softly tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of dear ones lost&mdash;yet loved so well!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then to the sunny home where dwelt&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Ere yet the envious tyrant dealt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blow that blighted hopes have felt)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fond fancy wanders, and can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once happy scenes that ne'er can be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost in thy shades, O Memory!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But those to us so cruelly denied<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are drifting now upon some fairer tide&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their scattered ashes on Hope's pinions rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And people realms beyond the azure skies!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then may our faltering footsteps lead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To where fond hearts may never bleed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where vanished faces, cherished forms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are anchored safe from life's rude storms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where strains seraphic, soft and low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rapt ear greet, and we shall know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The loved and lost we only see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In visions of sweet Memory!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_MOTHERS_GRAVE" id="A_MOTHERS_GRAVE"></a>A MOTHER'S GRAVE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The years have passed in ceaseless round<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Since first they laid her here to rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In dreamless sleep beneath the silent mound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With folded hands upon her gentle breast.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The ivy twines about the crumbling stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And Springtime's scented blossoms fling<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their incense o'er the peaceful home<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That knows no more of suffering.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Full many a Summer's sun has shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Its brightest smile upon the hallowed spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sobered Autumn and wild Winter spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Their garments here&mdash;she heeds them not!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The feathered wildlings of the wood and field<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Their untaught melody around it make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she who sleeps with eyes so softly sealed<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Their gladsome songs can never more awake.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O restful sleep beneath the crumbling mold<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To dream no more of hopes unrealized!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Grave! What treasures do thy confines hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">By us so dearly loved and fondly prized!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_FRECKLE-FACED_BOY" id="A_FRECKLE-FACED_BOY"></a>A FRECKLE-FACED BOY.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'm just in my glory when the cat I can tease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or I'm hunting for bird nests up in the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I wear out my pants in the seat and the knees;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm the pride of my daddy, my mammy's own joy&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I can make a top hum, and at marbles, you bet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm the cock of the walk and the king of the "set;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm hearty and healthy&mdash;and don't you forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dead loads of "goodies" that I can destroy&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They send me to school with my satchel and books,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my pockets bulged out with nails and fish-hooks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes while there my teacher she looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And captures the things that provoke and annoy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My mammy she says that it's quite evident<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the country some day I'll be President;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But auntie, she says from the way I am bent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gold of her dream will be full of alloy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'm huntin' for fun, and I don't have a care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there's dirt on my hands, and I don't comb my hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And off-colored patches quite often I wear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there's no kind of sport the young heart can cloy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_DAM_BELOW_THE_MILL" id="THE_DAM_BELOW_THE_MILL"></a>THE DAM BELOW THE MILL.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Springtime am a-comin', and the dogwood soon will bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the blossoms ten times thicker than the green leaves are in June,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if yer want some pleasure that I nominate divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just git yer minnow bucket, and yer hook and pole and line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slip away some mornin', when the weather's bright and still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There are lots of other pleasures in the old world here below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a mighty heap of happiness a feller 'll never know&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But never mind about 'em&mdash;just yer slip away and feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That something so delectable that over yer will steal;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For it sets the pulses beatin' with a magic kind of thrill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When yer 'gin to take the fever, and yer feel it comin' on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why yer boun' ter go a-fishin', just as shore as yer born;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then ye'd better git yer trapping's in the proper kind o' fix,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And go and hear the music when yer reel a-spinnin' clicks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he rushes through the water at a pace that's fit ter kill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_SERENADE" id="THE_SERENADE"></a>THE SERENADE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The winds were hushed, and thin and high<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The fleecy clouds were drifting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through them as she sailed the sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The moon's soft light was sifting.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath her pale and tender ray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Its silvery kiss imprinting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All dew-bedecked each flower and spray<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like myriad jewels glinting.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Across the lawn there floats the sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of music sweet&mdash;entrancing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Neath a latticed casement, ivy-bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where love-lit eyes were glancing.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The flute and harp and mandolin<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">There dulcet notes were blending,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strains divine from a violin<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In harmony ascending.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Enraptured by the magic spell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I lingering stood, and listening,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seemed to me that I could tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What love to her was whispering.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
+</div>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VI.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I looked above and chanced to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The man in the moon was scowling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For they had struck up "Sweet Marie,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the old watch-dog was howling!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="IS_IT_HOT_ENOUGH_FER_YOU" id="IS_IT_HOT_ENOUGH_FER_YOU"></a>"IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wouldn't mind the weather much&mdash;I'd sizzle and I'd stew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And do the very best I could the heat to struggle through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I could find some way, you know, the feller to eschew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who greets you with the chestnut phrase&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">"<span class="smcap">Is it hot enough fer you?</span>"<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The mercury might climb the tube and spill right out the top&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweat might ooze from every pore and off my carcass drop&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wouldn't mind the heat at all, and keep my temper too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If it wasn't for the cuss who says&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">"<span class="smcap">Is it hot enough fer you?</span>"<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun might shine his level best&mdash;the sky seem molten brass&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The heat might dry up every stream, and burn up all the grass&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The evening come without a breeze&mdash;the morning have no dew&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If it wasn't for the 'moke' who asks<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">"<span class="smcap">Is it hot enough fer you?</span>"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_TOKEN" id="THE_TOKEN"></a>THE TOKEN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a ringlet of flaxen hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Tied with a ribbon blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laid by the hand of a mother there&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Cherished with love so true!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a soft and silken curl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bound with a knotted bow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Worn on the head of a little girl<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Lost in the long-ago.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a hallowed treasure kept<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From the grave's decay and mold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over which her eyes have wept<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With anguish all untold!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a link in the golden chain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">By Death's cold hand unbroken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which leads to where she'll meet again<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The wearer of this token.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a relic undefiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Enshrined in a broken heart&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rent in twain when a darling child<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And a loving mother part!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VI.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a ringlet of flaxen hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Tied with a ribbon blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clipped from the head of an angel fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whose hands are beckoning you!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TO_SCENES_I_USED_TO_KNOW" id="TO_SCENES_I_USED_TO_KNOW"></a>TO SCENES I USED TO KNOW.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I can see the back-log blazing and the sparkles take their flight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up the cavernous old chimney on a merry Christmas night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can see the old folks smiling and the children's cheeks aglow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a saucy maiden standing there beneath the mistletoe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can hear the laughter mingle with the strains of music sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As we tripped the light fantastic with the "many-twinkling feet;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can see the moonlight gleaming through the trees upon the snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I can see the candles burning bright upon the Christmas tree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can see the presents handed round, and hear the shouts of glee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from the buried years there comes a-stealing on the heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A something indefinable which bids the tear-drop start;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can see the blue smoke curling, through the little strip of wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between the winding turnpike road and where the farmhouse stood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can see the colts a-playing, I can hear the cattle low&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I can see it all when fancy weaves its magic with a dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I hear the tones from voices like the murmur of a stream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oh, the heart seems young again and from its anguish free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I gaze upon these pictures that are ever dear to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then I see the darkies dancing, I can hear the fiddle ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As they gathered in the cabin and they cut the pigeon-wing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can smell the 'possum roasting, I can see the cider flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="BEREFT" id="BEREFT"></a>BEREFT.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No more to feel the pressure warm<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of dimpled arms around your neck&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more to clasp the little form<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That Nature did with beauty deck.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No more to hear the music sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of merry laugh and prattling talk&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more to see the busy feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Come toddling down the shaded walk.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No more the glint of flaxen hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That nestled 'round the lilied brow&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more the rose's bloom will wear<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The cheek so cold and pallid now.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No more the light from loving eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whose hue was like the violet blown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Summer's softest, bluest skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Had lent it coloring from their own.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No more to fondly bend above<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The little one when slumber wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sweetest dreams, the smile of love<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The placid features then had caught.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VI.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No more on earth&mdash;oh, nevermore!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The shattered idols of the heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can yearning love nor time restore&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But&mdash;you may meet to never part!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_BULL_SPRING" id="THE_BULL_SPRING"></a>THE "BULL SPRING."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the burning sun of Summer shines from out a brassy sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And has parched and browned the meadows, and the creek's run dry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O sweet it is to wander there and hear the water sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's rippling song of gladness from the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">"Bull<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Spring!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since Logan and the pioneers first stood upon its bank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heard it gurgle from the rock, and of its waters drank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With ceaseless music in its flow, like silvery chimes that ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has been the song of gladness from the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">"Bull<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Spring!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Around about the fields and woods of old "Magnolia" spread&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Indigenous to "tansy"&mdash;"mint"&mdash;and the lithe-limbed thoroughbred;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And far above, on drowsy wing, the crow seems listening<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the rippling song of gladness from the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">"Bull<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Spring!"<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No music that I've ever heard seems half so soft and sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As that in silvery tones it makes while flowing at your feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes when I'm far away I'd give most anything<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hear the song of gladness from the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">"Bull<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Spring!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis then that fancy wanders, and I sit and fondly dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I'm gazing in its liquid depths and see the pebbles gleam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As when in happy childhood, and free from sorrow's sting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I heard the song of gladness from the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">"Bull<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Spring!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I sniff again the flavor of the aromatic breeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the mint-bed and the tansy, as it floated through the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hear music mingle of the birds upon the wing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the laughing song of gladness from the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">"Bull<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Spring!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="FAMILIAR_HAUNTS" id="FAMILIAR_HAUNTS"></a>FAMILIAR HAUNTS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Give me the patches on my pants, the freckles on my face&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The happy heart where cankering care had never found a place&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let my bare feet walk again that dirt road down the hill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That led me to the river's brink, beyond the old Mock Mill!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Give me the youthful friends I knew, now scattered far and wide&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The loved ones who have passed beyond the bounds of time and tide&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let me see the rose's hue that mantled every cheek<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we were run-aways from school, a-fishing in the creek.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Give me the stone-bruise on my heel, the hat without a crown&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The unkempt suit of yellow hair the sun had burnt to brown&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let me go and soak myself, just where we used to walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In that old swimmin' pool we had, up on the Hanging Fork!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Give me the wealth I used to have&mdash;a wealth of vast content&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pockets that were always full&mdash;but in them not a cent&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let me hear the music sweet the wild birds used to sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In woods and fields I wandered o'er, beyond the Old Cove Spring!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Give me&mdash;but what's the use of wishing for the days that won't return&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The vanished faces of the friends for whom we fondly yearn?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what's the use of trying to look beyond the misty screen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Time's hand has hung between the eye and each familiar scene?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_FADED_LETTER" id="A_FADED_LETTER"></a>A FADED LETTER.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O what memories sweet entwine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Around each word and faded line!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yellow and dim with the touch of years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soiled with the marks of tears&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sacred treasure of the heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which death alone can from him part&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A letter&mdash;cherished as no other&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ending with the name of&mdash;Mother!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Writ it was to a wayward boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When life to him seemed full of joy&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pleading with him so to live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he her heart no grief would give&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That after years might ne'er be fraught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sorrow that himself had wrought:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"May guardian angels 'round you hover,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She wrote&mdash;and signed the name of&mdash;Mother!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The paper has the taint of must&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hand that traced the lines is dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And silvery hair is on the head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of that same boy since first he read<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This missive from the sainted one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That bore her love to an erring son&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More fondly prized than any other&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas written by the hand of&mdash;Mother!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_HERMIT" id="THE_HERMIT"></a>THE HERMIT.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By the waters of a river, where the rocks like giants stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There a stranger, young and favored, built a home with his own hand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hewed the logs and reared the roof-tree, where for years alone he dwelt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wanderer from the sunny Southland, and from pangs his heart had felt.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Legend says high-born and wealthy, seeking there in Nature's wilds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To forget a maiden fickle, basking in a rival's smiles.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where the music of the wild birds, echoed from the cliffs around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blended with the voice of waters, flowing past with silvery sound;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where in Springtime wild flowers blooming shed their incense day and night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the rugged cliff-sides wearing robes of dogwood, snowy white;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where in Summer old trees spreading overhead a leafy roof<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flung their shadows, deep and cooling, 'gainst the burning sunbeams proof;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where in Winter wild winds raving whistled 'round his lonely home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the swollen torrent rushing struck the rocks with sullen tone&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He a sunnier clime forsaking for the "dark and bloody ground,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the forest stretched unbroken&mdash;there the wanderer rest had found.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All of human-kind deserting, where no din of toil and strife<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever came to break the stillness&mdash;there he spent a hermit's life.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All his frugal wants supplying from the storehouse Nature gave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nevermore his footsteps bending toward where Hope had found its grave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Striving to forget the false one, dwelling 'neath her sunny skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who had left the arrow rankling in his heart with honied lies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long ago she was forgotten, and at last surcease had come&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For his heart was stilled forever, and his lips were sealed and dumb.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long he lay beside the river, flowing sweetly there to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where was found a bleaching skeleton, and a rude hut in decay.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There where briars in tangled network sway above a little mound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rest the bones of Southern stranger, in the "dark and bloody ground!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_MEDICAL_SPRING" id="THE_MEDICAL_SPRING"></a>THE "MEDICAL SPRING."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let tipplers all boast of the pleasure divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is found in old whisky, in beer and in wine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what are all those to a feller who knows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the "Medical Spring" in its purity flows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And has knelt at its brink and just drank his fill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the clear, sparkling fluid, from Nature's own still?<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How often I've strayed on a hot Summer's day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where it gurgles and gushes, then flows on its way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a ripple as sweet as the music that died<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the tones of loved voices are to us denied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mirrored my face in the "Medical Spring,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the beetling old cliffs their cool shadows fling!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not riches, nor honors, nor place do I crave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere they lay me at last to rest in the grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oh, let me hear its music once more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drink from its depths while I kneel on its shore&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then bear me away on the Death Angel's wing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While my lips are yet moist from the "Medical Spring!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="AN_IDYL_OF_THE_BALL" id="AN_IDYL_OF_THE_BALL"></a>AN "IDYL" OF THE BALL.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In reel, in waltz, in lancer's maze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She moved with pretty air of grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the ball-room's brilliant blaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Seemed borrowed brightness from her face!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, winsome maid, demure and sweet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'll ne'er forget when first I met her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saw the dainty slippered feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Glide o'er the floor at Linnietta!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, dreams of youth and beauty rare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What rose-hued visions thou canst paint!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But none in loveliness compare<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With her who seemed Love's patron saint!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her pictured image haunts the mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And, oh, I never can forget her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor rarer pleasure hope to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Than dance with her at Linnietta!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Arrayed in softly flowing gown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The love-light flashing from her eyes&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With cheeks aglow like roses blown<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Beneath the ardent summer skies&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No artist hand could fitly trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The wondrous charm that did beset her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When tripping with a fairy's grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O'er the waxen floor at Linnietta!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="DREAMS" id="DREAMS"></a>DREAMS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sweetest dreams, it seems to me, that we can ever know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are those the fancy brings to us of days of long-ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When rainbow-tinted pictures all are like a mirage flung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the canvas memory weaves&mdash;of days when we were young.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The step may falter, eye be dim&mdash;the brow may wrinkles wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And underneath the crumbling mould our friends be sleeping there&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oh, these visions come to us as to the rose the dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while with raptured gaze we look the heart seems ever new.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, when perhaps at last we're left a laggard on life's stage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is the mellowed draught we quaff our longings to assuage&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sweet as that from Paradise the smiling Houris hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Prophet's faithful followers when at its gates they stand!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If one last prayer were left to me for my declining days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its form should be that I might hear the chimes that memory plays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when at last upon my grave the wavy grass had sprung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some passer-by could truly say "His heart was ever young!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_TWIST_OF_NATURAL_LEAF" id="A_TWIST_OF_NATURAL_LEAF"></a>A TWIST OF "NATURAL LEAF."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some sing of the lily, some sing of the rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some sing of each flower in beauty that blows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But sing me a song that shall render its meed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the fragrance and aroma found in a weed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which banishes care and mitigates grief&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I mean a big twist of old "natural leaf!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When sorrow's dark mantle the spirit doth wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the heart is oppressed with the demon of care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then get out your pipe and its magic invoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all of your troubles will vanish in smoke!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, you who have tried it will know what I mean<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the praises I sing of a hank of long green!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since the days of King James and his old counterblast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its sway of all classes has ever held fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And its patron saint Raleigh forever will live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In remembrance as sweet as affection can give,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the incense we burn is an offering seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In wreaths of blue smoke from a twist of long green!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now some may advise you and others may swear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That nicotine poison your nerves will impair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if from the weed you'd just kept aloof<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From heartburn and palsy you'd surely been proof&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a man who had died at a hundred fifteen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was hastened away by smoking long green!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But a cigar, a pipe, or a good juicy chew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will yield you more comfort than harm they will do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And murder the microbes that float in the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make magical dreams in the old arm-chair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you will remember, and never forget,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To just draw the line at a vile cigarette!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="GEORGE_W_CHILDS" id="GEORGE_W_CHILDS"></a>GEORGE W. CHILDS.</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">February 4th</span>, 1894.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Gone to his exceeding great reward,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The friend of rich and poor alike;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there'll rest not beneath the sward<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">More shining mark that death could strike.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The benefactor of his race&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His noble soul from avarice free;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By heaven lent the sordid earth to grace&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A nation's tears sincerely shed for thee!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thrice blest the one, in lowly lot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Contented with an humble place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who by thy noble heart was ne'er forgot<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And knew thy smiling, loving face!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, thus too early snatched away<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From generous act and loving deed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thousands will now deplore the day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thousands now whose hearts will bleed!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The heaven-pointing shaft for thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Its stately head might never raise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thy sweet memory would ever be<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Hymned by thy fellow-mortals' praise!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, thanks to Him who in His image made<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And to the world this beacon gave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With tears we'll water flowers that never fade<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And gently drop upon his new-made grave!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_OLD_SPRING-HOUSE" id="THE_OLD_SPRING-HOUSE"></a>THE OLD SPRING-HOUSE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With its rude walls of stone and its moss-covered roof&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">('Tis a picture inwoven with memory's woof)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It stands there to-day, as it stood in the years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we knew naught of sorrow&mdash;nor anguish&mdash;nor tears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though far from it now, I can see it at will&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old spring-house at the foot of the hill!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O flights of fond fancy that deeply inurn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet scenes of our childhood, no more to return!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which carry us back in visions and dreams<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And illumine life's pathway with memory's gleams&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till we see once again, though with tears the eyes fill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old spring-house at the foot of the hill!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There we children, bare-footed, would wander to play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wade in the branch that flowed on its way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the meadows and fields with current so fleet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a gurgle and ripple that sounded so sweet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the water that helped turn the wheel at the mill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was from the spring-house at the foot of the hill!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And, oh! I remember a pair of blue eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With glances as tender and soft as the skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a little brown head that was covered with curls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the laughter that rippled between rows of pearls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which was changed to a cry of despair and of woe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the craw-fish was clinging to a little pink toe!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Distilled by the heart into memory's wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis thus that we drink a draught that's divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lighten the burdens which after years bear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And banish with dreaming the demon of Care!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O in fond recollection I linger there still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the old spring-house at the foot of the hill!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though vanished forever the faces that smiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hushed is the laughter I heard when a child&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet often when musing they float back to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I see them and hear it as clear as can be!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'm playing again, while the heart strings all thrill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the old spring house at the foot of the hill!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CAMPING_ON_THE_CUMBERLAND" id="CAMPING_ON_THE_CUMBERLAND"></a>CAMPING ON THE CUMBERLAND.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where the Cumberland flows on its way to the South,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From its source in the hills half-way to its mouth&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Autumn has come and tempered the rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the hot blazing sun with its soft mellow haze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is an Eden of bliss and a place of delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the minnows are good and the "jumpers" will bite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a fellow's well fixed with a reel and a pole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And other "equipments"&mdash;(of which I've been told)!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To camp there and fish for a week at a time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And have the four-pounders just tug at your line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a feeling akin to sweet visions we see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we dream of that home where we all hope to be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no king in the world who sits on a throne<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">E'er felt the rare joy that thrills to the bone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you throw out your line and it whizzes away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just cutting the water to foamy white spray!