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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Farm Ballads, by Will Carleton
+
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: Farm Ballads
+
+Author: Will Carleton
+
+Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9500]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 6, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FARM BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+FARM BALLADS
+
+By Will Carleton
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+These poems have been written under various, and, in some cases,
+difficult, conditions: in the open air, "with team afield;" in the
+student's den, with the ghosts of unfinished lessons hovering gloomily
+about; amid the rush and roar of railroad travel, which trains of thought
+are not prone to follow; and in the editor's sanctum, where the dainty
+feet of the Muses do not often deign to tread.
+
+Crude and unfinished as they are, the author has yet had the assurance to
+publish them, from time to time, in different periodicals, in which, it is
+but just to admit, they have been met by the people with unexpected favor.
+While his judgment has often failed to endorse the kind words spoken for
+them, he has naturally not felt it in his heart to file any remonstrances.
+
+He has been asked, by friends in all parts of the country, to put his
+poems into a more durable form than they have hitherto possessed; and it
+is in accordance with these requests that he now presents "Farm Ballads"
+to the public.
+
+Of course he does not expect to escape, what he needs so greatly, the
+discipline of severe criticism; for he is aware that he has often wandered
+out of the beaten track, and has many times been too regardless of the
+established rules of rhythm, in his (oftentimes vain) search for the
+flowers of poesy.
+
+But he believes that The People are, after all, the true critics, and will
+soon ascertain whether there are more good than poor things in a book; and
+whatever may be their verdict in this case, he has made up his mind to be
+happy.
+W. C.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+FARM BALLADS.
+_Betsey and I Are Out.
+How Betsey and I Made Up.
+Gone with a Handsomer Man.
+Johnny Rich.
+Out of the Old House, Nancy.
+Over the Hill to the Poor-House.
+Over the Hill from the Poor-House.
+Uncle Sammy.
+Tom was Goin' for a Poet.
+Goin' Home To-Day.
+Out o' the Fire._
+
+OTHER POEMS.
+_The New Church Organ.
+The Editor's Guests.
+The House where We were Wed.
+Our Army of the Dead.
+Apple-Blossoms.
+Apples Growing.
+One and Two.
+The Fading Flower.
+Autumn Days.
+Death-Doomed.
+Up the Line.
+How we Kept the Day._
+
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+_"Draw up the Papers, Lawyer, and make 'em good and stout"
+"Give us your Hand, Mr. Lawyer: How do you do To-day?"
+"And just as I turned a Hill-top I see the Kitchen Light"
+"And intently readin' a Newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up"
+"And Kissed me for the first Time in over Twenty Years"
+"My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of-doors"
+"Curse her! curse her! say I; she'll some Time rue this Day"
+"Why, John, what a Litter here! you've thrown Things all around!"
+"'Tis a hairy sort of Night for a Man to face and fight"
+"When you walked with her on Sunday, looking sober, straight, and clean"
+"And you lie there, quite resigned, Whisky deaf and Whisky blind"
+"And bid the Old House good-bye"
+"Settlers come to see that Show a half a dozen Miles"
+"Right in there the Preacher, with Bible and Hymn-book, stood"
+"Over the Hill to the Poor-House, I'm trudgin' my weary Way"
+"Till at last he went a-courtin', and brought a Wife from Town"
+"Many a Night I've watched You when only God was nigh"
+"Who sat with him long at his Table, and explained to him where he stood"_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FARM BALLADS.
+
+
+
+BETSEY AND I ARE OUT.
+
+Draw up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout;
+For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are out.
+We, who have worked together so long as man and wife,
+Must pull in single harness for the rest of our nat'ral life.
+
+"What is the matter?" say you. I swan it's hard to tell!
+Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well;
+I have no other woman, she has no other man--
+Only we've lived together as long as we ever can.
+
+So I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,
+And so we've agreed together that we can't never agree;
+Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime;
+We've been a-gathering this for years, a little at a time.
+
+There was a stock of temper we both had for a start,
+Although we never suspected 'twould take us two apart;
+I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone;
+And Betsey, like all good women, had a temper of her own.
+
+The first thing I remember whereon we disagreed
+Was something concerning heaven--a difference in our creed;
+We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'ed the thing at tea,
+And the more we arg'ed the question the more we didn't agree.
+
+And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow;
+She had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was only--How?
+I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had;
+And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad.
+
+And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;
+But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.
+And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl;
+And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.
+
+And so that bowl kept pourin' dissensions in our cup;
+And so that blamed cow-critter was always a-comin' up;
+And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got,
+But it gave us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot.
+
+And so the thing kept workin', and all the self-same way;
+Always somethin' to arg'e, and somethin' sharp to say;
+And down on us came the neighbors, a couple dozen strong,
+And lent their kindest sarvice for to help the thing along.
+
+And there has been days together--and many a weary week--
+We was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak;
+And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the winter and fall,
+If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then, I won't at all.
+
+And so I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,
+And we have agreed together that we can't never agree;
+And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;
+And I'll put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign.
+
+Write on the paper, lawyer--the very first paragraph--
+Of all the farm and live-stock that she shall have her half;
+For she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day,
+And it's nothing more than justice that Betsey has her pay.
+
+Give her the house and homestead--a man can thrive and roam;
+But women are skeery critters, unless they have a home;
+And I have always determined, and never failed to say,
+That Betsey never should want a home if I was taken away.
+
+There is a little hard money that's drawin' tol'rable pay:
+A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day;
+Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at;
+Put in another clause there, and give her half of that.
+
+Yes, I see you smile, Sir, at my givin' her so much;
+Yes, divorce is cheap, Sir, but I take no stock in such!
+True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young;
+And Betsey was al'ays good to me, exceptin' with her tongue.
+
+[ image not found: CarleFarmB-19, CarleFarmB-19 ]
+
+Once, when I was young as you, and not so smart, perhaps,
+For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps;
+And all of them was flustered, and fairly taken down,
+And I for a time was counted the luckiest man in town.
+
+Once when I had a fever--I won't forget it soon--
+I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon;
+Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight--
+She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and night.
+
+And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,
+Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen;
+And I don't complain of Betsey, or any of her acts,
+Exceptin' when we've quarreled, and told each other facts.
+
+So draw up the paper, lawyer, and I'll go home to-night,
+And read the agreement to her, and see if it's all right;
+And then, in the mornin', I'll sell to a tradin' man I know,
+And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go.