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He darts here and there, dead game to the last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he feels the barbed hook and finds that he's fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And plunges and struggles, disdaining to yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till exhausted at last to the bank he is reeled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And carefully lifted from out the old stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While he flounders and gasps and his scaly sides gleam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you measure his length and guess at his weight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Five inches too long and a pound too great)!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when shadows of evening are gathering around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sun with pure gold each hill-top has crowned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then pick up your trappings and leisurely wend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your way back to camp, above the long bend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the cook has prepared a supper, I trow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ne'er dreamt of in thoughts of Delmonico!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you'll sit there and eat for an hour or more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With an appetite keen&mdash;and unheard of before!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now bring out your pipe and fill up the bowl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And loll there and smoke till it seems that the soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is wafted away like the ringlets that rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As blue as the dome of the star-jeweled skies!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then roll in a blanket with your feet to the blaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the croak of the frogs and the ripple that plays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will lull you to sleep with music as sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As that of the song when the angels you greet!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="AN_EASTER_FLOWER" id="AN_EASTER_FLOWER"></a>AN EASTER FLOWER.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The flower that she gave to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Has withered now and died&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But yet with fond fidelity<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Its faded leaves abide.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The petals that so fragrant then<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She wore upon her breast&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still clinging to the lifeless stem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With miser care possessed.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As when in sweetest purity<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It shed its perfume rare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A symbol dear 'twill ever be<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of one divinely fair!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Plucked by the cruel hand of Death<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In beauty's youthful bloom&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She perished with his chilling breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And withered in the tomb.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But I will cherish ever thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The token that she gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When sun-lit skies were over us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Unclouded by the grave!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_STAGE_COACH" id="THE_STAGE_COACH"></a>THE STAGE COACH.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No matter what the weather was, in good old stage coach days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The driver with his ruddy face and spanking team of bays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would spin along the turnpike road, o'er level stretch and hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wound away from "Idleburg" to classic Nicholasville.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The depths beneath his seat were filled with leathern sacks of mail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the coach's top at times was crowded to the rail<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With trunks, valises, packages, and bundles by the score,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That must have weighed, it seemed to me, five thousand pounds or more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And strapped within the bulging boot, that hung far out behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was added weight enough to make a team of oxen blind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And counting all the passengers that filled the coach within,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The load those horses had to drag&mdash;I thought it was a sin!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How proud of them the driver was! And often he would brag<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That they could pull a heavier load and never balk or flag;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If all the road was ankle-deep in miry, sticky mud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That was the time his team would show its metal and its blood.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The "ribbons" then he'd gather up, and give his whip a crack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And any team in front of him had better clear the track;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He seemed to own the turnpike road, and kept the right of way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto himself as jealously as bloomers do to-day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By wood and field he wound along, and by the river's bank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when he reached the covered bridge the hoof-beats on the plank<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were echoed from the cliffs around and from the vale below;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And going up the hill beyond he'd let 'em walk and blow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then urged into a trot again around the curves they spun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till hove in sight the manor-house of Camp Dick Robinson;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on beyond where Nelson lay, the bravest of the brave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till Nicholasville at last was reached, to them the reins he gave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when the sun was hanging low and slanting shadows fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the streets of "Idleburg" that old familiar yell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would greet the ears of villagers from small boys as they ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With open mouths and lusty lungs a-shouting "Here comes Sam!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah me! The old stage coach, abandoned now, stands in the stable lot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A victim to the tooth of rust, and slow decay and rot;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its whole-souled driver years ago forever passed away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And crumbled now to dust the hand that drove each gallant bay!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="DICKS_RIVER" id="DICKS_RIVER"></a>DICK'S RIVER.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rock-sentineled, romantic stream!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy waters flow with silvery gleam<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where glassy pools and visions greet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Embosomed in some cool retreat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then rippling o'er a pebbly bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With current fleet thy course is led<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To where, walled in by beetling cliffs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It plunges o'er the hidden rifts.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Past where the meadows gently sweep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The limpid waters silent creep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until, o'erhung with cooling shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They lave the shores of sylvan glade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many a wild-flower blooming there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its incense flings upon the air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spreading o'er each sloping side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An emerald carpet stretches wide.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now gliding out, the waters gleam<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sparkle with the sun's warm beam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reflecting then some mirrored cloud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like specter wrapt in filmy shroud&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till pouring down with fretful whirl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They o'er the mill-dam rush and curl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And foaming round in eddies deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The circles wide and wider creep!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, by thy wave I've loved to stray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On many a balmy summer's day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When youth, and hope, and life were sweet&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy wooded banks and cliffs to greet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And often back to days of yore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My fancy strays along thy shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And musing thus I fondly dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see again thy waters gleam!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TO_A_LITTLE_BOY" id="TO_A_LITTLE_BOY"></a>TO A LITTLE BOY.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear little one with eyes so blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And silken ringlets of flaxen hair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, may life have in store for you<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Something better than anguish and care!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oh, may thy footsteps guided be<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">In paths of peace and pleasantness!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oh, may those bright eyes never see<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Much of the cold world's bitterness!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear little one with innocent lips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tasting life's cup at the sparkling brim!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, may the dregs that sorrow sips<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ever be kept aloof from him!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oh, may the smile on his dimpled face<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Through the years to come still linger there!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oh, may Time's fingers gently place<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">The silver strands in his flaxen hair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="WHEN_THE_COAL_HOUSES_FULL" id="WHEN_THE_COAL_HOUSES_FULL"></a>WHEN THE COAL HOUSE'S FULL.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the nights are gittin' chilly and the leaves begin to fade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' the mercury's down to thirty, 'stead o' ninety in the shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a happy kind o' feelin' takes possession o' the soul&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the smoke house full o' middlin', and the coal house full o' coal!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the wintry winds are whistlin' through the branches o' the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' the dead leaves are a-flyin' and a-rustlin' in the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You kin feel the vast contentment that over you will roll&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If the barn is full o' fodder, and the coal house full o' coal!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the 'skeeter's ceased from troublin' and the fly is chilled to death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' the window-pane is written with the Frost King's icy breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You kin dream about the Summer-time, an' that old fishin' pole&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If the pantry's full o' victuals, an' the coal house full o' coal!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When your supper's been digested an' you're dozin' in your chair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or you're tucked between the blankets from the frosty, nippin' air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, your dreams will be the sweeter if you've helped some sufferin' soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose larder's scant o' victuals, and his coal house minus coal!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="DECEMBER" id="DECEMBER"></a>DECEMBER.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">White-shrouded, latest-born of all the year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In thy cold hands no bud or floweret bearing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou comest now to wail above the bier<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of thy dead sisters&mdash;on thy bosom wearing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The icy jewel and the frosted gem&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But on thy marble brow the Star of Bethlehem!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath thy foot-prints lie the Autumn leaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Mould'ring and hast'ning to decay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where the drifting snow its mantle weaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The Summer songsters sang the happy hours away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What tho' the birds have flown the blighted stem?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's in thy jeweled crown the Star of Bethlehem!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="SOLACE" id="SOLACE"></a>SOLACE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One Autumn evening, wandering, when the sun was hanging low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through a woodland where the music of a streamlet's gentle flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Commingled with the rustling of the yellow golden leaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the idling breeze's sighing as it floated through the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I heard sweet voices whispering in accents soft and low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That lulled to rest the troubled soul, like those of long ago.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Enchanted thus I lingered, by unseen hands fast bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My willing fancy captive to the magic of sweet sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And eagerly I listened to the whispering voices tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of happy days of childhood, and the tear unbidden fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As were pictured to the mind again the halcyon scenes of yore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And loved ones that no more I'll meet till on the silent shore!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And as the slanting shadows fell athwart the scattered leaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The language that the voices spoke was formed of words like these:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"You may mingle with the sordid world, in eager, restless haste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To struggle for the golden fruit that Mammon loves to taste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But find at last, the end attained, that there are better things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To satisfy the longing heart&mdash;that sweeter solace brings.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Thy Springtime, thy Summer, and thy Autumn's mellowed haze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If rightly lived and rightly spent, will bring rare, happy days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That temper with their sunshine the frigid Winter's wrath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When gathering storms are darkling o'er life's declining path,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lend a ray celestial that hoarded gold ne'er gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lighten all thy journey, from the cradle to the grave."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="FRANK_L_STANTON" id="FRANK_L_STANTON"></a>FRANK L. STANTON.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sweetest music put in song since Robby Burns's time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is that which breathes its harmony from Georgia's sunny clime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the fragrant-scented odor that the climbing jasmine flings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Commingles with the melody that gifted Stanton sings!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It may not suit a bookish clan that cannot understand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rhythm and the cadences they never can command&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what is that to him that knows and touches all the strings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of hearts responsive to his strain when gifted Stanton sings?<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We read his songs and hear the notes repeated once again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His ear has caught when listening to the mocking-bird's refrain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And interwoven with the sense a mystic something rings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That fills the soul with ecstasy when gifted Stanton sings!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Sunny South! where blooming flowers and where the whispering pine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Attunes his harp till every string gives forth a sound divine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We love you for the many gifts that generous Nature brings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But best of all&mdash;we love you for the song that Stanton sings!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_OLD_CHURCH_BELL" id="THE_OLD_CHURCH_BELL"></a>THE OLD CHURCH BELL.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It hangs today where it has hung for fifty years or more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But some who loved its silver tones the church-yard covers o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many are the times since then, with deep and solemn knell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has tolled for dear departed ones the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Church<br /></span>
+<span class="i22">Bell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Within a latticed tower it swings, high up above the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every Sabbath morn is heard the music clear and sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which floats above the village roofs, and over hill and dell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upborne upon the vagrant wind, from the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Church<br /></span>
+<span class="i22">Bell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Full many a change the hand of Time has in the village wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And passing years have often been with grief and anguish fraught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet age has never changed its tones, and years cannot dispel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The magic of the music from the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Church<br /></span>
+<span class="i22">Bell!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since it was placed within the tower, in days of long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tempests wild have round it raved, and many a driven snow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has sifted through the slats up there, and mantled as it fell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In robes of white its dwelling place, and the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Church<br /></span>
+<span class="i22">Bell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though gone from earth and earthly things&mdash;forever passed away&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The faithful ones who loved while here its summons to obey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now rest beyond the tide of Time, with rapture long to dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For there their footsteps guided were by the<br /></span>
+<span class="i16">Old<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Church<br /></span>
+<span class="i22">Bell!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_SUMMER_EVENING" id="A_SUMMER_EVENING"></a>A SUMMER EVENING.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun has sunk in the crimson west,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And "around the languid eyes of day"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Twilight's dreamy shadows rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And light and shade alternate play;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The winds are hushed, nor leaf nor flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is swayed with motion by their power.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fireflies with meteor lamps<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Arise from out the dewy lawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there the elfin cricket chants<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His vespers when the day is gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And far above, the sky's coquette<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all her starry train is met.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="FATHER_RYAN" id="FATHER_RYAN"></a>FATHER RYAN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In Southern sunny clime there is a hallowed tomb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where rest the ashes of a minstrel priest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soft winds that are laden with a sweet perfume<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Their requiems for him have never ceased.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We read his songs, and hear again the tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of armed battalions, marching to the fray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or see once more the features of belov&egrave;d dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whose life blood crimsoned uniforms of gray!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We see the tattered banner that he loved so well<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Again unfurled and fluttering in the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And once again we hear the "rebel yell"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Triumphant wafted o'er the riven trees!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, may thy minstrel spirit find eternal rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In some fair clime where nothing can be lost!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where anguish never more can rend thy breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And fondest hope can ne'er be tempest tost!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_MEADOW_PATH" id="THE_MEADOW_PATH"></a>THE MEADOW PATH.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It led adown the sloping hill, and through the valley wound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where the blooming clover shed its fragrance all around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then between the maple trees, across the little brook,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To where the old fence bars let down, a tortuous course it took;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And often are the times I've heard the merry, ringing laugh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From rosy-ankled children there, along the meadow path.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Three boys&mdash;and a little girl whose hair was chestnut gold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(She's resting now in dreamless sleep beneath the crumbling mold;)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I remember her as when, with innocence and glee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her laughing eyes looked into mine&mdash;for she was dear to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus it is I love to let the fancy photograph<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The merry group that idled there, along the meadow path.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Adown it oft we used to go at twilight for the cows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or wander from the beaten track a rabbit to arouse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And watch him as he scampered off, with frightened leap and bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The while we made the welkin ring and with our shouts resound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweetest flowers that bloom for me&mdash;a fragrant aftermath&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are those that in the memory blow, along the meadow path!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_FOX_HUNTERS" id="THE_FOX_HUNTERS"></a>THE FOX HUNTERS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With fleet-limbed steeds and baying pack<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They follow close on Reynard's track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wake the slumbering echoes round<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With music of the horn and hound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through wood and field, o'er hill and dale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They course him in the moonlight pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sport they find which brings delight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These reckless riders of the night!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The game is up! away, away!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor hedge nor fence their course can stay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They clear them at a single leap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like the wind they onward sweep!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er fallen trunk and hidden ditch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fearless horsemen plunge and pitch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heedless all they follow on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With ringing shout and winding horn!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy wondrous ride, oh Tam O'Shanter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To speed like theirs was but a canter;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had you bestrode that night instead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of gray mare Meg a thoroughbred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Such as Kentuckians only breed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Scotia then an unknown steed),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No carline could have caught his rump<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And left your brute with scarce a stump!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His foaming horse with throbbing sides<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unslackened yet his pace he rides,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till in among the yelping hounds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The foremost huntsman proudly bounds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sees the leaders of the chase<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Two matchless dogs that set the pace)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'ertake the game and win the race!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then dismounts and feels the flush<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of victory as he takes the brush!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O royal sport, befitting kings!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It bids the demon Care take wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the rose's hue to the cheek it brings!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sweeter music none can hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than that which greets the list'ning ear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By distance mellowed to a key<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That breathes divinest harmony&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wakes the slumbering echoes round&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The winding horn and baying hound!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_CHARMING_GIRL_OF_SOMERSET" id="THE_CHARMING_GIRL_OF_SOMERSET"></a>THE CHARMING GIRL OF SOMERSET.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By magic spell was I entranced<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When on me first thy brown eyes glanced,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sunbeams played at hide and seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thro' silken ringlets on thy dimpling cheek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like some glorious halo shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their radiance o'er thy shapely head&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seemed as if they loved to dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where'er thy airy footsteps fell!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in my dreams I see thee now&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pearly teeth&mdash;the arching brow&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The form that mocks the sculptor's art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To add one curve that could impart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More beauty and more witching grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or chisel out a sweeter face!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blest be the hour when first I met<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This charming girl of Somerset!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="IN_JULY" id="IN_JULY"></a>IN JULY.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, for a deep-shaded spot where the shadows cool<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are hid from the rays of the glaring sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sparkling waters from a limped pool<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O'er the gleaming pebbles in ripples run!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where the sloping banks are with verdure clad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the hoary cliffs with moss o'ergrown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the tangled vine and the wildflowers pad<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The fallen trunk and the hidden stone!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where the song that wells from a feathered throat<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The echoes repeat again and again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the drifted sedge and the bubbles float<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O'er the glassy depths of a miniature main!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where the willows dip in the edge of the stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And sway and nod in the passing breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a feller could tranquilly rest and dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of a howling blizzard and a good hard freeze!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TO_J_R_M" id="TO_J_R_M"></a>TO J. R. M.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I walked within the silent city of the dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which then with Autumn leaves was carpeted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where the faded flower and withered wreath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bespoke the love for those who slept beneath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, weeping, stood beside a new-made grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which held the sacred dust that friendship gave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That heart with milk of human kindness overflowed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sympathetic hand its generous aid bestowed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lighten others' burdens on life's weary road!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there no polished shaft need lift its head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In lettered eulogy above the sainted dead&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His deeds are monuments above the dust whereon we tread!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When from its fragile tenement of clay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To fairer realms his spirit winged its way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With poignant grief we stood around the bier<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which held the lifeless form of one held dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And broken hearts that knew no comfort then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still mourn the loss of one of Nature's noblemen!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TWILIGHT" id="TWILIGHT"></a>TWILIGHT.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun is sinking where the western hills<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The vision bounds with rugged summits old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with his latest beam he brightly gilds<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And crowns with amethyst and gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The distant music of a tinkling bell<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is floating o'er the meadow's gentle sweep&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No discords mar the magic of the spell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And stealthily the twilight shadows creep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And gently falls upon the listening ear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like tones from voices of the long-ago&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cadence of the murmuring waters near&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With rhythmic ripplings soft and low.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now grow apace the shadows' slanting shapes<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And fade the rugged hills to misty gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As dying day its calm departure takes<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And yields to coming night her sable sway.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The vaulted dome above now glows afar<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With many a soft and tender light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each sparkling gem it wears a jeweled star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With sweet effulgence purely bright.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet scene! Sweet hour! If to the heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No quick'ning pulses they can lend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the soul no rapture thus impart&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Vain were our lives&mdash;and vainer still the end!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, such the time when he who will may feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Release from care, vexation, toil, and strife&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And musing then will gently o'er him steal<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The sweetest moments of the turmoil&mdash;life!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="OUT_UV_POLITICKS" id="OUT_UV_POLITICKS"></a>OUT UV "POLITICKS."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I'll tell yer what," said Uncle Zeke, down at the country store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I'd been a farmer all my life&mdash;fur twenty year or more&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until one day my noddle here, it got plumb out o' fix,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Er-swellin' with the idy that I's made fur politicks.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I'd been ter hear them fellers speak, an' rip an' rant an' rave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When 'lection time's er-comin' on, who tell yer how ter save<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ther kentry frum tarnation ruin, by sendin' only men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That's fit ter draw ther salaries, an' honest&mdash;jest like them.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"So listen, boys&mdash;yer'll profit by ther story that I tell&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I left ther farm ter 'lectioneer an' run fur constable;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wouldn't hearken ter my wife&mdash;she said I'd lost my wit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' as fur holdin' offices&mdash;<i>she</i> knowed <i>I</i> wusn't fit.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But ennyhow, I sold er steer, an' then er heifer calf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' bought er bran' new suit o' clothes fur twenty an' er half,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' 'fore ther 'lection day cum roun' I'd sold my wheat an' oats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' spent ther proceeds that I got in purchasin' uv votes.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I knowed 'twus wrong&mdash;agin ther law&mdash;ter do er thing like that&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then ther boys all said, yer know, 'twould take er little 'fat,'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fur ther feller that I run agin could have no earthly hope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uv beatin' me if I'd use ther right amount uv 'soap.'<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VI.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I jocks I did&mdash;I won ther fight&mdash;I sarved er single term&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(But fur ther salary that I got I wouldn't give er durn);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' right up here I wear ther scar that shows whar I wus hit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ther day I rid fur forty miles ter sarve that cussed 'writ!'"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="JONES_MARE" id="JONES_MARE"></a>JONES' MARE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now Farmer Jones was noted for fast horses on his place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And also as the father of a son with freckled face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hair so red it looked as if it had been dyed in blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Ephraim was the "masher" of the country neighborhood.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This Ephraim Jones' yellow mare, she was no nice and fleet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That all the girls for miles around on Eph. were very "sweet,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In hopes to get a ride or two behind her on the road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sleigh-bells jingling 'round her neck, some day when it had snowed.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Or else to spin along the pike, with buggy top let down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ribbons sailing out behind, when Eph. would drive to town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The envy of the country boys, and many maidens fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A-casting wistful glances at the youth with reddish hair.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This thing went on till finally our Ephraim fell in love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Tildy Ann Serepty Brown&mdash;as gentle as a dove&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all the girls around about the reigning country bell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose father was as rich as cream&mdash;he'd struck an oil well!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">About three nights in every week could Ephraim's yellow mare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be found a-standing hitched outside, while he was courting there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so the boys, with envy mad and jealousy aroused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To humble Eph. hit on a plan they heartily espoused.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VI.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If anything in all the world, beside sweet Tildy Ann,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was dear to Ephraim's eye and heart, it was his claybank, Fan;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He boasted of her speed and looks, and of her pedigree&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said more intelligence in a brute no man would ever see.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VII.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He kept her curried till her coat it shone like burnished gold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With silver-mounted harness on, a beauty to behold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A brand new buggy hitched to her, a-glinting in the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She "took the cake" for speed and style from every other one.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VIII.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They heard that Eph. one night would call upon his Tildy Ann<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make arrangements all complete to carry out a plan:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It would be Sunday following, when all in style he'd go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Tildy and the yellow mare to the country "bonnet-show."<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IX.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Supplied with brushes, cans of paint of every shade and hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to furnish light by which to work, a bull's-eye lantern, too,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">At ten o'clock that night so dark you couldn't see a wink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They striped his Fan with red and brown, and black and blue and pink.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">X.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Next morning when he went to feed, and opened wide the door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No zebra that was ever foaled could boast the stripes she wore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her ears were white, her legs were green, her tail was fiery red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as he gazed upon her then I can't tell what he said!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THAT_OLD_STRAW_HAT_OF_MINE" id="THAT_OLD_STRAW_HAT_OF_MINE"></a>THAT OLD STRAW HAT OF MINE.</h2>