+
+And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur:
+That when I am dead at last she'll bring me back to her;
+And lay me under the maples I planted years ago,
+When she and I was happy before we quarreled so.
+
+And when she dies I wish that she would be laid by me,
+And, lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree;
+And, if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer
+If we loved each other the better because we quarreled here.
+
+
+
+
+
+HOW BETSEY AND I MADE UP.
+
+GIVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer: how do you do to-day?
+
+"GIVE US YOUR HAND, MR. LAWYER: HOW DO YOU DO TO-DAY?"
+
+You drew up that paper--I s'pose you want your pay.
+Don't cut down your figures; make it an X or a V;
+For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.
+
+Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,
+Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;
+And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,
+They'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive.
+
+No--for I was laborin' under a heavy load;
+No--for I was travelin' an entirely different road;
+For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,
+And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have been.
+
+And many a corner we'd turned that just to a quarrel led,
+When I ought to 've held my temper, and driven straight ahead;
+And the more I thought it over the more these memories came,
+And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.
+
+And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,
+Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsey was good and kind;
+And these things flashed all through me, as you know things
+sometimes will
+When a feller's alone in the darkness, and every thing is still.
+
+"But," says I, "we're too far along to take another track,
+And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn back;
+And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in two;"
+And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I'd see it through.
+
+When I come in sight o' the house 'twas some'at in the night,
+And just as I turned a hill-top I see the kitchen light;
+
+"AND JUST AS I TURNED A HILL-TOP I SEE THE KITCHEN LIGHT."
+
+Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes,
+But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes.
+
+And when I went in the house the table was set for me--
+As good a supper's I ever saw, or ever want to see;
+And I crammed the agreement down my pocket as well as I could,
+And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.
+
+And Betsey, she pretended to look about the house,
+But she watched my side coat pocket like a cat would watch a mouse:
+And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup,
+And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.
+
+"AND INTENTLY READIN' A NEWSPAPER, A-HOLDIN' IT WRONG SIDE UP."
+
+And when I'd done my supper I drawed the agreement out,
+And give it to her without a word, for she knowed what 'twas about;
+And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note
+Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat.
+
+Then Betsey she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf,
+And read the article over quite softly to herself;
+Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,
+And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's cold.
+
+And after she'd read a little she give my arm a touch,
+And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much;
+But when she was through she went for me, her face a-streamin' with tears,
+And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years!
+
+"AND KISSED ME FOR THE FIRST TIME IN OVER TWENTY YEARS!"
+
+I don't know what you'll think, Sir--I didn't come to inquire--
+But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire;
+And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow;
+And we struck an agreement never to have another row.
+
+And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash
+If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash;
+And she said, in regards to heaven, we'd try and learn its worth
+By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth.
+
+And so we sat a-talkin' three-quarters of the night,
+And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light;
+And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many men
+Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again.
+
+Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,
+Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss;
+But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,
+My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of-doors.
+
+"MY BETSEY ROSE POLITELY, AND SHOWED HER OUT-OF-DOORS."
+
+Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two;
+But we've got our eyes wide open, and know just what to do:
+When one speaks cross the other just meets it with a laugh,
+And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than half.
+
+Maybe you'll think me soft, Sir, a-talkin' in this style,
+But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while;
+And I do it for a compliment--'tis so that you can see
+That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin' of me.
+
+So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer: don't stop short of an X;
+Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks.
+I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,
+For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in gold.
+
+
+
+
+GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN.
+
+JOHN:
+
+I'VE worked in the field all day, a-plowin' the "stony streak;"
+I've scolded my team till I'm hoarse; I've tramped till my legs are weak;
+I've choked a dozen swears (so's not to tell Jane fibs)
+When the plow-p'int struck a stone and the handles punched my ribs.
+
+I've put my team in the barn, and rubbed their sweaty coats;
+I've fed 'em a heap of hay and half a bushel of oats;
+And to see the way they eat makes me like eatin' feel,
+And Jane won't say to-night that I don't make out a meal.
+
+Well said! the door is locked! but here she's left the key,
+Under the step, in a place known only to her and me;
+I wonder who's dyin' or dead, that she's hustled off pell-mell:
+But here on the table's a note, and probably this will tell.
+
+Good God! my wife is gone! my wife is gone astray!
+The letter it says, "Good-bye, for I'm a-going away;
+I've lived with you six months, John, and so far I've been true;
+But I'm going away to-day with a handsomer man than you."
+
+A han'somer man than me! Why, that ain't much to say;
+There's han'somer men than me go past here every day.
+There's han'somer men than me--I ain't of the han'some kind;
+But a lovin'er man than I was I guess she'll never find.
+
+Curse her! curse her! I say, and give my curses wings!
+May the words of love I've spoke be changed to scorpion stings!
+Oh, she filled my heart with joy, she emptied my heart of doubt,
+And now, with a scratch of a pen, she lets my heart's blood out!
+
+Curse her! curse her! say I; she'll some time rue this day;
+
+"CURSE HER! CURSE HER! SAY I; SHE'LL SOME TIME RUE THIS DAY!"
+
+She'll some time learn that hate is a game that two can play;
+And long before she dies she'll grieve she ever was born;
+And I'll plow her grave with hate, and seed it down to scorn!
+
+As sure as the world goes on, there'll come a time when she
+Will read the devilish heart of that han'somer man than me;
+And there'll be a time when he will find, as others do,
+That she who is false to one can be the same with two.
+
+And when her face grows pale, and when her eyes grow dim,
+And when he is tired of her and she is tired of him,
+She'll do what she ought to have done, and coolly count the cost;
+And then she'll see things clear, and know what she has lost.
+
+And thoughts that are now asleep will wake up in her mind,
+And she will mourn and cry for what she has left behind;
+And maybe she'll sometimes long for me--for me--but no!
+I've blotted her out of my heart, and I will not have it so.
+
+And yet in her girlish heart there was somethin' or other she had
+That fastened a man to her, and wasn't entirely bad;
+And she loved me a little, I think, although it didn't last;
+But I mustn't think of these things--I've buried 'em in the past.
+
+I'll take my hard words back, nor make a bad matter worse;
+She'll have trouble enough; she shall not have my curse;
+But I'll live a life so square--and I well know that I can--
+That she always will sorry be that she went with that han'somer man.
+
+Ah, here is her kitchen dress! it makes my poor eyes blur;
+It seems, when I look at that, as if 'twas holdin' her.
+And here are her week-day shoes, and there is her week-day hat,
+And yonder's her weddin' gown: I wonder she didn't take that.
+
+'Twas only this mornin' she came and called me her "dearest dear,"
+And said I was makin' for her a regular paradise here;
+O God! if you want a man to sense the pains of hell,
+Before you pitch him in just keep him in heaven a spell!
+
+Good-bye! I wish that death had severed us two apart.
+You've lost a worshiper here--you've crushed a lovin' heart.
+I'll worship no woman again; but I guess I'll learn to pray,
+And kneel as you used to kneel before you run away.
+
+And if I thought I could bring my words on heaven to bear,
+And if I thought I had some little influence there,
+I would pray that I might be, if it only could be so.
+As happy and gay as I was a half an hour ago.
+
+
+
+JANE:
+
+[(entering).]
+
+Why, John, what a litter here! you've thrown things all around!
+
+"WHY, JOHN, WHAT A LITTER HERE! YOU'VE THROWN THINGS ALL AROUND!"
+
+Come, what's the matter now? and what 've you lost or found?
+And here's my father here, a-waiting for supper, too;
+I've been a-riding with him--he's that "handsomer man than you."
+
+
+Ha! ha! Pa, take a seat, while I put the kettle on,
+And get things ready for tea, and kiss my dear old John.
+Why, John, you look so strange! Come, what has crossed your track?
+I was only a-joking, you know; I'm willing to take it back.
+
+
+
+JOHN:
+
+(aside)
+
+Well, now, if this ain't a joke, with rather a bitter cream!
+It seems as if I'd woke from a mighty ticklish dream;
+And I think she "smells a rat," for she smiles at me so queer;
+I hope she don't; good Lord! I hope that they didn't hear!
+
+'Twas one of her practical drives--she thought I'd understand!
+But I'll never break sod again till I get the lay of the land.
+But one thing's settled with me--to appreciate heaven well,
+'Tis good for a man to have some fifteen minutes of hell.
+
+
+
+
+
+JOHNNY RICH.
+
+Raise the light a little, Jim,
+For it's getting rather dim,
+And, with such a storm a-howlin', 'twill not do to douse the glim.
+Hustle down the curtains, Lu;
+Poke the fire a little, Su;
+This is somethin' of a flurry, mother, somethin' of a--whew!
+
+Goodness gracious, how it pours!
+How it beats ag'in the doors!
+You will have a hard one, Jimmy, when you go to do the chores!
+Do not overfeed the gray;
+Give a plenty to the bay;
+And be careful with your lantern when you go among the hay.
+
+See the horses have a bed
+When you've got 'em fairly fed;
+Feed the cows that's in the stable, and the sheep that's in the shed;
+Give the spotted cow some meal,
+Where the brindle can not steal;
+For she's greedy as a porker, and as slipp'ry as an eel.
+
+Hang your lantern by the ring,
+On a nail, or on a string;
+For the Durham calf 'll bunt it, if there's any such a thing:
+He's a handsome one to see,
+And a knowin' one is he:
+I stooped over t'other morning, and he up and went for me!
+
+Rover thinks he hears a noise!
+Just keep still a minute, boys;
+Nellie, hold your tongue a second, and be silent with your toys.
+Stop that barkin', now, you whelp,
+Or I'll kick you till you yelp!
+Yes, I hear it; 'tis somebody that's callin' out for help.
+
+Get the lantern, Jim and Tom;
+Mother, keep the babies calm,
+And we'll follow up that halloa, and we'll see where it is from.
+'Tis a hairy sort of night
+
+"'TIS A HAIRY SORT OF NIGHT FOR A MAN TO FACE AND FIGHT."
+
+For a man to face and fight;
+And the wind is blowin'--Hang it, Jimmy, bring another light!
+
+Ah! 'twas you, then, Johnny Rich,
+Yelling out at such a pitch,
+For a decent man to help you, while you fell into the ditch:
+'Tisn't quite the thing to say,
+But we ought to've let you lay,
+While your drunken carcass died a-drinkin' water any way.
+
+And to see you on my floor,
+And to hear the way you snore,
+Now we've lugged you under shelter, and the danger all is o'er;
+And you lie there, quite resigned,
+
+"AND YOU LIE THERE, QUITE RESIGNED, WHISKY DEAF, AND WHISKY BLIND."
+
+Whisky deaf, and whisky blind,
+And it will not hurt your feelin's, so I guess I'll free my mind.
+
+Do you mind, you thievin' dunce,
+How you robbed my orchard once,
+Takin' all the biggest apples, leavin' all the littlest runts?
+Do you mind my melon-patch--
+How you gobbled the whole batch,
+Stacked the vines, and sliced the greenest melons, just to raise the
+scratch?
+
+Do you think, you drunken wag,
+It was any thing to brag,
+To be cornered in my hen-roost, with two pullets in a bag?
+You are used to dirty dens;
+You have often slept in pens;
+I've a mind to take you out there now, and roost you with the hens!
+
+Do you call to mind with me
+How, one night, you and your three
+Took my wagon all to pieces for to hang it on a tree?
+How you hung it up, you eels,
+Straight and steady, by the wheels?
+I've a mind to take you out there now, and hang you by your heels!
+
+How, the Fourth of last July,
+When you got a little high,
+You went back to Wilson's counter when you thought he wasn't nigh?
+How he heard some specie chink,
+And was on you in a wink,
+And you promised if he'd hush it that you never more would drink?
+
+Do you mind our temperance hall?
+How you're always sure to call,
+And recount your reformation with the biggest speech of all?
+How you talk, and how you sing,
+That the pledge is just the thing--
+How you sign it every winter, and then smash it every spring?
+
+Do you mind how Jennie Green
+Was as happy as a queen
+When you walked with her on Sunday, looking sober, straight, and clean?
+
+"WHEN YOU WALKED WITH HER ON SUNDAY, LOOKING SOBER, STRAIGHT, AND CLEAN."
+
+How she cried out half her sight,
+When you staggered by, next night,
+Twice as dirty as a serpent, and a hundred times as tight?
+
+How our hearts with pleasure warmed
+When your mother, though it stormed.
+Run up here one day to tell us that you truly had reformed?
+How that very self-same day,
+When upon her homeward way,
+She run on you, where you'd hidden, full three-quarters o'er the bay?
+
+Oh, you little whisky-keg!
+Oh, you horrid little egg!
+You're goin' to destruction with your swiftest foot and leg!
+I've a mind to take you out
+Underneath the water-spout,
+Just to rinse you up a little, so you'll know what you're about!