+
+<h3>(WITH APOLOGIES TO RILEY.)</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As one who dreams at evening o'er the new hats that he's worn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And muses on the better times that once to him were known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see the faded ribbon on that old straw hat of mine.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The firelight seems to mock me as the ruddy flames arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I turn about to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I ponder then in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its fate with my condition, and to vanish like the smoke.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With fondest recollection the loving thoughts that start<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into being are but feelings from the bottom of my heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to wear the new hats over is a luxury divine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till my truant fancy wanders with that old straw hat of mine.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now I hear without my chamber, like a fluttering of wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rustling of the autumn wind as through the trees it sings,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any scheme<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That will bring to me a hat of which I now can only dream.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In fact, to speak in earnest, if I could work a charm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd try it on old Isaacs&mdash;'twouldn't do him much of harm&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'd find an extra flavor in memory's mellow wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I thought of how I swapped him that old straw hat of mine.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VI.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A thing of real beauty, with a shape of airy grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Floats out of Isaacs' storehouse, as the genii from the vase,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, oh! I gaze upon it with a pair of loving eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">VII.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, ah! my dream is broken when I gaze upon that chair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my eyes are now wide open and&mdash;the same old hat is there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reluctantly and sadly all my visions I resign<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know that I must wear again that old straw hat of mine!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TOM_BARBEES_POND" id="TOM_BARBEES_POND"></a>TOM BARBEE'S POND.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O sweet are the memories when backward we gaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the vista of years to our schoolboy days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When faces now vanished to the vision appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the music of voices long hushed we can hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As together we romped where the school-house stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or joyfully wended our way through the wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where placidly lay, in the valley beyond,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The moss-covered waters of Tom Barbee's pond!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though scattered by Time o'er the face of the earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sorrow and anguish have succeeded to mirth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still many there be whose mist-bedewed eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looks longingly back, while the breast heaves a sigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To that far-away time, when together we played<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the school-house yard, or on Saturdays strayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the knots in our sleeves were tied tight as a bond,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As we splashed and we dived in Tom Barbee's pond!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The "pleasures of memory" by Rogers were lined,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With rhythm as sweet as in verse you will find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But could he e'er picture one-half of the joys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had when we wandered as barefooted boys<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the woods and the fields and the meadows out there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With our sun-blistered backs and the burrs in our hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or recall to the mind a remembrance more fond<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than bathing and swimming in Tom Barbee's pond?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="WHERE" id="WHERE"></a>WHERE?</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, where are the friends that in youth we once knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose smiles were like sunshine, whose hearts were so true?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! they are lost in the darkness and gloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That veils them from sight in the cold, silent tomb!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, where are the years that forever have fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And over Life's morning their radiance shed?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the Past written down on the unending scroll<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Time&mdash;grim destroyer&mdash;his victims enroll!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, where are the fancies, the visions, the dreams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That filled the young breast&mdash;with which memory teems?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They have faded away&mdash;from life they have passed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like stars blotted out when the sky's overcast!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">IV.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, where are the hopes that have beckoned us on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With their beacons of light, through sunshine and storm?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like spectres&mdash;like phantoms&mdash;like vapor and mist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They have vanished forever&mdash;a will-o'-the-wisp!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">V.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, where are the harbors, the havens of rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That solace can give to a heart that's opprest?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They are hid from the vision beyond the blue sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet the eye of sweet Faith their portals descry!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_HILLS_OF_LINCOLN" id="THE_HILLS_OF_LINCOLN"></a>THE HILLS OF LINCOLN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O the hills of old Lincoln!&mdash;I can see them to-day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As they stretch in dim distance far, far away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on Fancy's swift pinions my spirit hath flown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To rest 'mid the scenes which my childhood has known&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the old Hanging Fork, with its silvery gleam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glides away 'tween the meadows like thoughts in a dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And far to the south, with their outlines so blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rugged knobs blend into heaven's own hue!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O the hills of old Lincoln!&mdash;how fondly I gaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On their wildwoods and thickets and deep-tangled ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When memory's mirror presents them to view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I dream once again that I tread them anew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While raptured I listen to the music of love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the song-birds are singing in the tree-tops above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the soul drifts away in a swoon of delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unanchored from care and from sorrow's cold blight!<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O the hills of old Lincoln!&mdash;my footsteps have trod<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up and down their green valleys, with shotgun and rod,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And it seems to me now that the years that have fled<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Around their old summits a halo have shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That guides the fond fancy unerringly there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When backward it wanders with childhood to share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet scenes such as these, inurned in the heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And which from fond memory can never depart!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="LOVED_AND_LOST" id="LOVED_AND_LOST"></a>LOVED AND LOST.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><div class="sect">I.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweetly to sleep beneath the fresh green turf<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">They laid the loved and lost away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A chair is vacant by the household hearth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And shadow-vested Sorrow's there to-day.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">II.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The tender hands that guided us in youth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are folded now upon the gentle breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those dear eyes whose depths were love and truth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are closed to open in eternal rest.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza"><div class="sect">III.</div></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Through simple faith and duty well performed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A crown of light forever shall be hers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though with bitter grief and anguish mourned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A consolation gleams through blinding tears!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_TRUE_STORY" id="A_TRUE_STORY"></a>A TRUE STORY.</h2>
+
+<h3>(READ BEFORE A MEETING OF THE DANVILLE
+SCRIBBLER CLUB.)</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear friends, to-night the inspiration of my theme<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is not the baseless fabric of a weird, fantastic dream&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For truth, combined with justice, doth impel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And therefore it is fact&mdash;not fiction&mdash;that I tell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Truth, crushed to earth, will rise again"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A maxim true as holy writ;&mdash;then it is plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If rudely woven by an untaught hand it be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sustains but transitory wrong and injury.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And thus it is, in homely rhyme, I venture forth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Relating nothing here but under oath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if, perchance, at times it sounds a little strange,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You know that truth o'er fiction hath a wider range.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These stanzas three I hope you'll deem explanatory&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As introductory and preliminary to the story&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A preface simply used before I introduce<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The proper characters essential for our use.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And just one moment more attention I will claim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And crave indulgence while I here explain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That "character" is used in a Pickwickian sense&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So truth and justice need not take offense.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas when the Autumn leaves, with russet hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scarce quivered in the gentle wind, and when the dew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lay sparkling on the grass, beneath the argent moon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tragedy took place&mdash;of which I'll tell you soon.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And ever and anon a fleecy, drifting cloud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meek Dian's face would veil with filmy shroud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lend to wood and field that softened ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unmatched in beauty from the glaring god of day!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But I will tell the story as 'twas told to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And vouched for by some others&mdash;two or three&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose word to doubt would be a heinous sin&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, armed with truth, in confidence I will begin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, memory! Thou art a fickle jade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oft responsible when grave mistakes are made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And therefore 'tis with caution that I hesitate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When truthful things I undertake to state.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This much is due to accuracy and circumspection,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As well as to a rather faulty recollection;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so I'll trespass on your patience now no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But straightway tell the story&mdash;as I said before.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All good beginnings have that natural trend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which safely leads to a successful end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stories all should have their plots well laid&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which neither prose nor verse can do, when haste is made.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis said "procrastination is the thief of time,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this might seem to be the object of my rhyme.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had I not told you, as I should have done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The reason why the story's not begun.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis my sole object, then, to give without delay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The narrative in a direct and proper way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For as you know some critics may be here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom scribbling rhymesters may, with justice, fear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What shameless bards we have! And yet, 'tis true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are as mad, abandoned critics, too!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This couplet, penned by Pope, is ever new&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then, dear friends, the second line was <i>not</i> for you!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I only quote that you may comprehend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How modesty in <i>me</i> has missed its end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And why it is I ever undertook to write<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The story that I'm going to tell&mdash;sometime to-night.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An introduction that will keep the listener in suspense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I deem derogatory to good taste and sense;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is also why I'll nothing put as prefatory<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before I launch right out into the story.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'm going to make it thrilling, crisp and short,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In purest diction drest, with gems of thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So intermingled with the story's warp and woof,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That from beginning I can scarcely keep aloof.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'll put quotation marks to shrive me of the sin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of plagiarism when such language I begin&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That every one of you may plainly see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I tell the story as 'twas told to me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So calmly, coolly then, I think I will proceed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give you now the story&mdash;taking heed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To curtail all that truth and justice will permit&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Remembering that "brevity's the soul of wit."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But undue haste would cause me to forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mar the memory of its telling with regret<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I had overlooked some startling fact,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which on both truth and justice would re-act!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now, dear friends, don't think that you are "sold"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If still as yet the story's left untold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But paper, ink, your patience, and my time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are all exhausted in this race with rhyme!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3>
+
+<p>Variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been
+retained from the original book, except for the following changes:</p>
+
+<p>Page <a href="#Page_9">9</a>: raiload changed to railroad:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(From the raiload bridge, with its single span,).</span><br />
+<br />
+Page <a href="#Page_49">49</a>: Aud changed to And:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Aud do the very best I could the heat to struggle through,).</span><br />
+<br />
+Page <a href="#Page_56">56</a>: Punctuation corrected from:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Old "Bull "Spring?") to (Old "Bull Spring!").</span><br />
+<br />
+Page <a href="#Page_62">62</a>: Their changed to There:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(There where briars in tangled network sway).</span><br />
+<br />
+Page <a href="#Page_101">101</a>: Ephram's changed to Ephraim's:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Was dear to Ephram's eye and heart, it was his claybank, Fan;).</span><br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems, by 
+George W. Doneghy
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HANGING FORK ***
+
+***** This file should be named 26505-h.htm or 26505-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/5/0/26505/
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/26505-page-images/f0001.png b/26505-page-images/f0001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c1b0171
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/f0001.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/f0003.png b/26505-page-images/f0003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..967783a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/f0003.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/f0005.png b/26505-page-images/f0005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5c36dd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/f0005.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/f0006.png b/26505-page-images/f0006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..13d4a75
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/f0006.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/f0007.png b/26505-page-images/f0007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a47cb66
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/f0007.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0009.png b/26505-page-images/p0009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..01d7e94
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0009.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0010.png b/26505-page-images/p0010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d64d8d0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0010.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0011.png b/26505-page-images/p0011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0188c7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0011.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0012.png b/26505-page-images/p0012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ad443f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0012.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0013.png b/26505-page-images/p0013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1107ea4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0013.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0014.png b/26505-page-images/p0014.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1614df9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0014.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0015.png b/26505-page-images/p0015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..08d2fb2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0015.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0016.png b/26505-page-images/p0016.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c9bc43a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0016.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0017.png b/26505-page-images/p0017.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ec0ef45
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0017.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0018.png b/26505-page-images/p0018.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d00cede
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0018.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0019.png b/26505-page-images/p0019.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c3bdeae
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0019.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0020.png b/26505-page-images/p0020.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..229a32e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0020.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0021.png b/26505-page-images/p0021.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b5e671b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0021.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0022.png b/26505-page-images/p0022.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c88801
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0022.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0023.png b/26505-page-images/p0023.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..58da509
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0023.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0024.png b/26505-page-images/p0024.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..da08629
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0024.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0025.png b/26505-page-images/p0025.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..79c199e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0025.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0026.png b/26505-page-images/p0026.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5baf998
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0026.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0027.png b/26505-page-images/p0027.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..432ccb6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0027.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0028.png b/26505-page-images/p0028.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab7c8d0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0028.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0029.png b/26505-page-images/p0029.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d22af49
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0029.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0030.png b/26505-page-images/p0030.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e95c5e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0030.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0031.png b/26505-page-images/p0031.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7b3e38e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0031.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0032.png b/26505-page-images/p0032.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..895a967
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0032.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0033.png b/26505-page-images/p0033.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2372615
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0033.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0034.png b/26505-page-images/p0034.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ec8068
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0034.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0035.png b/26505-page-images/p0035.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..805de35
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0035.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0036.png b/26505-page-images/p0036.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c13623e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0036.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0037.png b/26505-page-images/p0037.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..30a8d01
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0037.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0038.png b/26505-page-images/p0038.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..034924a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0038.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0039.png b/26505-page-images/p0039.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..415d7cc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0039.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0040.png b/26505-page-images/p0040.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..242d982
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0040.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0041.png b/26505-page-images/p0041.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b3ac373
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0041.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0042.png b/26505-page-images/p0042.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..93bf31a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0042.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0043.png b/26505-page-images/p0043.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ba17e4b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0043.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0044.png b/26505-page-images/p0044.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..92aef26
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0044.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0045.png b/26505-page-images/p0045.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ee45389
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0045.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0046.png b/26505-page-images/p0046.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..47468b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0046.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0047.png b/26505-page-images/p0047.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..81b886e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0047.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0048.png b/26505-page-images/p0048.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..543e7b6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0048.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0049.png b/26505-page-images/p0049.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a141761
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0049.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0050.png b/26505-page-images/p0050.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e5470cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0050.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0051.png b/26505-page-images/p0051.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3b21828
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0051.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0052.png b/26505-page-images/p0052.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..758a850
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0052.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0053.png b/26505-page-images/p0053.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..45ecb9b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0053.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0054.png b/26505-page-images/p0054.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d61232e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0054.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0055.png b/26505-page-images/p0055.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5927990
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0055.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0056.png b/26505-page-images/p0056.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6bbf698
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0056.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0057.png b/26505-page-images/p0057.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8fddf93
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0057.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0058.png b/26505-page-images/p0058.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1238d05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0058.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0059.png b/26505-page-images/p0059.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..91b1d9c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0059.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0060.png b/26505-page-images/p0060.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c4d56d6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0060.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0061.png b/26505-page-images/p0061.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e320dd6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0061.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0062.png b/26505-page-images/p0062.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e7745e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0062.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0063.png b/26505-page-images/p0063.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..98f95f7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0063.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0064.png b/26505-page-images/p0064.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d61a4aa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0064.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0065.png b/26505-page-images/p0065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5bd9b3c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0065.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0066.png b/26505-page-images/p0066.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bd2c0b5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0066.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0067.png b/26505-page-images/p0067.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..298015f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0067.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0068.png b/26505-page-images/p0068.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1d621fa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0068.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0069.png b/26505-page-images/p0069.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e4d6ad9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0069.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0070.png b/26505-page-images/p0070.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8aa525d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0070.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0071.png b/26505-page-images/p0071.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..114ecf7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0071.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0072.png b/26505-page-images/p0072.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4cba142
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0072.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0073.png b/26505-page-images/p0073.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ddc198
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0073.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0074.png b/26505-page-images/p0074.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3669d7e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0074.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0075.png b/26505-page-images/p0075.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7c61e5f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0075.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0076.png b/26505-page-images/p0076.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..123ddc3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0076.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0077.png b/26505-page-images/p0077.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e09d48c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0077.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0078.png b/26505-page-images/p0078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a261825
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0078.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0079.png b/26505-page-images/p0079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31fb87e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0079.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0080.png b/26505-page-images/p0080.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e5f5eef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0080.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0081.png b/26505-page-images/p0081.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f30d8ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0081.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0082.png b/26505-page-images/p0082.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7b929ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0082.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0083.png b/26505-page-images/p0083.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..974f39f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0083.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0084.png b/26505-page-images/p0084.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..be91605
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0084.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0085.png b/26505-page-images/p0085.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..639e432
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0085.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0086.png b/26505-page-images/p0086.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d54582
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0086.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0087.png b/26505-page-images/p0087.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0928d99
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0087.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0088.png b/26505-page-images/p0088.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b5c6968
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0088.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0089.png b/26505-page-images/p0089.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..28527a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0089.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0090.png b/26505-page-images/p0090.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..358481e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0090.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0091.png b/26505-page-images/p0091.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..216ce66
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0091.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0092.png b/26505-page-images/p0092.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dcba47a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0092.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0093.png b/26505-page-images/p0093.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fcec9f1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0093.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0094.png b/26505-page-images/p0094.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f5d0830
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0094.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0095.png b/26505-page-images/p0095.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9962908
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0095.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0096.png b/26505-page-images/p0096.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cc5916a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0096.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0097.png b/26505-page-images/p0097.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ccf430b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0097.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0098.png b/26505-page-images/p0098.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1945ada
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0098.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0099.png b/26505-page-images/p0099.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3217b21
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0099.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0100.png b/26505-page-images/p0100.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b365472
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0100.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0101.png b/26505-page-images/p0101.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4b51714
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0101.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0102.png b/26505-page-images/p0102.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1ae043e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0102.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0103.png b/26505-page-images/p0103.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..255398e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0103.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0104.png b/26505-page-images/p0104.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..570f42e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0104.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0105.png b/26505-page-images/p0105.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..78567e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0105.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0106.png b/26505-page-images/p0106.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0455937
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0106.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0107.png b/26505-page-images/p0107.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bc6e46f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0107.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0108.png b/26505-page-images/p0108.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3946309
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0108.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0109.png b/26505-page-images/p0109.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f844124
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0109.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0110.png b/26505-page-images/p0110.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b4e0e63
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0110.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0111.png b/26505-page-images/p0111.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0221151
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0111.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0112.png b/26505-page-images/p0112.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..76a5186
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0112.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0113.png b/26505-page-images/p0113.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e5d058b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0113.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0114.png b/26505-page-images/p0114.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d091326
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0114.png
diff --git a/26505-page-images/p0115.png b/26505-page-images/p0115.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c483d8c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505-page-images/p0115.png
diff --git a/26505.txt b/26505.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2b85cb8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,3557 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems, by
+George W. Doneghy
+
+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: The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems
+
+Author: George W. Doneghy
+
+Release Date: September 1, 2008 [EBook #26505]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HANGING FORK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+OLD HANGING FORK
+
+and
+
+OTHER POEMS.