+
+But you've got a handsome eye,
+And, although I can't tell why,
+Somethin' somewhere in you always lets you get another try:
+So, for all that I have said,
+I'll not douse you; but, instead,
+I will strip you, I will rub you, I will put you into bed!
+
+
+
+
+
+OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY.
+
+Out of the old house, Nancy--moved up into the new;
+All the hurry and worry is just as good as through.
+Only a bounden duty remains for you and I--
+And that's to stand on the door-step, here, and bid the
+old house good-bye.
+
+"AND BID THE OLD HOUSE GOOD-BYE."
+
+What a shell we've lived in, these nineteen or twenty years!
+Wonder it hadn't smashed in, and tumbled about our ears;
+Wonder it's stuck together, and answered till to-day;
+But every individual log was put up here to stay.
+
+
+Things looked rather new, though, when this old house was built;
+And things that blossomed you would've made some women wilt;
+And every other day, then, as sure as day would break,
+My neighbor Ager come this way, invitin' me to "shake."
+
+And you, for want of neighbors, was sometimes blue and sad,
+For wolves and bears and wild-cats was the nearest ones you had;
+But lookin' ahead to the clearin', we worked with all our might,
+Until we was fairly out of the woods, and things was goin' right.
+
+Look up there at our new house!--ain't it a thing to see?
+Tall and big and handsome, and new as new can be;
+All in apple-pie order, especially the shelves,
+And never a debt to say but what we own it all ourselves.
+
+Look at our old log-house--how little it now appears!
+But it's never gone back on us for nineteen or twenty years;
+An' I won't go back on it now, or go to pokin' fun--
+There's such a thing as praisin' a thing for the good that it has done.
+
+Probably you remember how rich we was that night,
+When we was fairly settled, an' had things snug and tight:
+We feel as proud as you please, Nancy, over our house that's new,
+But we felt as proud under this old roof, and a good deal prouder, too.
+
+Never a handsomer house was seen beneath the sun:
+Kitchen and parlor and bedroom--we had 'em all in one;
+And the fat old wooden clock that we bought when we come West,
+Was tickin' away in the corner there, and doin' its level best.
+
+Trees was all around us, a-whisperin' cheering words;
+Loud was the squirrel's chatter, and sweet the songs of birds;
+And home grew sweeter and brighter--our courage began to mount--
+And things looked hearty and happy then, and work appeared to count.
+
+And here one night it happened, when things was goin' bad,
+We fell in a deep old quarrel--the first we ever had;
+And when you give out and cried, then I, like a fool, give in,
+And then we agreed to rub all out, and start the thing ag'in.
+
+Here it was, you remember, we sat when the day was done,
+And you was a-makin' clothing that wasn't for either one;
+And often a soft word of love I was soft enough to say,
+And the wolves was howlin' in the woods not twenty rods away.
+
+Then our first-born baby--a regular little joy,
+Though I fretted a little because it wasn't a boy:
+Wa'n't she a little flirt, though, with all her pouts and smiles?
+Why, settlers come to see that show a half a dozen miles.
+
+"SETTLERS COME TO SEE THAT SHOW A HALF A DOZEN MILES."
+
+Yonder sat the cradle--a homely, home-made thing,
+And many a night I rocked it, providin' you would sing;
+And many a little squatter brought up with us to stay--
+And so that cradle, for many a year, was never put away.
+
+How they kept a-comin', so cunnin' and fat and small!
+How they growed! 'twas a wonder how we found room for 'em all;
+But though the house was crowded, it empty seemed that day
+When Jennie lay by the fire-place, there, and moaned her life away.
+
+And right in there the preacher, with Bible and hymn-book, stood,
+
+"RIGHT IN THERE THE PREACHER, WITH BIBLE AND HYMN-BOOK STOOD."
+
+"'Twixt the dead and the living," and "hoped 'twould do us good;"
+And the little whitewood coffin on the table there was set,
+And now as I rub my eyes it seems as if I could see it yet.
+
+Then that fit of sickness it brought on you, you know;
+Just by a thread you hung, and you e'en-a'most let go;
+And here is the spot I tumbled, an' give the Lord his due,
+When the doctor said the fever'd turned, an' he could fetch you through.
+
+Yes, a deal has happened to make this old house dear:
+Christenin's, funerals, weddin's--what haven't we had here?
+Not a log in this buildin' but its memories has got,
+And not a nail in this old floor but touches a tender spot.
+
+Out of the old house, Nancy--moved up into the new;
+All the hurry and worry is just as good as through;
+But I tell you a thing right here, that I ain't ashamed to say,
+There's precious things in this old house we never can take away.
+
+Here the old house will stand, but not as it stood before:
+Winds will whistle through it, and rains will flood the floor;
+And over the hearth, once blazing, the snow-drifts oft will pile,
+And the old thing will seem to be a-mournin' all the while.
+
+Fare you well, old house! you're naught that can feel or see,
+But you seem like a human being--a dear old friend to me;
+And we never will have a better home, if my opinion stands,
+Until we commence a-keepin' house in the house not made with hands.
+
+
+
+
+
+OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE.
+
+Over the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way--
+
+"OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE, I'M TRUDGIN' MY WEARY WAY."
+
+I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray--
+I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told,
+As many another woman that's only half as old.
+
+Over the hill to the poor-house--I can't quite make it clear!
+Over the hill to the poor-house--it seems so horrid queer!
+Many a step I've taken a-toilin' to and fro,
+But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go.
+
+What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame?
+Am I lazy or crazy? am I blind or lame?
+True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout;
+But charity ain't no favor, if one can live without.
+
+I am willin' and anxious an' ready any day
+To work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way;
+For I can earn my victuals, an' more too, I'll be bound,
+If any body only is willin' to have me round.
+
+Once I was young an' han'some--I was, upon my soul--
+Once my cheeks was roses, my eyes as black as coal;
+And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say,
+For any kind of a reason, that I was in their way.
+
+'Tain't no use of boastin', or talkin' over free,
+But many a house an' home was open then to me;
+Many a han'some offer I had from likely men,
+And nobody ever hinted that I was a burden then.
+
+And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart,
+But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part;
+For life was all before me, an' I was young an' strong,
+And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to get along.
+
+And so we worked together: and life was hard, but gay,
+With now and then a baby for to cheer us on our way;
+Till we had half a dozen, an' all growed clean an' neat,
+An' went to school like others, an' had enough to eat.