+
+
+BY
+
+GEORGE W. DONEGHY.
+
+
+FRANKLIN, OHIO:
+The Editor Publishing Co.
+1897.
+
+
+
+
+Copyright, 1897,
+By
+George W. Doneghy.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                    PAGE
+THE OLD HANGING FORK,                  9
+
+SWEET SEPTEMBER DAYS,                 11
+
+YER OLD COB PIPE,                     13
+
+TIM BLUSTER'S DREAM,                  15
+
+APPLE BLOSSOMS,                       18
+
+CHICKAMAUGA,                          20
+
+GEN. JOHN B. GORDON,                  22
+
+UP AND DOWN OLD CLARK'S RUN,          23
+
+ROBERT BURNS (A Paraphrase)           25
+
+WISHING--FISHING,                     27
+
+POE,                                  28
+
+A BARREN "IDEALTY,"                   29
+
+A CHERISHED RELIC,                    31
+
+"RESTLAND,"                           33
+
+MY VALENTINE,                         35
+
+A SMOKE,                              36
+
+PERRYVILLE,                           37
+
+LONGINGS,                             39
+
+DOWN ABOUT OLD SHAKERTOWN,            40
+
+MEMORIA IN AETERNA,                    41
+
+A MOTHER'S GRAVE,                     43
+
+A FRECKLE-FACED BOY,                  44
+
+THE DAM BELOW THE MILL,               46
+
+THE SERENADE,                         47
+
+"IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"           49
+
+THE TOKEN,                            50
+
+TO SCENES I USED TO KNOW,             52
+
+BEREFT,                               54
+
+THE "BULL SPRING,"                    56
+
+FAMILIAR HAUNTS,                      58
+
+A FADED LETTER,                       60
+
+THE HERMIT,                           61
+
+THE "MEDICAL SPRING,"                 63
+
+AN "IDYL" OF THE BALL,                64
+
+DREAMS,                               65
+
+A TWIST OF "NATURAL LEAF,"            66
+
+GEORGE W. CHILDS,                     68
+
+THE OLD SPRING-HOUSE,                 69
+
+CAMPING ON THE CUMBERLAND,            71
+
+AN EASTER FLOWER,                     73
+
+THE STAGE COACH,                      74
+
+DICK'S RIVER,                         76
+
+TO A LITTLE BOY,                      78
+
+WHEN THE COAL HOUSE'S FULL,           79
+
+DECEMBER,                             81
+
+SOLACE,                               82
+
+FRANK L. STANTON,                     84
+
+THE OLD CHURCH BELL,                  85
+
+A SUMMER EVENING,                     87
+
+FATHER RYAN,                          88
+
+THE MEADOW PATH,                      89
+
+THE FOX HUNTERS,                      91
+
+THE CHARMING GIRL OF SOMERSET,        93
+
+IN JULY,                              94
+
+TO J. R. M.,                          95
+
+TWILIGHT,                             96
+
+OUT UV "POLITICKS,"                   98
+
+JONES' MARE,                         100
+
+THAT OLD STRAW HAT OF MINE,          103
+
+TOM BARBEE'S POND,                   105
+
+WHERE?                               107
+
+THE HILLS OF LINCOLN,                109
+
+LOVED AND LOST,                      111
+
+A TRUE STORY,                        112
+
+
+
+
+The
+
+Old Hanging Fork
+
+and
+
+Other Poems.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD HANGING FORK.
+
+
+I.
+
+O don't you remember those days so divine,
+Around which the heart-strings all tenderly twine,
+When with sapling pole and a painted cork
+We fished up and down the old Hanging Fork--
+From the railroad bridge, with its single span,
+Clear down to the mill at Dawson's old dam--
+From early morn till the shades of night,
+And it made no difference if fish _didn't_ bite?
+
+
+II.
+
+What pleasure it gives to think and to dream
+Of those long, happy days, and the old winding stream,
+When we waded the creek with our pants to the knee,
+And got our lines tangled in a sycamore tree,
+And were most scared to death when out from the root
+The long, wriggling snake through the water did shoot,
+And you lost your line, your hook and your cork,
+And I slipped and fell in the old Hanging Fork!
+
+
+III.
+
+The years they have come, and the years they have fled,
+And frosted with silver the hairs of the head,
+But still in fond memory there lingers the joy
+Of scenes such as these, when a bare-footed boy
+I wandered away to the clear rippling stream--
+No cankering care to trouble life's dream;--
+And we spit on our bait and in whispers we'd talk,
+As we threw out our lines in the old Hanging Fork!
+
+
+IV.
+
+We sat there and fished with the sun beaming down
+On the tops of our heads through hats minus crown,
+And when I got a bite or you caught a perch
+We'd just give our lines a thundering lurch,
+And land him high up on the bank in the weeds,
+Then string him along with the pumpkin seeds!
+O don't you remember the hot, dusky walk,
+Along the white pike to the old Hanging Fork?
+
+
+
+
+SWEET SEPTEMBER DAYS.
+
+
+I.
+
+There's a something in the atmosphere, in sweet September days,
+That mantles all the landscape with its languid, dreamy haze;
+And you see the leaves a-dropping, in a lazy kind of way,
+Where the maple trees are standing in their Summer-time array.
+
+
+II.
+
+There's a yellowish tinge a-creeping over Nature's emerald sheen,
+And the cattle stand, half-sleeping, in the middle of the stream
+Where the glassy pool is shaded by the overhanging limb,
+And the pebbly bottom's glinting where the silvery minnows swim.
+
+
+III.
+
+The tasseled corn is nodding, and the crow on drowsy wing
+Is sailing o'er the orchard where the ripening apples swing,
+And the fleecy clouds are floating in the azure of the sky,
+And the gentle breeze is sighing as it's idly wafted by.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The cantaloupes are ripening in their yellow golden rinds;
+And the melons, round and juicy, are a-clinging to the vines;
+And the merry, laughing children, in their happy hour of play,
+Are a-romping in the meadow and a-sliding down the hay.
+
+
+V.
+
+The busy bees are buzzing where the grapes with purple blush,
+And the hanging bunches tempting with their weight the arbor crush,
+And the blue jays are a-wrangling in the wood across the road,
+Where the hickory boughs are bending 'neath an extra heavy load.
+
+
+VI.
+
+Let your poets keep a-singing about the Springtime gay,
+And the blossoms and the flowers in the merry month of May--
+But the early Autumn splendor, with its sweet September days,
+Eclipses boasted Springtime in a thousand kind of ways!
+
+
+
+
+YER OLD COB PIPE.
+
+
+I.
+
+When the chilling winds of Winter come a-knocking at the door,
+And the fleecy flakes are flying and the earth is covered o'er,
+And you've supped on sweet potatoes and a 'possum frosted ripe,
+Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+II.
+
+When the fire is blazing brightly and the room is snug and warm,
+And you've left your cares and troubles on the outside with the storm,
+And your natural leaf is colored with a golden yellow stripe,
+Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+III.
+
+When the old split-bottom rocker is far better than a throne,
+And the visions of the fancy are the fairest earth has known,
+And you watch the mystic shapes that the dancing shadows write,
+Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+IV.
+
+When your dressing gown and slippers might be envied by a king,
+And the voices of the children sound as sweet as birds' that sing,
+And the feelings that possess you are all of heavenly type,
+Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+V.
+
+When the ringlets aromatic have circled round your head,
+And a drowsiness o'ertakes you, and you want to go to bed,
+And the bowlful that you're smoking has burned to ashes white,
+Then glory hallelujah! Quit yer
+                                Old
+                                      Cob
+                                            Pipe!
+
+
+
+
+TIM BLUSTER'S DREAM.
+
+
+'Twas a place of fifty acres, in a lonely neighborhood,
+And near a grove of somber pines the shackly farm-house stood;
+And all the folks, for miles around, did solemnly declare
+That ghosts and goblins horrible held nightly revel there.
+
+They said the house was "hanted," and that not a man alive,
+In all the country round about, could own the place and thrive;
+That the cattle died with fever, and the hogs the cholera took--
+And every one that tried it wore a mighty troubled look.
+
+But they put it up at auction, and Tim Bluster bid the most,
+Who always said "There want no hants nor any kind of ghost
+That ever walked a graveyard in the middle of the night
+Could make _his_ nerves unsteady, or could fill _him_ with affright!"
+
+So Tim got full possession, and he moved out to his home,
+And the first night, as he sat there, within his room alone,
+The door was softly opened, and a cat came walking in,
+With eyes like balls of fire and a coat as black as sin.
+
+Then squatting on its haunches, it said, in tones polite,
+"There seems to be but two of us to stay in here to-night!"
+Tim muttered in a trembling voice, as for the door he run,
+"Perhaps _you_ think there will be two, but darn me, there's but one!"
+
+Tim staid away the blessed night, but when the daylight came,
+It brought him back his courage, and it filled him full of shame;
+And then he said, unto himself, "There wasn't any cat
+Could make him leave that room again--he'd bet his life on that!"
+
+So when the shades of evening fell, Tim double-barred the door,
+And took precautions that, perhaps, he hadn't night before,
+And felt quite sure that nothing now could gain admittance there,
+And peacefully he dozed and slept, a-sitting in his chair.
+
+Then, all at once, he roused himself, and opening wide his eyes,
+Beheld a figure standing there that made his hair arise
+Like quills upon a porcupine, and froze his heart with fear,
+And headless though it was, it spoke, and said in accents clear,
+
+"There seems to be but two of us to stay in here to-night!"
+Tim made a bound, and took with him the sash and every light,
+And then he jumped a nine-rail fence, and down the road he spun,
+And said, "Perhaps _he_ thinks there's two, but darn _me_, there's but
+  one!"
+
+'Twas seven miles before he stopped and sat down on a log
+To catch his breath and rest awhile from his nocturnal jog
+And then he turned his head around, and right before his face
+The figure stood, and said to him, "I think we've had a race!"
+
+Tim tried to speak, and not a word he found to utter then,
+But as he jumped from off his seat and broke away again,
+He spluttered out, "I _know_ we have, but think it's not quite done,
+For you can bet right now's the time we'll have another one!"
+
+Away Tim flew--he left the road, and through the woods and fields
+The pace he set was wonderful, the ghost right at his heels!
+And that old house is tenantless, and slowly rotting down,
+Since that dread night Tim had his dream, and moved right back to town!
+
+
+
+
+APPLE BLOSSOMS.
+
+
+I.
+
+There's the rose and the lily, the daisy and pink,
+And many rare flowers which others may think
+Are the fairest and best, the sweetest that blow,
+With delicious perfume, and colors that glow--
+But go to the orchard and sniff the delight
+Of the incense that's shed by the pink and the white,
+And let the soul float away in a swoon
+On the ambient air where the apple trees bloom!
+
+
+II.
+
+There's the cowslip, narcissus, and sweet mignonette,
+The asters, verbenas, the fuschias; and yet,
+As much as I love them in Summer array,
+It's the white and the pink I dream of to-day,
+And I walk 'neath the branches that just interlace
+And shower their blossoms right down in my face
+When the breeze that is laden with rarest perfume
+Is wafted along where the apple trees bloom!
+
+
+III.
+
+With glad voices the birds as they flit to and fro
+Are singing their songs where the pink and the snow
+Of the orchard, bedecked in its garments so rare,
+Is diffusing and sending its breath on the air;
+And the rays of the sun sift through on the grass,
+And the dew-drops that sparkle no jewels surpass!
+In Springtime at evening, at morning, at noon,
+How sweet is the scent of the apple trees' bloom!
+
+
+IV.
+
+And when Summer is gone, and Autumn has shed
+It's soft, dreamy haze through the trees overhead,
+On each spreading branch where blossoms now cling
+The red and the gold to the fruit it will bring,
+And stripe with a skill and give it that blush
+Only Nature can paint with her delicate brush!
+O when life ebbs away, then make me a tomb
+Right out in the orchard, where the apple trees bloom!
+
+
+
+
+CHICKAMAUGA.
+
+
+To Chattanooga's vale, where flows the winding Tennessee,
+And rugged Lookout sentinels heroic dust of sixty-three--
+Where Chickamauga's gory field re-echoed to the cannon's roar,
+And shot and shell through serried ranks a bloody pathway tore,
+And mountain slope and wood and field were lumined with the blaze
+Of musketry from Blue and Gray in those September days--
+They come again, the gallant few, survivors of the fray,
+Their breasts with hallowed memories filled, but passion passed away!
+
+The fleeting years have silvered o'er the locks of those who live,
+And turned to dust the sleeping ones who to their flag did give
+The last drop of the crimson tide from ghastly wounds poured out
+Amid the conflict's awful din and wild resounding shout;
+And yet it seems but yesterday, or like a passing dream,
+When marshaled on the mountain's side they saw the bayonets gleam,
+As for a moment from the vale the battle's smoke was lifted,
+And circling o'er the Blue and Gray in lurid clouds it drifted!
+
+And now upon the blood-soaked ground once more they stand,
+Where the unyielding "Rock of Chickamauga" held command,
+And strewed the field with heaps of the assaulting Gray
+Who dauntless rushed where lines of Blue refused to give the way;
+And bloody scenes crowd thick and fast upon the memory here
+To fill the heart with grief and dim the eye with misty tear;
+And spanning Time's chasm with the imagination's bridge,
+They hear the thunder of the guns from Missionary Ridge!
+
+And there the pyramid of balls is reared to tell
+And mark the hallowed spot where tuneful genius fell;
+The vagrant winds around it now seem sighing
+The requiem sad of "I am dying, Egypt, dying!"
+Prophetic words by gallant LYTLE penned--
+A laurel wreath with immortelles to blend!
+A halo hovers round about this gifted son,
+Whose deathless name with pen and sword was nobly won!
+
+They come to mark with tokens of their love and pride
+Each consecrated spot where bleeding heroes fell and died,
+And gaze with reverence on some gently swelling mound
+Which hides the dust of comrade in his sleep profound;
+To picture to the mind--with melancholy pleasure trace
+The unforgotten outlines of a dear, remembered face,
+Which passed from loved ones and from life away,
+A victim on the bloody field of fratricidal fray!
+
+
+
+
+GENERAL JOHN B. GORDON.
+
+_Facile Princeps._
+
+
+I.
+
+O gifted one of the Sunny South, with lips so eloquent,
+  In whose great heart no malice e'er was found!
+And now thou art a messenger of Peace, by heaven sent
+  On mission of fraternity, to heal the cankering wound!
+
+
+II.
+
+In that dread day when fratricidal strife
+  Convulsed with passion--crimsoned with its blood--
+No nobler son than thou who staked his life
+  With veterans Gray withstood the overwhelming flood!
+
+
+III.
+
+No sweeter tribute could be paid by mortal tongue--
+  No nobler sentiment the human heart could fill--
+In grander strains no poet's praises e'er were sung
+  Of private soldier--than thy words that burn and thrill!
+
+
+IV.
+
+No treasured wrong within thy noble soul
+  Has tainted with its slimy trail of hate--
+No broader love of country could embrace the whole,
+  Or bow more gracefully to iron hand of fate!
+
+
+V.