+
+So we worked for the child'rn, and raised 'em every one;
+Worked for 'em summer and winter, just as we ought to 've done;
+Only perhaps we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn,
+But every couple's child'rn's a heap the best to them.
+
+Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones!--
+I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my sons;
+And God he made that rule of love; but when we're old and gray,
+I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other way.
+
+Strange, another thing: when our boys an' girls was grown,
+And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone;
+When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be,
+The Lord of Hosts he come one day an' took him away from me.
+
+Still I was bound to struggle, an' never to cringe or fall--
+Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all;
+And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown,
+Till at last he went a-courtin', and brought a wife from town.
+
+"TILL AT LAST HE WENT A-COURTIN', AND BROUGHT A WIFE FROM TOWN."
+
+She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant smile--
+She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' style;
+But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her, I know;
+But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't make it go.
+
+She had an edication, an' that was good for her;
+But when she twitted me on mine, 'twas carryin' things too far;
+An' I told her once, 'fore company (an' it almost made her sick),
+That I never swallowed a grammar, or 'et a 'rithmetic.
+
+So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done--
+They was a family of themselves, and I another one;
+And a very little cottage one family will do,
+But I never have seen a house that was big enough for two.
+
+An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye,
+An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't try;
+But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow,
+When Charley turned ag'in me, an' told me I could go.
+
+I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small,
+And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all;
+And what with her husband's sisters, and what with child'rn three,
+'Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me.
+
+An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got,
+For Thomas's buildings 'd cover the half of an acre lot;
+But all the child'rn was on me--I couldn't stand their sauce--
+And Thomas said I needn't think I was comin' there to boss.
+
+An' then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who lives out West,
+And to Isaac, not far from her--some twenty miles at best;
+And one of 'em said 'twas too warm there for any one so old,
+And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold.
+
+So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about--
+So they have well-nigh soured me, an' wore my old heart out;
+But still I've borne up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down,
+Till Charley went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town.
+
+Over the hill to the poor-house--my child'rn dear, good-by!
+Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh;
+
+"MANY A NIGHT I'VE WATCHED YOU WHEN ONLY GOD WAS NIGH."
+
+And God 'll judge between us; but I will al'ays pray
+That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day.
+
+
+
+
+
+OVER THE HILL FROM THE POOR-HOUSE.
+
+I, who was always counted, they say,
+Rather a bad stick any way,
+Splintered all over with dodges and tricks,
+Known as "the worst of the Deacon's six;"
+I, the truant, saucy and bold,
+The one black sheep in my father's fold,
+"Once on a time," as the stories say,
+Went over the hill on a winter's day--
+Over the hill to the poor-house.
+
+Tom could save what twenty could earn;
+But givin' was somethin' he ne'er would learn;
+Isaac could half o' the Scriptur's speak--
+Committed a hundred verses a week;
+Never forgot, an' never slipped;
+But "Honor thy father and mother" he skipped;
+So _over the hill to the poor-house._
+
+As for Susan, her heart was kind
+An' good--what there was of it, mind;
+Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice,
+Nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice
+For one she loved; an' that 'ere one
+Was herself, when all was said an' done.
+An' Charley an' 'Becca meant well, no doubt,
+But any one could pull 'em about;
+
+An' all o' our folks ranked well, you see,
+Save one poor fellow, and that was me;
+An' when, one dark an' rainy night,
+A neighbor's horse went out o' sight,
+They hitched on me, as the guilty chap
+That carried one end o' the halter-strap.
+An' I think, myself, that view of the case
+Wasn't altogether out o' place;
+My mother denied it, as mothers do,
+But I am inclined to believe 'twas true.
+Though for me one thing might be said--
+That I, as well as the horse, was led;
+And the worst of whisky spurred me on,
+Or else the deed would have never been done.
+But the keenest grief I ever felt
+Was when my mother beside me knelt,
+An' cried an' prayed, till I melted down,
+As I wouldn't for half the horses in town.
+I kissed her fondly, then an' there,
+An' swore henceforth to be honest and square.
+
+I served my sentence--a bitter pill
+Some fellows should take who never will;
+And then I decided to go "out West,"
+Concludin' 'twould suit my health the best;
+Where, how I prospered, I never could tell,
+But Fortune seemed to like we [me] well,
+An' somehow every vein I struck
+Was always bubblin' over with luck.
+An', better than that, I was steady an' true,
+An' put my good resolutions through.
+But I wrote to a trusty old neighbor, an' said,
+"You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead,
+An' died a Christian; 'twill please 'em more,
+Than if I had lived the same as before."
+
+But when this neighbor he wrote to me,
+"Your mother's in the poor-house," says he,
+I had a resurrection straightway,
+An' started for her that very day.
+And when I arrived where I was grown,
+I took good care that I shouldn't be known;
+But I bought the old cottage, through and through,
+Of some one Charley had sold it to;
+And held back neither work nor gold,
+To fix it up as it was of old.
+The same big fire-place wide an' high,
+Flung up its cinders toward the sky;
+The old clock ticked on the corner-shelf--
+I wound it an' set it agoin' myself;
+An' if every thing wasn't just the same,
+Neither I nor money was to blame;
+Then--_over the hill to the poor-house!_
+
+One blowin', blusterin' winter's day,
+With a team an' cutter I started away;
+My fiery nags was as black as coal;
+(They some'at resembled the horse I stole);
+I hitched, an' entered the poor-house door--
+A poor old woman was scrubbin' the floor;
+She rose to her feet in great surprise,
+And looked, quite startled, into my eyes;
+I saw the whole of her trouble's trace
+In the lines that marred her dear old face;
+"Mother!" I shouted, "your sorrows is done!
+You're adopted along o' your horse-thief son,
+Come _over the hill from the poor-house!"_
+
+She didn't faint; she knelt by my side,
+An' thanked the Lord, till I fairly cried.
+An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant an' gay,
+An' maybe she wasn't wrapped up that day;
+An' maybe our cottage wasn't warm an' bright,
+An' maybe it wasn't a pleasant sight,
+To see her a-gettin' the evenin's tea,
+An' frequently stoppin' and kissin' me;
+An' maybe we didn't live happy for years,
+In spite of my brothers' and sisters' sneers,
+Who often said, as I have heard,
+That they wouldn't own a prison-bird;
+(Though they're gettin' over that, I guess,
+For all of 'em owe me more or less);
+
+But I've learned one thing; an' it cheers a man
+In always a-doin' the best he can;
+That whether, on the big book, a blot
+Gets over a fellow's name or not,
+Whenever he does a deed that's white,
+It's credited to him fair and right.
+An' when you hear the great bugle's notes,
+An' the Lord divides his sheep an' goats;
+However they may settle my case,
+Wherever they may fix my place,
+My good old Christian mother, you'll see,
+Will be sure to stand right up for me,
+With _over the hill from the poor-house._
+
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE SAMMY.
+
+Some men were born for great things,
+Some were born for small;
+Some--it is not recorded
+Why they were born at all;
+But Uncle Sammy was certain he had a legitimate call.
+
+Some were born with a talent,
+Some with scrip and land;
+Some with a spoon of silver,
+And some with a different brand;
+But Uncle Sammy came holding an argument in each hand.
+
+Arguments sprouted within him,
+And twinked in his little eye;
+He lay and calmly debated
+When average babies cry,
+And seemed to be pondering gravely whether to live or to die.
+
+But prejudiced on that question
+He grew from day to day,
+And finally he concluded
+'Twas better for him to stay;
+And so into life's discussion he reasoned and reasoned his way.
+
+Through childhood, through youth, into manhood
+Argued and argued he;
+And he married a simple maiden,
+Though scarcely in love was she;
+But he reasoned the matter so clearly she hardly could help but agree.
+
+And though at first she was blooming,
+And the new firm started strong,
+And though Uncle Sammy loved her,
+And tried to help her along,
+She faded away in silence, and 'twas evident something was wrong.
+
+Now Uncle Sammy was faithful,
+And various remedies tried;
+He gave her the doctor's prescriptions,
+And plenty of logic beside;
+But logic and medicine failed him, and so one day she died.
+
+He laid her away in the church-yard,
+So haggard and crushed and wan;
+And reared her a costly tombstone
+With all of her virtues on;
+And ought to have added, "A victim to arguments pro and con."
+
+For many a year Uncle Sammy
+Fired away at his logical forte:
+Discussion was his occupation,
+And altercation his sport;
+He argued himself out of churches, he argued himself into court.
+
+But alas for his peace and quiet,
+One day, when he went it blind,
+And followed his singular fancy,
+And slighted his logical mind,
+And married a ponderous widow that wasn't of the arguing kind!
+
+Her sentiments all were settled,
+Her habits were planted and grown,
+Her heart was a starved little creature
+That followed a will of her own;
+And she raised a high hand with Sammy, and proceeded to play it alone.
+
+Then Sammy he charged down upon her
+With all of his strength and his wit,
+And many a dextrous encounter,
+And many a fair shoulder-hit;
+But vain were his blows and his blowing: he never could budge her a bit.
+
+He laid down his premises round her,
+He scraped at her with his saws;
+He rained great facts upon her,
+And read her the marriage laws;
+But the harder he tried to convince her, the harder and harder she was.
+
+She brought home all her preachers,
+As many as ever she could--
+With sentiments terribly settled,
+And appetites horribly good--
+Who sat with him long at his table, and explained to him where he stood.
+
+"WHO SAT WITH HIM LONG AT HIS TABLE, AND EXPLAINED TO HIM WHERE HE STOOD."
+
+And Sammy was not long in learning
+To follow the swing of her gown,
+And came to be faithful in watching
+The phase of her smile and her frown;
+And she, with the heel of assertion, soon tramped all his arguments down.
+
+And so, with his life-aspirations
+Thus suddenly brought to a check--
+And so, with the foot of his victor
+Unceasingly pressing his neck--
+He wrote on his face, "I'm a victim," and drifted--a logical wreck.
+
+And farmers, whom he had argued
+To corners tight and fast,
+Would wink at each other and chuckle,
+And grin at him as he passed,
+As to say, "My ambitious old fellow, your whiffletree's straightened at
+last."
+
+Old Uncle Sammy one morning
+Lay down on his comfortless bed,
+And Death and he had a discussion,
+And Death came out ahead;
+And the fact that SHE failed to start him was only because he was dead.
+
+The neighbors laid out their old neighbor,
+With homely but tenderest art;
+And some of the oldest ones faltered,
+And tearfully stood apart;
+For the crusty old man had often unguardedly shown them his heart.
+
+But on his face an expression
+Of quizzical study lay,
+As if he were sounding the angel
+Who traveled with him that day,
+And laying the pipes down slyly for an argument on the way.
+
+And one new-fashioned old lady
+Felt called upon to suggest
+That the angel might take Uncle Sammy,
+And give him a good night's rest,
+And then introduce him to Solomon, and tell him to do his best.
+
+
+
+
+
+TOM WAS GOIN' FOR A POET.
+
+The Farmer Discourses of his Son.
+
+Tom was goin' for a poet, an' said he'd a poet be;
+One of these long-haired fellers a feller hates to see;
+One of these chaps forever fixin' things cute and clever;
+Makin' the world in gen'ral step 'long to tune an' time,
+An' cuttin' the earth into slices an' saltin' it down into rhyme.
+
+Poets are good for somethin', so long as they stand at the head:
+But poetry's worth whatever it fetches in butter an' bread.
+An' many a time I've said it: it don't do a fellow credit,
+To starve with a hole in his elbow, an' be considered a fool,
+So after he's dead, the young ones 'll speak his pieces in school.
+
+An' Tom, he had an opinion that Shakspeare an' all the rest,
+With all their winter clothin', couldn't make him a decent vest;
+But that didn't ease my labors, or help him among the neighbors,
+Who watched him from a distance, an' held his mind in doubt,
+An' wondered if Tom wasn't shaky, or knew what he was about.
+
+Tom he went a-sowin', to sow a field of grain;
+But half of that 'ere sowin' was altogether in vain.
+For he was al'ays a-stoppin', and gems of poetry droppin';
+And metaphors, they be pleasant, but much too thin to eat;
+And germs of thought be handy, but never grow up to wheat.
+
+Tom he went a-mowin', one broilin' summer's day,
+An' spoke quite sweet concernin' the smell of the new-mowed hay.
+But all o' his useless chatter didn't go to help the matter,
+Or make the grief less searchin' or the pain less hard to feel,
+When he made a clip too suddent, an' sliced his brother's heel.
+
+Tom he went a-drivin' the hills an' dales across;
+But, scannin' the lines of his poetry, he dropped the lines of his hoss.
+The nag ran fleet and fleeter, in quite irregular metre;
+An' when we got Tom's leg set, an' had fixed him so he could speak,
+He muttered that that adventur' would keep him a-writin' a week.