+
+Speak on! And scatter broadcast healing seed
+  That shall a harvest of good feeling yield--
+And Peace, no less than War, shall lend her meed
+  And crown anew this hero of the bloody field!
+
+
+
+
+UP AND DOWN OLD CLARK'S RUN.
+
+
+Bright visions of childhood! How dear to the heart
+Are the scenes which from memory can never depart!
+Undimmed by the sorrows, the grief and the tears
+Which have shadowed the pathway of life's later years,
+They come like the rainbow which follows the storm--
+On remembrance reflected with colors as warm--
+And in dreams of delight they picture the fun
+That we had long ago when we fished in Clark's Run!
+
+With a can full of worms and a heart full of joy,
+Up and down the old stream, a bare-footed boy,
+A truant from school, my footsteps would stray
+To the deep-shaded pool, or where ripples at play,
+As they flowed over beds of smooth-polished stones,
+Sang a lullaby sweet in soft undertones!
+From the dawn of the day to the set of the sun
+What pleasures we've had when we fished in Clark's Run!
+
+Equipped with a pole, a hook and a line,
+And stowed in some pocket a long piece of twine
+On which you could string, if you seined for a week,
+Every fish that was found up and down the old creek--
+With one "gallus" to pants that were rolled to the knee,
+And holes in our hats through which you could see
+Where the sunbeams had turned the light hair to dun--
+We hied us away to the banks of Clark's Run!
+
+There we baited the hook and threw out the line,
+And watched the cork disappear with a rapture divine!
+And felt just as proud as a prince or a king
+When we landed high up, with a jerk and a swing,
+A fish that would measure two inches or more,
+Then anchored him fast with the string to the shore!
+But unnumbered now are the silver strands spun
+With the hair of the head since we fished in Clark's Run!
+
+O who can there be with a heart in his breast
+Would forget the dear scenes which so lovingly rest
+In the bosom when life has grown old and cold,
+And feel no delight when such pictures unfold,
+And would blot out forever from memory's page
+The records of childhood which solace old age?
+'Till time ends for me and with life I have done,
+I'll dream of the days when we fished in Clark's Run!
+
+
+
+
+ROBERT BURNS.
+
+(A PARAPHRASE.)
+
+
+I.
+
+Thou lingering Star! No less'ning ray
+  Will e'er bedim thy natal morn,
+Or usher in the unhallowed day
+  When we forget that thou wert born!
+O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
+  Where is thy place of blissful rest?
+See'st thou again a Highland maid,
+  Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?
+
+
+II.
+
+That sacred day can we forget,
+  Can we forget the hallowed spot
+Where by the winding Ayr was set
+  The sparkling jewel in lowly cot?
+Eternity will not efface
+  The record dear of time that's past;
+Thy memory sweet we still embrace,
+  And will as long as life shall last!
+
+
+III.
+
+Ayr, congealed to its pebbled shore,
+  O'erhung with wild woods, shorn of green;
+The leafless birch and hawthorn hoar
+  Were planted round the wintry scene;
+No flowers sprang wanton to be pressed--
+  No birds sang love on every spray--
+But brightest yet o'er all the rest
+  Will ever shine thy natal day!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Still o'er thy songs our rapture wakes,
+  And memory broods with miser care!
+Time but their music sweeter makes,
+  As streams their channels deeper wear.
+O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
+  Where is thy place of blissful rest?
+See'st thou again a Highland maid,
+  Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?
+
+
+
+
+WISHING--FISHING.
+
+
+I.
+
+Full well I know that wishing never yet has brought
+  The things that seem to us would satisfy the heart,
+And that anticipated pleasure, when at last 'tis caught,
+  Has naught but transitory solace to impart;
+And yet, somehow, I've ever felt and thought
+  A joy there is that never can depart--
+(As long as we are capable of feeling--wishing)--
+  And that's to leave dull care behind, and--go a-fishing!
+
+
+II.
+
+Some dream of wealth--of place--of fame--
+  And fleeting shadows vainly they pursue;
+And some have sighed to win a deathless name
+  Where fields of carnage corpses thickly strew,
+And shrieks of agony are heard 'mid smoke and flame;
+  But these are dizzy heights attained by few;
+So, when Dame Fortune is her favors dishing,
+  I hope that I'll get mine in ample time to--go a-fishing!
+
+
+III.
+
+Oh, was there ever any sweeter dream,
+  Or music with a tone that's more entrancing,
+Than just to wander where some mountain stream
+  Is o'er the rocks and polished pebbles dancing?
+And nothing short of heaven itself, I ween,
+  Is like the moment when, his scales all glancing,
+You see the happy consummation of your wishing,
+  And catch the very fish for which you have been fishing!
+
+
+
+
+POE.
+
+
+I.
+
+Oh, melancholy child of want and woe!
+  A brilliant meteor in an ebon sky!
+Thy soul's weird music all did flow
+  From heart-strings touched by destiny!
+
+
+II.
+
+The Raven, perched above thy chamber door,
+  Responsive croaked with a prophetic word--
+For in the realm of song may "Nevermore"
+  Such strains as thine by mortal ear be heard!
+
+
+III.
+
+Where now doth that proud spirit dwell,
+  Whose earthly days were clouded o'er with gloom?
+In regions with the sweet-voiced "Israfel,"
+  Where never-fading flowerets bloom?
+
+
+IV.
+
+Dost rest within some "distant Aidenn,
+  Beyond the Night's Plutonian shore?
+And clasp again a sainted maiden
+  Whom the angels name Lenore?"
+
+
+V.
+
+Yes, "echo through the corridors of Time"
+  Will have a tone that ages yet will know,
+And blend with all that's beautiful--sublime--
+  The deathless name of Edgar Allan Poe!
+
+
+
+
+A BARREN "IDEALTY."
+
+
+  This song that I sing--
+  It is not of a spring,
+Nor yet of a silvery stream--
+  But of a vision bright
+  Which came last night
+In the garb of a blissful dream--
+  When I thought, as I lay,
+  It was Thanksgiving Day,
+And I was invited to dine
+  Where a table stood
+  On which everything good
+Spread a feast that was almost divine!
+
+  Where the savors arose,
+  Right under my nose,
+From turkey--and pumpkin pies;
+  And from jolly roast pig
+  Were slices as big
+As some of the campaign lies!
+  And celery so white
+  'Twas a thing of delight
+To bite the crisp stalks in two.
+  And the cranberry sauce--
+  Oh, I tell you 'twas boss--
+And flanked by an oyster stew!
+
+  Where the bread and the cake--
+  The best they can bake--
+Were cut into slices heroic.
+  And the amber ice cream
+  Melted into my dream
+Like love to the heart of a 'poet';
+  And they heaped up my plate,
+  And I sat there and ate
+Till I awoke with a yell,
+  And a shiver and shake
+  And a pain and an ache
+That rudely my dream did dispel!
+
+  But dreams, as you know,
+  By contraries go,
+And thus I fear if it will be
+  With the one of delight
+  That came last night
+When I feasted so heartily;
+  And Thanksgiving Day
+  In the usual way
+Will come to me, don't you see,
+  And the dinner I had
+  And the ache that was bad
+Prove a----barren "idealty"!
+
+
+
+
+A CHERISHED RELIC.
+
+
+In the attic, unused, there they put it away;
+The old oaken frame has begun to decay;
+What iron's about it is eaten with rust,
+And upon and around it are cobwebs and dust;
+The dear, loving hands that on it have spun,
+With labor and toil forever are done,
+And long is the time since I saw them unreel
+The threads, snowy white, from the old spinning-wheel!
+
+It stood on a porch where the Summer sunshine
+Sifted down to the floor through a clambering vine,
+Whose tendrils about the lattice-work clung
+Like my heart-strings round her, and the song that she sung;
+And the pictures of fancy I con o'er and o'er,
+Till, raptured, I see the dear features once more,
+And thrill with the touch when her lips set the seal
+Of her love, as she spun on the old spinning-wheel!
+
+Then through the shadows and mists of many long years
+The old cottage home to the vision appears;
+And though youth it has fled, and the hair it is gray,
+I'm a bare-footed boy returned to his play--
+Forgetting the present to dream once again
+That life had no anguish, no sorrow, no pain;
+And sweetly the bells of the memory peal
+When communing up there with the old spinning-wheel!
+
+And back from the past, with its grief and its joy,
+Come the tones of a voice I heard when a boy,
+And I see once again, as it moved to and fro,
+A form that now rests where the wild roses blow,
+And the sentinel stars their love vigils keep
+Above the dear one in her long, dreamless sleep;
+But memories sweet to a heart that can feel
+Still cluster around the old spinning-wheel.
+
+Some spokes from the rim are broken and gone,
+And it stands there forsaken, neglected, alone;
+It knows naught of language, but a story can tell
+With a charm that for me time cannot dispel;
+And often I climb the old attic stair
+The love of my childhood with it to share,
+And emotions possess me I cannot conceal
+When fondly I gaze on the old spinning-wheel!
+
+The distaff is worn and smooth with the touch
+Of the now folded hands that used it so much;
+And lingering there I clearly can trace
+The sweet smile of love from a well-cherished face,
+Which sheds round about it a halo divine
+When thus I am kneeling at memory's shrine,
+And hallows the thoughts which on the mind steal,
+When up there alone with the old spinning-wheel!
+
+'Tis then that I see her in saintly guise,
+Through the fast-welling tears that come to my eyes--
+A vision arrayed in raiment white
+That beckons to me from the regions of light,
+And illumines the way that my footsteps may tread
+Unerringly where her love for me led--
+Along the straight path that she tried to reveal
+As she taught me, and spun on the old spinning-wheel!
+
+Yes, the finger of Time has furrowed the brow,
+And silvered the hair, yet I dream of her now
+As when, long ago, I heard as a child
+The words of her love that my sorrows beguiled;
+And this relic she used but brings back anew
+The morning of life, that was fresh with the dew
+Distilled from the heart, as she taught me to kneel
+Right down by her side, and the old spinning-wheel!
+
+
+
+
+"RESTLAND."
+
+WRITTEN IN THE DANVILLE (KY.) CEMETERY.
+
+
+I.
+
+Within thy hallowed precincts on this sweet autumnal day,
+  We're wandering 'neath the cedar and the pine,
+Where rests the sacred dust of loved ones passed away,
+  And bleeding hearts a melancholy pleasure find.
+
+
+II.
+
+In memory's faithful mirror here once more we trace
+  Familiar forms of those in life we knew,
+And see again the shadowy outlines of some face
+  That, living, beamed with kindness--ever true.
+
+
+III.
+
+Old age, and manhood's prime, and helpless infancy
+  Have dotted o'er with many an emerald mound,
+And marked each stone with mournful tracery
+  Which stands within this consecrated ground.
+
+
+IV.
+
+And there the marble shaft its stately head
+  In polished whiteness pointing to the sky,
+And here the modest tribute to the lowly dead--
+  The silent monitors that tell us all must die.
+
+
+V.
+
+Here lavish Nature her bright smile imparts
+  And decks with lovely flowers in early Spring,
+And here the sympathetic tear unbidden starts,
+  And loving hands their sweetest tributes bring.
+
+
+VI.
+
+Loved spot! A solace to the living 'tis to know
+  That when at last--life's fitful fever o'er--
+The cortege sad, with solemn step and slow,
+  Shall bear us here, to rest forever more,--
+
+
+VII.
+
+'Till that bright day when ransomed spirits rise,
+  And loved and lost shall reunited be,
+To dwell in realms beyond the star-lit skies
+  Throughout one circling, vast eternity!
+
+
+
+
+MY VALENTINE.
+
+
+I.
+
+I passed her on the crowded street--
+This winsome maid, demure and sweet--
+And envious saw the silken tresses
+That seemed to give her cheeks caresses,
+And rapture felt that thrilled me through
+When on me glanced those eyes of blue
+From underneath the drooping lashes
+That could not hide their azure flashes!
+And oh, I dreampt of bliss divine
+If she would be--my Valentine!
+
+
+II.
+
+And visions of as fair a face
+As painter's pencil e'er did trace
+Would haunt the mind each waking hour,
+And slumber owned its magic power--
+Until I found by merest chance
+That belladonna made the glance,
+And borrowed hair had lent its aid
+For silken tresses of this maid--
+And padding--paint--did all combine
+To make for me--my Valentine!
+
+
+
+
+A SMOKE.
+
+
+I.
+
+O others may boast of their pleasures galore--
+The miser with rapture may count o'er his store,
+And some may imagine great happiness there
+In the gay shining beam of Society's glare;
+But best of all comforts a feller can know,
+While wintry winds whistle and fast flies the snow,
+Is a pipe after supper, by a bright blazing fire,
+Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher!
+
+
+II.
+
+O doctors may tell you and others declare
+It'll shorten your days and your heart will impair--
+That nicotine poison will flow through your veins
+And nervous distraction will rack with its pains;
+But what cares a feller in slippers and gown,
+When wintry winds whistle and snow's pouring down,
+With papers and books, and his feet near the fire,
+Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher?
+
+
+III.
+
+O rare are the fancies, contentment and bliss,
+That drive away care in an hour such as this!
+When the ills of this life and the things that provoke
+Are lost for the while in the blue curling smoke
+Of a pipe and tobacco that's yellow as gold,
+And raptures supernal the senses unfold.
+O give me a chair by a bright blazing fire,
+And sweet-smelling ringlets that curl high and higher!
+
+
+
+
+PERRYVILLE.
+
+FOUGHT OCTOBER 8th, 1862.
+
+
+Here on this spot, where Nature now, with chilling, icy breath,
+Has mantled in a robe of white the field of strife and death,
+We view in memory once again the awful scenes where met
+In serried ranks the Blue and Gray--and tears the lashes wet;
+For those who fell that dreadful day are mingled with the dust,
+And often here the plow upturns a bayonet red with rust:
+A sad memento of the time when passion held full sway--
+Reminder to the rustic swain of fratricidal fray.
+
+From yonder hill the shotted guns in dreadful chorus rang--
+And on this plain was heard that day the glittering sabre's clang,
+And in that vale, where wound the brook, with waters murmuring,
+We stood and heard the Minie balls their deadly message sing,
+And saw the life blood, gushing red, from stricken comrade near,
+Whose gentle voice his loved ones then no more should ever hear--
+His blue eyes close--his bosom heave--his pulse forever still,
+A sacrifice to cause held dear, on the field of Perryville!
+
+And the swiftly circling years can ne'er erase
+From Memory's tablets or from Nature's face
+One spot of all the rest we're standing near--
+By fiercely battling hosts the prize held dear;
+The old spring's waters still are gurgling from the rock
+Where famished soldiers knelt--grim Death himself to mock;
+Here on that day in ghastly heaps they lay--
+Commingling with the Blue the men that wore the Gray!
+
+And now the virgin snow has covered o'er the sod
+Where once in fierce array contending armies trod;
+The wintry wind makes mournful music through the trees
+Where then the clash of arms was floating on the breeze,
+And deep-toned guns belched forth the screaming shell
+Like fiendish messengers of Death let loose from hell;
+Now Nature's peaceful emblem spread o'er glade and hill
+Enwraps beneath its folds the bloody field of Perryville.
+
+December 26, 1895.
+
+
+
+
+LONGINGS.
+
+
+I.
+
+Gim me back my stone-bruised heel,
+  And them tow-linen pants,
+An' that old pole an' line an' reel,
+  An' all them boyhood ha'nts,
+An' that old hat I used to wear,
+  That didn't hav' no crown,
+An' that same crop uv yeller hair--
+  Sun-burnt on top ter brown--
+An' them playmates I used ter know,
+  An' loved like very brothers--
+An' you kin let the old world go
+  An' giv' its wealth ter others!
+
+
+II.
+
+Gim me back one gallus, too,
+  That buttoned with a peg,
+An' them blamed ticks that burrowed through
+  The skin uv either leg,
+An' that old single-barrel gun,
+  As crooked as a rail,
+An' that same dog that used ter run
+  The molly cotton-tail,
+An' lem me hav' the tops I spun--
+  The kites that I hav' sailed--
+An' then at last, when life is done,
+  Who'd keer if it had failed?
+
+
+
+
+DOWN ABOUT OLD SHAKERTOWN.
+
+
+You may boast about the landscapes fair so far across the sea
+Of castled Rhine, and southern France, and favored Italy--
+But have you seen, when Springtime flings the scented blossoms down,
+The forests and the meadows green around old Shakertown?
+
+You may boast of some that bask beneath perpetual Summer's smiles--
+Those "Eden's of the eastern wave"--the sunny Grecian isles--
+And others that perhaps you've seen, of beauty and renown,
+But come and view the country spread around old Shakertown!
+
+O come and boast that you have been where Nature's lavish hand
+Bestowed the gifts of wood and field that vie with any land--
+Where valleys wear a velvet robe--the hills an emerald crown
+Of bluegrass shimmering in the sun, around old Shakertown!
+
+O come to old Kentucky then, and to her garden spot,
+Then wander wheresoe'er you will, it ne'er will be forgot--
+For Nature's face is wreathed in smiles nor wears a single frown
+To mar the beauty she has spread around old Shakertown!
+
+
+
+
+MEMORIA IN AETERNA.
+
+
+Sweet Memory! thou faculty divine--
+Triumphant o'er the cruel hand of Time!
+On thy tablets we may trace
+The lines his fingers ne'er efface,
+And take with us till latest day
+The images that light our way,
+And picture thus in a shadowy form
+The loved and lost he's from us torn--
+Their lids by Death so early sealed--
+Life's crimson tide by him congealed--
+The tyrant has not all concealed--
+They in thy mirror still revealed!
+
+Before the morning sunbeams kissed
+The face of Nature--veiled in mist--
+And heralded with golden ray
+The opening of the perfect day--
+Ere yet the sable shades of night
+At dawn's approach had winged their flight--
+We've listed to the whispering breeze
+That's wafted o'er the trembling trees,
+And seemed to hear the voices sweet
+Of loved ones now we ne'er can meet
+Till earthly night shall pass away--
+Supplanted by immortal day!
+
+And thus in retrospective mood,
+Alone with Nature's solitude
+In some secluded sylvan dell,
+Her myriad voices float and swell
+And flitting shadows softly tell
+Of dear ones lost--yet loved so well!
+Then to the sunny home where dwelt--
+(Ere yet the envious tyrant dealt
+The blow that blighted hopes have felt)--
+Fond fancy wanders, and can see
+Once happy scenes that ne'er can be
+Lost in thy shades, O Memory!