+
+Tom he went a-ploughin', and couldn't have done it worse;
+He sat down on the handles, an' went to spinnin' verse.
+He wrote it nice and pretty--an agricultural ditty;
+But all o' his pesky measures didn't measure an acre more,
+Nor his p'ints didn't turn a furrow that wasn't turned before.
+
+Tom he went a-courtin';--she liked him, I suppose;
+But certain parts of courtin' a feller must do in prose.
+He rhymed her each day a letter, but that didn't serve to get her;
+He waited so long, she married another man from spite,
+An' sent him word she'd done it, an' not to forget to write.
+
+Tom at last got married; his wife was smart and stout,
+An' she shoved up the window and slung his poetry out.
+An' at each new poem's creation she gave it circulation;
+An' fast as he would write 'em, she seen to their puttin' forth,
+An' sent 'em east an westward, an' also south an' north.
+
+Till Tom he struck the opinion that poetry didn't pay,
+An' turned the guns of his genius, an' fired 'em another way.
+He settled himself down steady, an' is quite well off already;
+An' all of his life is verses, with his wife the first an' best,
+An' ten or a dozen childr'n to constitute the rest.
+
+
+
+
+
+GOIN' HOME TO-DAY.
+
+My business on the jury's done--the quibblin' all is through--
+I've watched the lawyers right and left, and give my verdict true;
+I stuck so long unto my chair, I thought I would grow in;
+And if I do not know myself, they'll get me there ag'in;
+But now the court's adjourned for good, and I have got my pay;
+I'm loose at last, and thank the Lord, I'm going home to-day.
+
+I've somehow felt uneasy like, since first day I come down;
+It is an awkward game to play the gentleman in town;
+And this 'ere Sunday suit of mine on Sunday rightly sets;
+But when I wear the stuff a week, it somehow galls and frets.
+I'd rather wear my homespun rig of pepper-salt and gray--
+I'll have it on in half a jiff, when I get home to-day.
+
+I have no doubt my wife looked out, as well as any one--
+As well as any woman could--to see that things was done:
+For though Melinda, when I'm there, won't set her foot outdoors,
+She's very careful, when I'm gone, to tend to all the chores.
+But nothing prospers half so well when I go off to stay,
+And I will put things into shape, when I get home to-day.
+
+The mornin' that I come away, we had a little bout;
+I coolly took my hat and left, before the show was out.
+For what I said was naught whereat she ought to take offense;
+And she was always quick at words and ready to commence.
+But then she's first one to give up when she has had her say;
+And she will meet me with a kiss, when I go home to-day.
+
+My little boy--I'll give 'em leave to match him, if they can;
+It's fun to see him strut about, and try to be a man!
+The gamest, cheeriest little chap, you'd ever want to see!
+And then they laugh, because I think the child resembles me.
+The little rogue! he goes for me, like robbers for their prey;
+He'll turn my pockets inside out, when I get home to-day.
+
+My little girl--I can't contrive how it should happen thus--
+That God could pick that sweet bouquet, and fling it down to us!
+My wife, she says that han'some face will some day make a stir;
+And then I laugh, because she thinks the child resembles her.
+She'll meet me half-way down the hill, and kiss me, any way;
+And light my heart up with her smiles, when I go home to-day!
+
+If there's a heaven upon the earth, a fellow knows it when
+He's been away from home a week, and then gets back again.
+If there's a heaven above the earth, there often, I'll be bound,
+Some homesick fellow meets his folks, and hugs 'em all around.
+But let my creed be right or wrong, or be it as it may,
+My heaven is just ahead of me--I'm going home to-day.
+
+
+
+
+
+OUT O' THE FIRE.
+
+[As Told in 1880.]
+
+Year of '71, children, middle of the fall,
+On one fearful night, children, we well-nigh lost our all.
+True, it wa'n't no great sum we had to lose that night,
+But when a little's all you've got, it comes to a blessed sight.
+
+I was a mighty worker, in them 'ere difficult days,
+For work is a good investment, and almost always pays;
+But when ten years' hard labor went smokin' into the air.
+I doubted all o' the maxims, an' felt that it wasn't fair.
+
+Up from the East we had traveled, with all of our household wares,
+Where we had long been workin' a piece of land on shares;
+But how a fellow's to prosper without the rise of the land,
+For just two-thirds of nothin', I never could understand.
+
+Up from the East we had traveled, me and my folks alone,
+And quick we went to workin' a piece of land of our own;
+Small was our backwoods quarters, and things looked mighty cheap;
+But every thing we put in there, we put in there to keep.
+
+So, with workin' and savin', we managed to get along;
+Managed to make a livin', and feel consid'able strong;
+And things went smooth and happy, an' fair as the average run,
+Till every thing went back on me, in the fall of '71.
+
+First thing bothered and worried me, was 'long o' my daughter Kate;
+Rather a han'some cre'tur', and folks all liked her gait.
+Not so nice as them sham ones in yeller-covered books;
+But still there wa'n't much discount on Katherine's ways an' looks.
+
+And Katherine's smile was pleasant, and Katherine's temper good,
+And how she come to like Tom Smith, I never understood;
+For she was a mornin'-glory, as fair as you ever see,
+And Tom was a shag-bark hickory, as green as green could be.
+
+"Like takes to like," is a proverb that's nothin' more than trash;
+And many a time I've seen it all pulverized to smash.
+For folks in no way sim'lar, I've noticed ag'in and ag'in,
+Will often take to each other, and stick together like sin.
+
+Next thing bothered and worried me, was 'long of a terrible drouth;
+And me an' all o' my neighbors was some'at down in the mouth.
+And week after week the rain held off, and things all pined an' dried,
+And we drove the cattle miles to drink, and many of 'em died.
+
+And day after day went by us, so han'some and so bright,
+And never a drop of water came near us, day or night;
+And what with the neighbors' grumblin', and what with my daily loss,
+I must own that somehow or other I was gettin' mighty cross.
+
+And on one Sunday evenin' I was comin' down the lane
+From meetin', where our preacher had stuck and hung for rain,
+And various slants on heaven kept workin' in my mind,
+And the smoke from Sanders' fallow was makin' me almost blind;
+
+I opened the door kind o' sudden, an' there my Katherine sat,
+As cozy as any kitten along with a friendly cat;
+An' Tom was dreadful near her--his arm on the back of her chair--
+And lookin' as happy and cheerful as if there was rain to spare.