+
+But those to us so cruelly denied
+Are drifting now upon some fairer tide--
+Their scattered ashes on Hope's pinions rise
+And people realms beyond the azure skies!
+Then may our faltering footsteps lead
+To where fond hearts may never bleed--
+Where vanished faces, cherished forms,
+Are anchored safe from life's rude storms;
+Where strains seraphic, soft and low,
+The rapt ear greet, and we shall know
+The loved and lost we only see
+In visions of sweet Memory!
+
+
+
+
+A MOTHER'S GRAVE.
+
+
+I.
+
+The years have passed in ceaseless round
+  Since first they laid her here to rest
+In dreamless sleep beneath the silent mound,
+  With folded hands upon her gentle breast.
+
+
+II.
+
+The ivy twines about the crumbling stone,
+  And Springtime's scented blossoms fling
+Their incense o'er the peaceful home
+  That knows no more of suffering.
+
+
+III.
+
+Full many a Summer's sun has shed
+  Its brightest smile upon the hallowed spot,
+And sobered Autumn and wild Winter spread
+  Their garments here--she heeds them not!
+
+
+IV.
+
+The feathered wildlings of the wood and field
+  Their untaught melody around it make,
+But she who sleeps with eyes so softly sealed
+  Their gladsome songs can never more awake.
+
+
+V.
+
+O restful sleep beneath the crumbling mold
+  To dream no more of hopes unrealized!
+O Grave! What treasures do thy confines hold
+  By us so dearly loved and fondly prized!
+
+
+
+
+A FRECKLE-FACED BOY.
+
+
+I.
+
+I'm just in my glory when the cat I can tease,
+Or I'm hunting for bird nests up in the trees,
+And I wear out my pants in the seat and the knees;
+I'm the pride of my daddy, my mammy's own joy--
+A frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+II.
+
+I can make a top hum, and at marbles, you bet,
+I'm the cock of the walk and the king of the "set;"
+I'm hearty and healthy--and don't you forget
+The dead loads of "goodies" that I can destroy--
+I'm a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+III.
+
+They send me to school with my satchel and books,
+And my pockets bulged out with nails and fish-hooks;
+And sometimes while there my teacher she looks
+And captures the things that provoke and annoy
+From a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+IV.
+
+My mammy she says that it's quite evident
+Of the country some day I'll be President;
+But auntie, she says from the way I am bent
+The gold of her dream will be full of alloy
+From a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+V.
+
+I'm huntin' for fun, and I don't have a care,
+And there's dirt on my hands, and I don't comb my hair,
+And off-colored patches quite often I wear;
+But there's no kind of sport the young heart can cloy
+Of a frolicsome, rollicksome, freckle-faced boy!
+
+
+
+
+THE DAM BELOW THE MILL.
+
+
+The Springtime am a-comin', and the dogwood soon will bloom,
+With the blossoms ten times thicker than the green leaves are in June,
+And if yer want some pleasure that I nominate divine,
+Just git yer minnow bucket, and yer hook and pole and line,
+And slip away some mornin', when the weather's bright and still,
+And hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!
+
+There are lots of other pleasures in the old world here below,
+And a mighty heap of happiness a feller 'll never know--
+But never mind about 'em--just yer slip away and feel
+That something so delectable that over yer will steal;
+For it sets the pulses beatin' with a magic kind of thrill
+When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!
+
+When yer 'gin to take the fever, and yer feel it comin' on,
+Why yer boun' ter go a-fishin', just as shore as yer born;
+Then ye'd better git yer trapping's in the proper kind o' fix,
+And go and hear the music when yer reel a-spinnin' clicks;
+For he rushes through the water at a pace that's fit ter kill
+When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!
+
+
+
+
+THE SERENADE.
+
+
+I.
+
+The winds were hushed, and thin and high
+  The fleecy clouds were drifting,
+And through them as she sailed the sky
+  The moon's soft light was sifting.
+
+
+II.
+
+Beneath her pale and tender ray,
+  Its silvery kiss imprinting,
+All dew-bedecked each flower and spray
+  Like myriad jewels glinting.
+
+
+III.
+
+Across the lawn there floats the sound
+  Of music sweet--entrancing--
+'Neath a latticed casement, ivy-bound,
+  Where love-lit eyes were glancing.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The flute and harp and mandolin
+  There dulcet notes were blending,
+And strains divine from a violin
+  In harmony ascending.
+
+
+V.
+
+Enraptured by the magic spell,
+  I lingering stood, and listening,
+It seemed to me that I could tell
+  What love to her was whispering.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+VI.
+
+I looked above and chanced to see
+  The man in the moon was scowling,
+For they had struck up "Sweet Marie,"
+  And the old watch-dog was howling!
+
+
+
+
+"IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"
+
+
+I.
+
+I wouldn't mind the weather much--I'd sizzle and I'd stew,
+And do the very best I could the heat to struggle through,
+If I could find some way, you know, the feller to eschew,
+Who greets you with the chestnut phrase--
+            "IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"
+
+
+II.
+
+The mercury might climb the tube and spill right out the top--
+The sweat might ooze from every pore and off my carcass drop--
+I wouldn't mind the heat at all, and keep my temper too,
+If it wasn't for the cuss who says--
+            "IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"
+
+
+III.
+
+The sun might shine his level best--the sky seem molten brass--
+The heat might dry up every stream, and burn up all the grass--
+The evening come without a breeze--the morning have no dew--
+If it wasn't for the 'moke' who asks
+            "IS IT HOT ENOUGH FER YOU?"
+
+
+
+
+THE TOKEN.
+
+
+I.
+
+Only a ringlet of flaxen hair,
+  Tied with a ribbon blue,
+Laid by the hand of a mother there--
+  Cherished with love so true!
+
+
+II.
+
+Only a soft and silken curl,
+  Bound with a knotted bow;
+Worn on the head of a little girl
+  Lost in the long-ago.
+
+
+III.
+
+Only a hallowed treasure kept
+  From the grave's decay and mold,
+Over which her eyes have wept
+  With anguish all untold!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Only a link in the golden chain,
+  By Death's cold hand unbroken,
+Which leads to where she'll meet again
+  The wearer of this token.
+
+
+V.
+
+Only a relic undefiled,
+  Enshrined in a broken heart--
+Rent in twain when a darling child
+  And a loving mother part!
+
+
+VI.
+
+Only a ringlet of flaxen hair,
+  Tied with a ribbon blue,
+Clipped from the head of an angel fair,
+  Whose hands are beckoning you!
+
+
+
+
+TO SCENES I USED TO KNOW.
+
+
+I can see the back-log blazing and the sparkles take their flight
+Up the cavernous old chimney on a merry Christmas night;
+I can see the old folks smiling and the children's cheeks aglow,
+And a saucy maiden standing there beneath the mistletoe;
+I can hear the laughter mingle with the strains of music sweet
+As we tripped the light fantastic with the "many-twinkling feet;"
+I can see the moonlight gleaming through the trees upon the snow,
+When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.
+
+I can see the candles burning bright upon the Christmas tree;
+I can see the presents handed round, and hear the shouts of glee,
+And from the buried years there comes a-stealing on the heart
+A something indefinable which bids the tear-drop start;
+I can see the blue smoke curling, through the little strip of wood
+Between the winding turnpike road and where the farmhouse stood;
+I can see the colts a-playing, I can hear the cattle low--
+When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.
+
+I can see it all when fancy weaves its magic with a dream,
+And I hear the tones from voices like the murmur of a stream;
+And oh, the heart seems young again and from its anguish free
+When I gaze upon these pictures that are ever dear to me;
+Then I see the darkies dancing, I can hear the fiddle ring
+As they gathered in the cabin and they cut the pigeon-wing;
+I can smell the 'possum roasting, I can see the cider flow,
+When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.
+
+
+
+
+BEREFT.
+
+
+I.
+
+No more to feel the pressure warm
+  Of dimpled arms around your neck--
+No more to clasp the little form
+  That Nature did with beauty deck.
+
+
+II.
+
+No more to hear the music sweet
+  Of merry laugh and prattling talk--
+No more to see the busy feet
+  Come toddling down the shaded walk.
+
+
+III.
+
+No more the glint of flaxen hair
+  That nestled 'round the lilied brow--
+No more the rose's bloom will wear
+  The cheek so cold and pallid now.
+
+
+IV.
+
+No more the light from loving eyes,
+  Whose hue was like the violet blown
+Where Summer's softest, bluest skies,
+  Had lent it coloring from their own.
+
+
+V.
+
+No more to fondly bend above
+  The little one when slumber wrought,
+With sweetest dreams, the smile of love
+  The placid features then had caught.
+
+
+VI.
+
+No more on earth--oh, nevermore!
+  The shattered idols of the heart
+Can yearning love nor time restore--
+  But--you may meet to never part!
+
+
+
+
+THE "BULL SPRING."
+
+
+When the burning sun of Summer shines from out a brassy sky,
+And has parched and browned the meadows, and the creek's run dry,
+O sweet it is to wander there and hear the water sing
+It's rippling song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+Since Logan and the pioneers first stood upon its bank,
+And heard it gurgle from the rock, and of its waters drank,
+With ceaseless music in its flow, like silvery chimes that ring,
+Has been the song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+Around about the fields and woods of old "Magnolia" spread--
+Indigenous to "tansy"--"mint"--and the lithe-limbed thoroughbred;
+And far above, on drowsy wing, the crow seems listening
+To the rippling song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+No music that I've ever heard seems half so soft and sweet
+As that in silvery tones it makes while flowing at your feet;
+And sometimes when I'm far away I'd give most anything
+To hear the song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+'Tis then that fancy wanders, and I sit and fondly dream
+That I'm gazing in its liquid depths and see the pebbles gleam,
+As when in happy childhood, and free from sorrow's sting,
+I heard the song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+And I sniff again the flavor of the aromatic breeze
+From the mint-bed and the tansy, as it floated through the trees,
+And hear music mingle of the birds upon the wing
+With the laughing song of gladness from the
+                                        Old
+                                          "Bull
+                                            Spring!"
+
+
+
+
+FAMILIAR HAUNTS.
+
+
+I.
+
+Give me the patches on my pants, the freckles on my face--
+The happy heart where cankering care had never found a place--
+And let my bare feet walk again that dirt road down the hill
+That led me to the river's brink, beyond the old Mock Mill!
+
+
+II.
+
+Give me the youthful friends I knew, now scattered far and wide--
+The loved ones who have passed beyond the bounds of time and tide--
+And let me see the rose's hue that mantled every cheek
+When we were run-aways from school, a-fishing in the creek.
+
+
+III.
+
+Give me the stone-bruise on my heel, the hat without a crown--
+The unkempt suit of yellow hair the sun had burnt to brown--
+And let me go and soak myself, just where we used to walk,
+In that old swimmin' pool we had, up on the Hanging Fork!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Give me the wealth I used to have--a wealth of vast content--
+The pockets that were always full--but in them not a cent--
+And let me hear the music sweet the wild birds used to sing
+In woods and fields I wandered o'er, beyond the Old Cove Spring!
+
+
+V.
+
+Give me--but what's the use of wishing for the days that won't return--
+The vanished faces of the friends for whom we fondly yearn?
+And what's the use of trying to look beyond the misty screen
+Time's hand has hung between the eye and each familiar scene?
+
+
+
+
+A FADED LETTER.
+
+
+I.
+
+O what memories sweet entwine
+Around each word and faded line!
+Yellow and dim with the touch of years,
+And soiled with the marks of tears--
+A sacred treasure of the heart
+Which death alone can from him part--
+A letter--cherished as no other--
+And ending with the name of--Mother!
+
+
+II.
+
+Writ it was to a wayward boy,
+When life to him seemed full of joy--
+Pleading with him so to live
+That he her heart no grief would give--
+That after years might ne'er be fraught
+With sorrow that himself had wrought:--
+"May guardian angels 'round you hover,"
+She wrote--and signed the name of--Mother!
+
+
+III.
+
+The paper has the taint of must--
+The hand that traced the lines is dust,
+And silvery hair is on the head
+Of that same boy since first he read
+This missive from the sainted one
+That bore her love to an erring son--
+More fondly prized than any other--
+'Twas written by the hand of--Mother!
+
+
+
+
+THE HERMIT.
+
+
+By the waters of a river, where the rocks like giants stand,
+There a stranger, young and favored, built a home with his own hand.
+
+Hewed the logs and reared the roof-tree, where for years alone he dwelt,
+Wanderer from the sunny Southland, and from pangs his heart had felt.
+
+Legend says high-born and wealthy, seeking there in Nature's wilds
+To forget a maiden fickle, basking in a rival's smiles.
+
+Where the music of the wild birds, echoed from the cliffs around,
+Blended with the voice of waters, flowing past with silvery sound;
+
+Where in Springtime wild flowers blooming shed their incense day and night,
+And the rugged cliff-sides wearing robes of dogwood, snowy white;
+
+Where in Summer old trees spreading overhead a leafy roof
+Flung their shadows, deep and cooling, 'gainst the burning sunbeams proof;
+
+Where in Winter wild winds raving whistled 'round his lonely home,
+And the swollen torrent rushing struck the rocks with sullen tone--
+
+He a sunnier clime forsaking for the "dark and bloody ground,"
+Where the forest stretched unbroken--there the wanderer rest had found.
+
+All of human-kind deserting, where no din of toil and strife
+Ever came to break the stillness--there he spent a hermit's life.
+
+All his frugal wants supplying from the storehouse Nature gave,
+Nevermore his footsteps bending toward where Hope had found its grave.
+
+Striving to forget the false one, dwelling 'neath her sunny skies,
+Who had left the arrow rankling in his heart with honied lies.
+
+Long ago she was forgotten, and at last surcease had come--
+For his heart was stilled forever, and his lips were sealed and dumb.
+
+Long he lay beside the river, flowing sweetly there to-day,
+Where was found a bleaching skeleton, and a rude hut in decay.
+
+There where briars in tangled network sway above a little mound,
+Rest the bones of Southern stranger, in the "dark and bloody ground!"
+
+
+
+
+THE "MEDICAL SPRING."
+
+
+I.
+
+Let tipplers all boast of the pleasure divine
+That is found in old whisky, in beer and in wine--
+But what are all those to a feller who knows
+Where the "Medical Spring" in its purity flows,
+And has knelt at its brink and just drank his fill
+Of the clear, sparkling fluid, from Nature's own still?
+
+
+II.
+
+How often I've strayed on a hot Summer's day
+Where it gurgles and gushes, then flows on its way
+With a ripple as sweet as the music that died
+When the tones of loved voices are to us denied,
+And mirrored my face in the "Medical Spring,"
+Where the beetling old cliffs their cool shadows fling!
+
+
+III.
+
+Not riches, nor honors, nor place do I crave,
+Ere they lay me at last to rest in the grave,
+But oh, let me hear its music once more,
+And drink from its depths while I kneel on its shore--
+Then bear me away on the Death Angel's wing
+While my lips are yet moist from the "Medical Spring!"
+
+
+
+
+AN "IDYL" OF THE BALL.
+
+
+I.
+
+In reel, in waltz, in lancer's maze,
+  She moved with pretty air of grace,
+And all the ball-room's brilliant blaze
+  Seemed borrowed brightness from her face!
+O, winsome maid, demure and sweet!
+  I'll ne'er forget when first I met her,
+And saw the dainty slippered feet
+  Glide o'er the floor at Linnietta!
+
+
+II.
+
+O, dreams of youth and beauty rare,
+  What rose-hued visions thou canst paint!
+But none in loveliness compare
+  With her who seemed Love's patron saint!
+Her pictured image haunts the mind,
+  And, oh, I never can forget her,
+Nor rarer pleasure hope to find
+  Than dance with her at Linnietta!
+
+
+III.
+
+Arrayed in softly flowing gown,
+  The love-light flashing from her eyes--
+With cheeks aglow like roses blown
+  Beneath the ardent summer skies--
+No artist hand could fitly trace
+  The wondrous charm that did beset her,
+When tripping with a fairy's grace
+  O'er the waxen floor at Linnietta!
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS.
+
+
+I.
+
+The sweetest dreams, it seems to me, that we can ever know,
+Are those the fancy brings to us of days of long-ago,
+When rainbow-tinted pictures all are like a mirage flung
+Upon the canvas memory weaves--of days when we were young.
+
+
+II.
+
+The step may falter, eye be dim--the brow may wrinkles wear,
+And underneath the crumbling mould our friends be sleeping there--
+But oh, these visions come to us as to the rose the dew,
+And while with raptured gaze we look the heart seems ever new.
+
+
+III.
+
+Oh, when perhaps at last we're left a laggard on life's stage,
+This is the mellowed draught we quaff our longings to assuage--
+As sweet as that from Paradise the smiling Houris hand
+The Prophet's faithful followers when at its gates they stand!
+
+
+IV.
+
+If one last prayer were left to me for my declining days,
+Its form should be that I might hear the chimes that memory plays,
+And when at last upon my grave the wavy grass had sprung,
+Some passer-by could truly say "His heart was ever young!"
+
+
+
+
+A TWIST OF "NATURAL LEAF."
+
+
+Some sing of the lily, some sing of the rose,
+Some sing of each flower in beauty that blows;
+But sing me a song that shall render its meed
+To the fragrance and aroma found in a weed,
+Which banishes care and mitigates grief--
+I mean a big twist of old "natural leaf!"
+
+When sorrow's dark mantle the spirit doth wear,
+And the heart is oppressed with the demon of care,
+Then get out your pipe and its magic invoke
+And all of your troubles will vanish in smoke!
+O, you who have tried it will know what I mean
+When the praises I sing of a hank of long green!
+
+Since the days of King James and his old counterblast
+Its sway of all classes has ever held fast,
+And its patron saint Raleigh forever will live
+In remembrance as sweet as affection can give,
+And the incense we burn is an offering seen
+In wreaths of blue smoke from a twist of long green!
+
+Now some may advise you and others may swear
+That nicotine poison your nerves will impair,
+And if from the weed you'd just kept aloof
+From heartburn and palsy you'd surely been proof--
+For a man who had died at a hundred fifteen
+Was hastened away by smoking long green!
+
+But a cigar, a pipe, or a good juicy chew
+Will yield you more comfort than harm they will do,
+And murder the microbes that float in the air,
+And make magical dreams in the old arm-chair,
+If you will remember, and never forget,
+To just draw the line at a vile cigarette!
+
+
+
+
+GEORGE W. CHILDS.
+
+FEBRUARY 4TH, 1894.
+
+
+"Gone to his exceeding great reward,"
+  The friend of rich and poor alike;
+And there'll rest not beneath the sward
+  More shining mark that death could strike.
+
+The benefactor of his race--
+  His noble soul from avarice free;
+By heaven lent the sordid earth to grace--
+  A nation's tears sincerely shed for thee!
+
+Thrice blest the one, in lowly lot,
+  Contented with an humble place,
+Who by thy noble heart was ne'er forgot
+  And knew thy smiling, loving face!
+
+Oh, thus too early snatched away
+  From generous act and loving deed;
+Thousands will now deplore the day--
+  Thousands now whose hearts will bleed!
+
+The heaven-pointing shaft for thee
+  Its stately head might never raise;
+But thy sweet memory would ever be
+  Hymned by thy fellow-mortals' praise!
+
+Oh, thanks to Him who in His image made
+  And to the world this beacon gave;
+With tears we'll water flowers that never fade
+  And gently drop upon his new-made grave!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD SPRING-HOUSE.
+
+
+With its rude walls of stone and its moss-covered roof--
+('Tis a picture inwoven with memory's woof)--
+It stands there to-day, as it stood in the years
+When we knew naught of sorrow--nor anguish--nor tears;
+And though far from it now, I can see it at will--
+The old spring-house at the foot of the hill!
+
+O flights of fond fancy that deeply inurn
+Sweet scenes of our childhood, no more to return!
+Which carry us back in visions and dreams
+And illumine life's pathway with memory's gleams--
+Till we see once again, though with tears the eyes fill,
+The old spring-house at the foot of the hill!
+
+There we children, bare-footed, would wander to play,
+And wade in the branch that flowed on its way
+Through the meadows and fields with current so fleet,
+And a gurgle and ripple that sounded so sweet!
+And the water that helped turn the wheel at the mill
+Was from the spring-house at the foot of the hill!
+
+And, oh! I remember a pair of blue eyes,
+With glances as tender and soft as the skies,
+And a little brown head that was covered with curls,
+And the laughter that rippled between rows of pearls,
+Which was changed to a cry of despair and of woe
+When the craw-fish was clinging to a little pink toe!
+
+Distilled by the heart into memory's wine,
+'Tis thus that we drink a draught that's divine,
+And lighten the burdens which after years bear,
+And banish with dreaming the demon of Care!
+O in fond recollection I linger there still,
+By the old spring-house at the foot of the hill!
+
+Though vanished forever the faces that smiled,
+And hushed is the laughter I heard when a child--
+Yet often when musing they float back to me,
+And I see them and hear it as clear as can be!
+And I'm playing again, while the heart strings all thrill,
+By the old spring house at the foot of the hill!
+
+
+
+
+CAMPING ON THE CUMBERLAND.
+
+
+Where the Cumberland flows on its way to the South,
+From its source in the hills half-way to its mouth--
+When Autumn has come and tempered the rays
+Of the hot blazing sun with its soft mellow haze,
+Is an Eden of bliss and a place of delight,
+When the minnows are good and the "jumpers" will bite,
+And a fellow's well fixed with a reel and a pole,
+And other "equipments"--(of which I've been told)!
+
+To camp there and fish for a week at a time,
+And have the four-pounders just tug at your line,
+Is a feeling akin to sweet visions we see
+When we dream of that home where we all hope to be;
+And no king in the world who sits on a throne
+E'er felt the rare joy that thrills to the bone
+When you throw out your line and it whizzes away,
+Just cutting the water to foamy white spray!
+
+He darts here and there, dead game to the last,
+When he feels the barbed hook and finds that he's fast,
+And plunges and struggles, disdaining to yield,
+Till exhausted at last to the bank he is reeled,
+And carefully lifted from out the old stream,
+While he flounders and gasps and his scaly sides gleam,
+And you measure his length and guess at his weight--
+(Five inches too long and a pound too great)!
+
+And when shadows of evening are gathering around,
+And the sun with pure gold each hill-top has crowned,
+Then pick up your trappings and leisurely wend
+Your way back to camp, above the long bend,
+Where the cook has prepared a supper, I trow,
+Ne'er dreamt of in thoughts of Delmonico!
+And you'll sit there and eat for an hour or more
+With an appetite keen--and unheard of before!
+
+Now bring out your pipe and fill up the bowl,
+And loll there and smoke till it seems that the soul
+Is wafted away like the ringlets that rise
+As blue as the dome of the star-jeweled skies!
+Then roll in a blanket with your feet to the blaze,
+And the croak of the frogs and the ripple that plays
+Will lull you to sleep with music as sweet
+As that of the song when the angels you greet!
+
+
+
+
+AN EASTER FLOWER.
+
+
+I.
+
+The flower that she gave to me
+  Has withered now and died--
+But yet with fond fidelity
+  Its faded leaves abide.
+
+
+II.
+
+The petals that so fragrant then
+  She wore upon her breast--
+Still clinging to the lifeless stem,
+  With miser care possessed.
+
+
+III.
+
+As when in sweetest purity
+  It shed its perfume rare,
+A symbol dear 'twill ever be
+  Of one divinely fair!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Plucked by the cruel hand of Death
+  In beauty's youthful bloom--
+She perished with his chilling breath,
+  And withered in the tomb.
+
+
+V.
+
+But I will cherish ever thus
+  The token that she gave
+When sun-lit skies were over us,
+  Unclouded by the grave!
+
+
+
+
+THE STAGE COACH.
+
+
+No matter what the weather was, in good old stage coach days,
+The driver with his ruddy face and spanking team of bays
+Would spin along the turnpike road, o'er level stretch and hill,
+That wound away from "Idleburg" to classic Nicholasville.
+
+The depths beneath his seat were filled with leathern sacks of mail,
+And all the coach's top at times was crowded to the rail
+With trunks, valises, packages, and bundles by the score,
+That must have weighed, it seemed to me, five thousand pounds or more.
+
+And strapped within the bulging boot, that hung far out behind,
+Was added weight enough to make a team of oxen blind;
+And counting all the passengers that filled the coach within,
+The load those horses had to drag--I thought it was a sin!
+
+How proud of them the driver was! And often he would brag
+That they could pull a heavier load and never balk or flag;
+If all the road was ankle-deep in miry, sticky mud,
+That was the time his team would show its metal and its blood.
+
+The "ribbons" then he'd gather up, and give his whip a crack,
+And any team in front of him had better clear the track;
+He seemed to own the turnpike road, and kept the right of way
+Unto himself as jealously as bloomers do to-day.
+
+By wood and field he wound along, and by the river's bank,
+And when he reached the covered bridge the hoof-beats on the plank
+Were echoed from the cliffs around and from the vale below;
+And going up the hill beyond he'd let 'em walk and blow.
+
+Then urged into a trot again around the curves they spun
+Till hove in sight the manor-house of Camp Dick Robinson;
+And on beyond where Nelson lay, the bravest of the brave,
+Till Nicholasville at last was reached, to them the reins he gave.
+
+And when the sun was hanging low and slanting shadows fell,
+Along the streets of "Idleburg" that old familiar yell
+Would greet the ears of villagers from small boys as they ran
+With open mouths and lusty lungs a-shouting "Here comes Sam!"
+
+Ah me! The old stage coach, abandoned now, stands in the stable lot,
+A victim to the tooth of rust, and slow decay and rot;
+Its whole-souled driver years ago forever passed away,
+And crumbled now to dust the hand that drove each gallant bay!
+
+
+
+
+DICK'S RIVER.
+
+
+I.
+
+Rock-sentineled, romantic stream!
+Thy waters flow with silvery gleam
+Where glassy pools and visions greet
+Embosomed in some cool retreat;
+Then rippling o'er a pebbly bed,
+With current fleet thy course is led
+To where, walled in by beetling cliffs,
+It plunges o'er the hidden rifts.
+
+
+II.
+
+Past where the meadows gently sweep
+The limpid waters silent creep,
+Until, o'erhung with cooling shade,
+They lave the shores of sylvan glade,
+And many a wild-flower blooming there
+Its incense flings upon the air;
+And spreading o'er each sloping side
+An emerald carpet stretches wide.
+
+
+III.
+
+Now gliding out, the waters gleam
+And sparkle with the sun's warm beam,
+Reflecting then some mirrored cloud
+Like specter wrapt in filmy shroud--
+Till pouring down with fretful whirl
+They o'er the mill-dam rush and curl,
+And foaming round in eddies deep,
+The circles wide and wider creep!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Oh, by thy wave I've loved to stray
+On many a balmy summer's day--
+When youth, and hope, and life were sweet--
+Thy wooded banks and cliffs to greet!
+And often back to days of yore
+My fancy strays along thy shore,
+And musing thus I fondly dream
+I see again thy waters gleam!
+
+
+
+
+TO A LITTLE BOY.
+
+
+I.
+
+Dear little one with eyes so blue,
+  And silken ringlets of flaxen hair!
+Oh, may life have in store for you
+  Something better than anguish and care!
+      Oh, may thy footsteps guided be
+        In paths of peace and pleasantness!
+      Oh, may those bright eyes never see
+        Much of the cold world's bitterness!
+
+
+II.
+
+Dear little one with innocent lips,
+  Tasting life's cup at the sparkling brim!
+Oh, may the dregs that sorrow sips
+  Ever be kept aloof from him!
+      Oh, may the smile on his dimpled face
+        Through the years to come still linger there!
+      Oh, may Time's fingers gently place
+        The silver strands in his flaxen hair!
+
+
+
+
+WHEN THE COAL HOUSE'S FULL.
+
+
+When the nights are gittin' chilly and the leaves begin to fade,
+An' the mercury's down to thirty, 'stead o' ninety in the shade,
+There's a happy kind o' feelin' takes possession o' the soul--
+With the smoke house full o' middlin', and the coal house full o' coal!
+
+When the wintry winds are whistlin' through the branches o' the trees,
+An' the dead leaves are a-flyin' and a-rustlin' in the breeze,
+You kin feel the vast contentment that over you will roll--
+If the barn is full o' fodder, and the coal house full o' coal!
+
+When the 'skeeter's ceased from troublin' and the fly is chilled to death,
+An' the window-pane is written with the Frost King's icy breath,
+You kin dream about the Summer-time, an' that old fishin' pole--
+If the pantry's full o' victuals, an' the coal house full o' coal!
+
+When your supper's been digested an' you're dozin' in your chair,
+Or you're tucked between the blankets from the frosty, nippin' air,
+Why, your dreams will be the sweeter if you've helped some sufferin' soul
+Whose larder's scant o' victuals, and his coal house minus coal!
+
+
+
+
+DECEMBER.
+
+
+I.
+
+White-shrouded, latest-born of all the year,
+  In thy cold hands no bud or floweret bearing,
+Thou comest now to wail above the bier
+  Of thy dead sisters--on thy bosom wearing
+The icy jewel and the frosted gem--
+But on thy marble brow the Star of Bethlehem!
+
+
+II.
+
+Beneath thy foot-prints lie the Autumn leaves,
+  Mould'ring and hast'ning to decay;
+And where the drifting snow its mantle weaves
+  The Summer songsters sang the happy hours away.
+What tho' the birds have flown the blighted stem?
+There's in thy jeweled crown the Star of Bethlehem!
+
+
+
+
+SOLACE.
+
+
+One Autumn evening, wandering, when the sun was hanging low,
+Through a woodland where the music of a streamlet's gentle flow
+Commingled with the rustling of the yellow golden leaves,
+And the idling breeze's sighing as it floated through the trees,
+I heard sweet voices whispering in accents soft and low,
+That lulled to rest the troubled soul, like those of long ago.
+
+Enchanted thus I lingered, by unseen hands fast bound,
+My willing fancy captive to the magic of sweet sound,
+And eagerly I listened to the whispering voices tell
+Of happy days of childhood, and the tear unbidden fell,
+As were pictured to the mind again the halcyon scenes of yore,
+And loved ones that no more I'll meet till on the silent shore!
+
+And as the slanting shadows fell athwart the scattered leaves
+The language that the voices spoke was formed of words like these:
+"You may mingle with the sordid world, in eager, restless haste,
+To struggle for the golden fruit that Mammon loves to taste,
+But find at last, the end attained, that there are better things
+To satisfy the longing heart--that sweeter solace brings.
+
+"Thy Springtime, thy Summer, and thy Autumn's mellowed haze,
+If rightly lived and rightly spent, will bring rare, happy days,
+That temper with their sunshine the frigid Winter's wrath,
+When gathering storms are darkling o'er life's declining path,
+And lend a ray celestial that hoarded gold ne'er gave
+To lighten all thy journey, from the cradle to the grave."
+
+
+
+
+FRANK L. STANTON.
+
+
+I.
+
+The sweetest music put in song since Robby Burns's time
+Is that which breathes its harmony from Georgia's sunny clime,
+Where the fragrant-scented odor that the climbing jasmine flings
+Commingles with the melody that gifted Stanton sings!
+
+
+II.
+
+It may not suit a bookish clan that cannot understand
+The rhythm and the cadences they never can command--
+But what is that to him that knows and touches all the strings
+Of hearts responsive to his strain when gifted Stanton sings?
+
+
+III.
+
+We read his songs and hear the notes repeated once again
+His ear has caught when listening to the mocking-bird's refrain,
+And interwoven with the sense a mystic something rings
+That fills the soul with ecstasy when gifted Stanton sings!
+
+
+IV.
+
+O Sunny South! where blooming flowers and where the whispering pine
+Attunes his harp till every string gives forth a sound divine!
+We love you for the many gifts that generous Nature brings,
+But best of all--we love you for the song that Stanton sings!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD CHURCH BELL.
+
+
+It hangs today where it has hung for fifty years or more,
+But some who loved its silver tones the church-yard covers o'er,
+And many are the times since then, with deep and solemn knell,
+Has tolled for dear departed ones the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+Within a latticed tower it swings, high up above the street,
+And every Sabbath morn is heard the music clear and sweet
+Which floats above the village roofs, and over hill and dell,
+Upborne upon the vagrant wind, from the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+Full many a change the hand of Time has in the village wrought,
+And passing years have often been with grief and anguish fraught,
+Yet age has never changed its tones, and years cannot dispel
+The magic of the music from the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+Since it was placed within the tower, in days of long ago,
+The tempests wild have round it raved, and many a driven snow
+Has sifted through the slats up there, and mantled as it fell
+In robes of white its dwelling place, and the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+Though gone from earth and earthly things--forever passed away--
+The faithful ones who loved while here its summons to obey
+Now rest beyond the tide of Time, with rapture long to dwell,
+For there their footsteps guided were by the
+                                        Old
+                                            Church
+                                                  Bell!
+
+
+
+
+A SUMMER EVENING.
+
+
+I.
+
+The sun has sunk in the crimson west,
+  And "around the languid eyes of day"
+The Twilight's dreamy shadows rest
+  And light and shade alternate play;
+The winds are hushed, nor leaf nor flower
+Is swayed with motion by their power.
+
+
+II.
+
+The fireflies with meteor lamps
+  Arise from out the dewy lawn,
+And there the elfin cricket chants
+  His vespers when the day is gone,
+And far above, the sky's coquette
+With all her starry train is met.
+
+
+
+
+FATHER RYAN.
+
+
+I.
+
+In Southern sunny clime there is a hallowed tomb,
+  Where rest the ashes of a minstrel priest;
+And soft winds that are laden with a sweet perfume
+  Their requiems for him have never ceased.
+
+
+II.
+
+We read his songs, and hear again the tread
+  Of armed battalions, marching to the fray,
+Or see once more the features of beloved dead
+  Whose life blood crimsoned uniforms of gray!
+
+
+III.
+
+We see the tattered banner that he loved so well
+  Again unfurled and fluttering in the breeze,
+And once again we hear the "rebel yell"
+  Triumphant wafted o'er the riven trees!
+
+
+IV.
+
+O, may thy minstrel spirit find eternal rest
+  In some fair clime where nothing can be lost!
+Where anguish never more can rend thy breast,
+  And fondest hope can ne'er be tempest tost!
+
+
+
+
+THE MEADOW PATH.
+
+
+I.
+
+It led adown the sloping hill, and through the valley wound,
+And where the blooming clover shed its fragrance all around,
+And then between the maple trees, across the little brook,
+To where the old fence bars let down, a tortuous course it took;
+And often are the times I've heard the merry, ringing laugh,
+From rosy-ankled children there, along the meadow path.
+
+
+II.
+
+Three boys--and a little girl whose hair was chestnut gold--
+(She's resting now in dreamless sleep beneath the crumbling mold;)--
+But I remember her as when, with innocence and glee,
+Her laughing eyes looked into mine--for she was dear to me;
+And thus it is I love to let the fancy photograph
+The merry group that idled there, along the meadow path.
+
+
+III.
+
+Adown it oft we used to go at twilight for the cows,
+Or wander from the beaten track a rabbit to arouse,
+And watch him as he scampered off, with frightened leap and bound,
+The while we made the welkin ring and with our shouts resound.
+The sweetest flowers that bloom for me--a fragrant aftermath--
+Are those that in the memory blow, along the meadow path!
+
+
+
+
+THE FOX HUNTERS.
+
+
+I.
+
+With fleet-limbed steeds and baying pack
+They follow close on Reynard's track,
+And wake the slumbering echoes round
+With music of the horn and hound;
+Through wood and field, o'er hill and dale,
+They course him in the moonlight pale,
+And sport they find which brings delight--
+These reckless riders of the night!
+
+
+II.
+
+The game is up! away, away!
+Nor hedge nor fence their course can stay;
+They clear them at a single leap,
+And like the wind they onward sweep!
+O'er fallen trunk and hidden ditch
+The fearless horsemen plunge and pitch,
+And heedless all they follow on
+With ringing shout and winding horn!
+
+
+III.
+
+Thy wondrous ride, oh Tam O'Shanter,
+To speed like theirs was but a canter;
+Had you bestrode that night instead
+Of gray mare Meg a thoroughbred
+(Such as Kentuckians only breed--
+To Scotia then an unknown steed),
+No carline could have caught his rump
+And left your brute with scarce a stump!
+
+
+IV.
+
+His foaming horse with throbbing sides
+Unslackened yet his pace he rides,
+Till in among the yelping hounds
+The foremost huntsman proudly bounds,
+And sees the leaders of the chase
+(Two matchless dogs that set the pace)
+O'ertake the game and win the race!
+And then dismounts and feels the flush
+Of victory as he takes the brush!
+
+
+V.
+
+O royal sport, befitting kings!
+It bids the demon Care take wings,
+And the rose's hue to the cheek it brings!
+And sweeter music none can hear
+Than that which greets the list'ning ear--
+By distance mellowed to a key
+That breathes divinest harmony--
+And wakes the slumbering echoes round--
+The winding horn and baying hound!
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARMING GIRL OF SOMERSET.
+
+
+By magic spell was I entranced
+When on me first thy brown eyes glanced,
+And sunbeams played at hide and seek
+Thro' silken ringlets on thy dimpling cheek,
+And like some glorious halo shed
+Their radiance o'er thy shapely head--
+And seemed as if they loved to dwell
+Where'er thy airy footsteps fell!
+And in my dreams I see thee now--
+The pearly teeth--the arching brow--
+The form that mocks the sculptor's art
+To add one curve that could impart
+More beauty and more witching grace,
+Or chisel out a sweeter face!
+Blest be the hour when first I met
+This charming girl of Somerset!
+
+
+
+
+IN JULY.
+
+
+I.
+
+Oh, for a deep-shaded spot where the shadows cool
+  Are hid from the rays of the glaring sun,
+And the sparkling waters from a limped pool
+  O'er the gleaming pebbles in ripples run!
+
+
+II.
+
+Where the sloping banks are with verdure clad,
+  And the hoary cliffs with moss o'ergrown,
+And the tangled vine and the wildflowers pad
+  The fallen trunk and the hidden stone!
+
+
+III.
+
+Where the song that wells from a feathered throat
+  The echoes repeat again and again,
+And the drifted sedge and the bubbles float
+  O'er the glassy depths of a miniature main!
+
+
+IV.
+
+Where the willows dip in the edge of the stream,
+  And sway and nod in the passing breeze,
+And a feller could tranquilly rest and dream
+  Of a howling blizzard and a good hard freeze!
+
+
+
+
+TO J. R. M.
+
+
+I walked within the silent city of the dead,
+Which then with Autumn leaves was carpeted,
+And where the faded flower and withered wreath
+Bespoke the love for those who slept beneath,
+And, weeping, stood beside a new-made grave
+Which held the sacred dust that friendship gave.
+That heart with milk of human kindness overflowed--
+That sympathetic hand its generous aid bestowed
+To lighten others' burdens on life's weary road!
+And there no polished shaft need lift its head
+In lettered eulogy above the sainted dead--
+His deeds are monuments above the dust whereon we tread!
+When from its fragile tenement of clay
+To fairer realms his spirit winged its way,
+With poignant grief we stood around the bier
+Which held the lifeless form of one held dear,
+And broken hearts that knew no comfort then
+Still mourn the loss of one of Nature's noblemen!
+
+
+
+
+TWILIGHT.
+
+
+The sun is sinking where the western hills
+  The vision bounds with rugged summits old,
+And with his latest beam he brightly gilds
+  And crowns with amethyst and gold.
+
+The distant music of a tinkling bell
+  Is floating o'er the meadow's gentle sweep--
+No discords mar the magic of the spell,
+  And stealthily the twilight shadows creep.
+
+And gently falls upon the listening ear--
+  Like tones from voices of the long-ago--
+The cadence of the murmuring waters near--
+  With rhythmic ripplings soft and low.
+
+Now grow apace the shadows' slanting shapes
+  And fade the rugged hills to misty gray,
+As dying day its calm departure takes
+  And yields to coming night her sable sway.
+
+The vaulted dome above now glows afar
+  With many a soft and tender light,
+Each sparkling gem it wears a jeweled star,
+  With sweet effulgence purely bright.
+
+Sweet scene! Sweet hour! If to the heart
+  No quick'ning pulses they can lend,
+And to the soul no rapture thus impart--
+  Vain were our lives--and vainer still the end!
+
+O, such the time when he who will may feel
+  Release from care, vexation, toil, and strife--
+And musing then will gently o'er him steal
+  The sweetest moments of the turmoil--life!
+
+
+
+
+OUT UV "POLITICKS."
+
+
+I.
+
+"I'll tell yer what," said Uncle Zeke, down at the country store,
+"I'd been a farmer all my life--fur twenty year or more--
+Until one day my noddle here, it got plumb out o' fix,
+Er-swellin' with the idy that I's made fur politicks.
+
+
+II.
+
+"I'd been ter hear them fellers speak, an' rip an' rant an' rave,
+When 'lection time's er-comin' on, who tell yer how ter save
+Ther kentry frum tarnation ruin, by sendin' only men
+That's fit ter draw ther salaries, an' honest--jest like them.
+
+
+III.
+
+"So listen, boys--yer'll profit by ther story that I tell--
+I left ther farm ter 'lectioneer an' run fur constable;
+I wouldn't hearken ter my wife--she said I'd lost my wit,
+An' as fur holdin' offices--_she_ knowed _I_ wusn't fit.
+
+
+IV.
+
+"But ennyhow, I sold er steer, an' then er heifer calf,
+An' bought er bran' new suit o' clothes fur twenty an' er half,
+An' 'fore ther 'lection day cum roun' I'd sold my wheat an' oats,
+An' spent ther proceeds that I got in purchasin' uv votes.
+
+
+V.
+
+"I knowed 'twus wrong--agin ther law--ter do er thing like that--
+But then ther boys all said, yer know, 'twould take er little 'fat,'
+Fur ther feller that I run agin could have no earthly hope
+Uv beatin' me if I'd use ther right amount uv 'soap.'
+
+
+VI.
+
+"I jocks I did--I won ther fight--I sarved er single term--
+(But fur ther salary that I got I wouldn't give er durn);
+An' right up here I wear ther scar that shows whar I wus hit
+Ther day I rid fur forty miles ter sarve that cussed 'writ!'"
+
+
+
+
+JONES' MARE.
+
+
+I.
+
+Now Farmer Jones was noted for fast horses on his place,
+And also as the father of a son with freckled face,
+And hair so red it looked as if it had been dyed in blood,
+And Ephraim was the "masher" of the country neighborhood.
+
+
+II.
+
+This Ephraim Jones' yellow mare, she was no nice and fleet
+That all the girls for miles around on Eph. were very "sweet,"
+In hopes to get a ride or two behind her on the road,
+With sleigh-bells jingling 'round her neck, some day when it had snowed.
+
+
+III.
+
+Or else to spin along the pike, with buggy top let down,
+And ribbons sailing out behind, when Eph. would drive to town,
+The envy of the country boys, and many maidens fair
+A-casting wistful glances at the youth with reddish hair.
+
+
+IV.
+
+This thing went on till finally our Ephraim fell in love
+With Tildy Ann Serepty Brown--as gentle as a dove--
+Of all the girls around about the reigning country bell,
+Whose father was as rich as cream--he'd struck an oil well!
+
+
+V.
+
+About three nights in every week could Ephraim's yellow mare
+Be found a-standing hitched outside, while he was courting there,
+And so the boys, with envy mad and jealousy aroused,
+To humble Eph. hit on a plan they heartily espoused.
+
+
+VI.
+
+If anything in all the world, beside sweet Tildy Ann,
+Was dear to Ephraim's eye and heart, it was his claybank, Fan;
+He boasted of her speed and looks, and of her pedigree--
+Said more intelligence in a brute no man would ever see.
+
+
+VII.
+
+He kept her curried till her coat it shone like burnished gold--
+With silver-mounted harness on, a beauty to behold.
+A brand new buggy hitched to her, a-glinting in the sun,
+She "took the cake" for speed and style from every other one.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+They heard that Eph. one night would call upon his Tildy Ann
+To make arrangements all complete to carry out a plan:
+It would be Sunday following, when all in style he'd go
+With Tildy and the yellow mare to the country "bonnet-show."
+
+
+IX.
+
+Supplied with brushes, cans of paint of every shade and hue,
+And to furnish light by which to work, a bull's-eye lantern, too,
+At ten o'clock that night so dark you couldn't see a wink,
+They striped his Fan with red and brown, and black and blue and pink.
+
+
+X.
+
+Next morning when he went to feed, and opened wide the door,
+No zebra that was ever foaled could boast the stripes she wore;
+Her ears were white, her legs were green, her tail was fiery red,
+And as he gazed upon her then I can't tell what he said!
+
+
+
+
+THAT OLD STRAW HAT OF MINE.
+
+(WITH APOLOGIES TO RILEY.)
+
+
+I.
+
+As one who dreams at evening o'er the new hats that he's worn,
+And muses on the better times that once to him were known,
+So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,
+I see the faded ribbon on that old straw hat of mine.
+
+
+II.
+
+The firelight seems to mock me as the ruddy flames arise,
+And I turn about to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes;
+And I ponder then in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
+Its fate with my condition, and to vanish like the smoke.
+
+
+III.
+
+With fondest recollection the loving thoughts that start
+Into being are but feelings from the bottom of my heart;
+And to wear the new hats over is a luxury divine--
+Till my truant fancy wanders with that old straw hat of mine.
+
+
+IV.
+
+Now I hear without my chamber, like a fluttering of wings,
+The rustling of the autumn wind as through the trees it sings,
+And I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any scheme
+That will bring to me a hat of which I now can only dream.
+
+
+V.
+
+In fact, to speak in earnest, if I could work a charm,
+I'd try it on old Isaacs--'twouldn't do him much of harm--
+And I'd find an extra flavor in memory's mellow wine
+When I thought of how I swapped him that old straw hat of mine.
+
+
+VI.
+
+A thing of real beauty, with a shape of airy grace,
+Floats out of Isaacs' storehouse, as the genii from the vase,
+And, oh! I gaze upon it with a pair of loving eyes,
+As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+VII.
+
+But, ah! my dream is broken when I gaze upon that chair,
+For my eyes are now wide open and--the same old hat is there;
+And reluctantly and sadly all my visions I resign
+To know that I must wear again that old straw hat of mine!
+
+
+
+
+TOM BARBEE'S POND.
+
+
+I.
+
+O sweet are the memories when backward we gaze
+Through the vista of years to our schoolboy days,
+When faces now vanished to the vision appear
+And the music of voices long hushed we can hear,
+As together we romped where the school-house stood,
+Or joyfully wended our way through the wood
+Where placidly lay, in the valley beyond,
+The moss-covered waters of Tom Barbee's pond!
+
+
+II.
+
+Though scattered by Time o'er the face of the earth,
+And sorrow and anguish have succeeded to mirth,
+Still many there be whose mist-bedewed eye
+Looks longingly back, while the breast heaves a sigh,
+To that far-away time, when together we played
+In the school-house yard, or on Saturdays strayed
+Where the knots in our sleeves were tied tight as a bond,
+As we splashed and we dived in Tom Barbee's pond!
+
+
+III.
+
+The "pleasures of memory" by Rogers were lined,
+With rhythm as sweet as in verse you will find,
+But could he e'er picture one-half of the joys
+We had when we wandered as barefooted boys
+Through the woods and the fields and the meadows out there,
+With our sun-blistered backs and the burrs in our hair,
+Or recall to the mind a remembrance more fond
+Than bathing and swimming in Tom Barbee's pond?
+
+
+
+
+WHERE?
+
+
+I.
+
+O, where are the friends that in youth we once knew,
+Whose smiles were like sunshine, whose hearts were so true?
+Alas! they are lost in the darkness and gloom
+That veils them from sight in the cold, silent tomb!
+
+
+II.
+
+O, where are the years that forever have fled,
+And over Life's morning their radiance shed?
+With the Past written down on the unending scroll
+Where Time--grim destroyer--his victims enroll!
+
+
+III.
+
+O, where are the fancies, the visions, the dreams,
+That filled the young breast--with which memory teems?
+They have faded away--from life they have passed--
+Like stars blotted out when the sky's overcast!
+
+
+IV.
+
+O, where are the hopes that have beckoned us on
+With their beacons of light, through sunshine and storm?
+Like spectres--like phantoms--like vapor and mist,
+They have vanished forever--a will-o'-the-wisp!
+
+
+V.
+
+O, where are the harbors, the havens of rest,
+That solace can give to a heart that's opprest?
+They are hid from the vision beyond the blue sky,
+Yet the eye of sweet Faith their portals descry!
+
+
+
+
+THE HILLS OF LINCOLN.
+
+
+I.
+
+O the hills of old Lincoln!--I can see them to-day
+As they stretch in dim distance far, far away,
+And on Fancy's swift pinions my spirit hath flown
+To rest 'mid the scenes which my childhood has known--
+Where the old Hanging Fork, with its silvery gleam,
+Glides away 'tween the meadows like thoughts in a dream,
+And far to the south, with their outlines so blue,
+The rugged knobs blend into heaven's own hue!
+
+
+II.
+
+O the hills of old Lincoln!--how fondly I gaze
+On their wildwoods and thickets and deep-tangled ways
+When memory's mirror presents them to view,
+And I dream once again that I tread them anew,
+While raptured I listen to the music of love
+That the song-birds are singing in the tree-tops above,
+And the soul drifts away in a swoon of delight,
+Unanchored from care and from sorrow's cold blight!
+
+
+III.
+
+O the hills of old Lincoln!--my footsteps have trod
+Up and down their green valleys, with shotgun and rod,
+And it seems to me now that the years that have fled
+Around their old summits a halo have shed
+That guides the fond fancy unerringly there
+When backward it wanders with childhood to share
+Sweet scenes such as these, inurned in the heart,
+And which from fond memory can never depart!
+
+
+
+
+LOVED AND LOST.
+
+
+I.
+
+Sweetly to sleep beneath the fresh green turf
+  They laid the loved and lost away;
+A chair is vacant by the household hearth,
+  And shadow-vested Sorrow's there to-day.
+
+
+II.
+
+The tender hands that guided us in youth
+  Are folded now upon the gentle breast,
+And those dear eyes whose depths were love and truth
+  Are closed to open in eternal rest.
+
+
+III.
+
+Through simple faith and duty well performed,
+  A crown of light forever shall be hers;
+And though with bitter grief and anguish mourned,
+  A consolation gleams through blinding tears!
+
+
+
+
+A TRUE STORY.
+
+(READ BEFORE A MEETING OF THE DANVILLE
+SCRIBBLER CLUB.)
+
+
+Dear friends, to-night the inspiration of my theme
+Is not the baseless fabric of a weird, fantastic dream--
+For truth, combined with justice, doth impel,
+And therefore it is fact--not fiction--that I tell.
+
+"Truth, crushed to earth, will rise again"--
+A maxim true as holy writ;--then it is plain,
+If rudely woven by an untaught hand it be,
+Sustains but transitory wrong and injury.
+
+And thus it is, in homely rhyme, I venture forth,
+Relating nothing here but under oath;
+And if, perchance, at times it sounds a little strange,
+You know that truth o'er fiction hath a wider range.
+
+These stanzas three I hope you'll deem explanatory--
+As introductory and preliminary to the story--
+A preface simply used before I introduce
+The proper characters essential for our use.
+
+And just one moment more attention I will claim,
+And crave indulgence while I here explain,
+That "character" is used in a Pickwickian sense--
+So truth and justice need not take offense.
+
+'Twas when the Autumn leaves, with russet hue,
+Scarce quivered in the gentle wind, and when the dew
+Lay sparkling on the grass, beneath the argent moon,
+A tragedy took place--of which I'll tell you soon.
+
+And ever and anon a fleecy, drifting cloud,
+Meek Dian's face would veil with filmy shroud,
+And lend to wood and field that softened ray
+Unmatched in beauty from the glaring god of day!
+
+But I will tell the story as 'twas told to me,
+And vouched for by some others--two or three--
+Whose word to doubt would be a heinous sin--
+So, armed with truth, in confidence I will begin.
+
+Ah, memory! Thou art a fickle jade,
+And oft responsible when grave mistakes are made,
+And therefore 'tis with caution that I hesitate
+When truthful things I undertake to state.
+
+This much is due to accuracy and circumspection,
+As well as to a rather faulty recollection;
+And so I'll trespass on your patience now no more,
+But straightway tell the story--as I said before.
+
+All good beginnings have that natural trend
+Which safely leads to a successful end,
+And stories all should have their plots well laid--
+Which neither prose nor verse can do, when haste is made.
+
+'Tis said "procrastination is the thief of time,"
+And this might seem to be the object of my rhyme.
+Had I not told you, as I should have done,
+The reason why the story's not begun.
+
+'Tis my sole object, then, to give without delay,
+The narrative in a direct and proper way,
+For as you know some critics may be here
+Whom scribbling rhymesters may, with justice, fear.
+
+"What shameless bards we have! And yet, 'tis true,
+There are as mad, abandoned critics, too!"
+This couplet, penned by Pope, is ever new--
+But then, dear friends, the second line was _not_ for you!
+
+I only quote that you may comprehend
+How modesty in _me_ has missed its end,
+And why it is I ever undertook to write
+The story that I'm going to tell--sometime to-night.
+
+An introduction that will keep the listener in suspense
+I deem derogatory to good taste and sense;
+And this is also why I'll nothing put as prefatory
+Before I launch right out into the story.
+
+I'm going to make it thrilling, crisp and short,
+In purest diction drest, with gems of thought
+So intermingled with the story's warp and woof,
+That from beginning I can scarcely keep aloof.
+
+I'll put quotation marks to shrive me of the sin
+Of plagiarism when such language I begin--
+That every one of you may plainly see
+I tell the story as 'twas told to me.
+
+So calmly, coolly then, I think I will proceed
+To give you now the story--taking heed
+To curtail all that truth and justice will permit--
+Remembering that "brevity's the soul of wit."
+
+But undue haste would cause me to forget
+And mar the memory of its telling with regret
+If I had overlooked some startling fact,
+Which on both truth and justice would re-act!
+
+And now, dear friends, don't think that you are "sold"
+If still as yet the story's left untold--
+But paper, ink, your patience, and my time
+Are all exhausted in this race with rhyme!
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+Variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been
+retained from the original book, except for the following changes:
+
+Page 9: raiload changed to railroad:
+  (From the raiload bridge, with its single span,).
+
+Page 49: Aud changed to And:
+  (Aud do the very best I could the heat to struggle through,).
+
+Page 56: Punctuation corrected from:
+  (Old "Bull "Spring?") to (Old "Bull Spring!").
+
+Page 62: Their changed to There:
+  (There where briars in tangled network sway).
+
+Page 101: Ephram's changed to Ephraim's:
+  (Was dear to Ephram's eye and heart, it was his claybank, Fan;).
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems, by
+George W. Doneghy
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HANGING FORK ***
+
+***** This file should be named 26505.txt or 26505.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/5/0/26505/
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/26505.zip b/26505.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c326ec9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26505.zip
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1d90326
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #26505 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26505)