+
+"Get out of this house in a minute!" I cried, with all my might:
+"Get out, while I'm a-talkin'!"--Tom's eyes showed a bit of fight;
+But he rose up, stiff and surly, and made me a civil bow,
+And mogged along to the door-way, with never a word of row.
+
+And I snapped up my wife quite surly when she asked me what I'd said,
+And I scolded Kate for cryin', and sent her up stairs to bed;
+And then I laid down, for the purpose of gettin' a little sleep,
+An' the wind outside was a-howlin', and puttin' it in to keep.
+
+'Twas half-past three next mornin', or maybe 'twas nearer four--
+The neighbors they came a-yellin' and poundin' at my door;
+"Get up! get up!" they shouted: "get up! there's danger near!
+The woods are all a-burnin'! the wind is blowin' it here!"
+
+If ever it happens, children, that you get catched, some time,
+With fire a-blowin' toward you, as fast as fire can climb,
+You'll get up and get in a hurry, as fast as you can budge;
+It's a lively season of the year, or else I ain't no judge!
+
+Out o' the dear old cabin we tumbled fast as we could--
+Smashed two-thirds of our dishes, and saved some four-foot wood;
+With smoke a-settlin' round us and gettin' into our eyes,
+And fire a-roarin' an' roarin' an' drowndin' all of our cries.
+
+And just as the roof was smokin', and we hadn't long to wait,
+I says to my wife, "Now get out, and hustle, you and Kate!"
+And just as the roof was fallin', my wife she come to me,
+With a face as white as a corpse's face, and "Where is Kate?" says she.
+
+And the neighbors come runnin' to me, with faces black as the ground,
+And shouted, "Where is Katherine? She's nowhere to be found!"
+An' this is all I remember, till I found myself next day,
+A-lyin' in Sanders' cabin, a mile an' a half away.
+
+If ever you wake up, children, with somethin' into your head,
+Concernin' a han'some daughter, that's lyin' still an' dead,
+All scorched into coal-black cinders--_perhaps_ you may not weep,
+But I rather think it'll happen you'll wish you'd a-kept asleep.
+
+And all I could say, was "Kath'rine, oh Kath'rine, come to me!"
+And all I could think, was "Kath'rine!" and all that I could see,
+Was Sanders a-standin' near to me, his finger into his eye,
+And my wife a-bendin' over me, and tellin' me not to cry;
+
+When, lo! Tom Smith he entered--his face lit up with grins
+And Kate a-hangin' on his arm, as neat as a row of pins!
+And Tom looked glad, but sheepish; and said, "Excuse me, Squire,
+But I 'loped with Kate, and married her an hour before the fire."
+
+Well, children, I was shattered; 'twas more than I could bear--
+And I up and went for Kate an' Tom, and hugged 'em then and there!
+And since that time, the times have changed, an' now they ain't so bad;
+And--Katherine, she's your mother now, and--Thomas Smith's your dad.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OTHER POEMS.
+
+
+THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN.
+
+They 've got a brand-new organ, Sue,
+For all their fuss and search;
+They've done just as they said they'd do,
+And fetched it into church.
+They're bound the critter shall be seen,
+And on the preacher's right
+They've hoisted up their new machine,
+In every body's sight.
+They've got a chorister and choir,
+Ag'in' my voice and vote;
+For it was never my desire,
+To praise the Lord by note!
+
+I've been a sister good an' true
+For five-an'-thirty year;
+I've done what seemed my part to do,
+An' prayed my duty clear;
+I've sung the hymns both slow and quick,
+Just as the preacher read,
+And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick,
+I took the fork an' led!
+And now, their bold, new-fangled ways
+Is comin' all about;
+And I, right in my latter days,
+Am fairly crowded out!
+
+To-day the preacher, good old dear,
+With tears all in his eyes,
+Read, "I can read my title clear
+To mansions in the skies."
+I al'ays liked that blessed hymn--
+I s'pose I al'ays will;
+It somehow gratifies my whim,
+In good old Ortonville;
+But when that choir got up to sing,
+I couldn't catch a word;
+They sung the most dog-gondest thing
+A body ever heard!
+
+Some worldly chaps was standin' near;
+An' when I see them grin,
+I bid farewell to every fear,
+And boldly waded in.
+I thought I'd chase their tune along,
+An' tried with all my might;
+But though my voice is good an' strong,
+I couldn't steer it right;
+When they was high, then I was low,
+An' also contrawise;
+An' I too fast, or they too slow,
+To "mansions in the skies."
+
+An' after every verse, you know,
+They play a little tune;
+I didn't understand, an' so
+I started in too soon.
+I pitched it pretty middlin' high,
+I fetched a lusty tone,
+But oh, alas! I found that I
+Was singin' there alone!
+They laughed a little, I am told;
+But I had done my best;
+And not a wave of trouble rolled
+Across my peaceful breast.
+
+And Sister Brown--I could but look--
+She sits right front of me;
+She never was no singin'-book,
+An' never went to be;
+But then she al'ays tried to do
+The best she could, she said;
+She understood the time right through,
+An' kep' it with her head;
+But when she tried this mornin', oh,
+I had to laugh, or cough!
+It kep' her head a-bobbin' so,
+It e'en a'most came off!
+
+An' Deacon Tubbs--he all broke down,
+As one might well suppose;
+He took one look at Sister Brown,
+And meekly scratched his nose.
+He looked his hymn-book through and through,
+And laid it on the seat,
+And then a pensive sigh he drew,
+And looked completely beat.
+An' when they took another bout,
+He didn't even rise;
+But drawed his red bandanner out,
+An' wiped his weepin' eyes.
+
+I've been a sister, good an' true,
+For five-an'-thirty year;
+I've done what seemed my part to do,
+An' prayed my duty clear;
+But Death will stop my voice, I know,
+For he is on my track;
+And some day I to church will go,
+And never more come back;
+And when the folks gets up to sing--
+Whene'er that time shall be--
+I do not want no _patent_ thing
+A-squealin' over me!
+
+
+
+
+
+THE EDITOR'S GUESTS.
+
+The Editor sat in his sanctum, his countenance furrowed with care,
+His mind at the bottom of business, his feet at the top of a chair,
+His chair-arm an elbow supporting, his right hand upholding his head,
+His eyes on his dusty old table, with different documents spread:
+There were thirty long pages from Howler, with underlined capitals
+     topped,
+And a short disquisition from Growler, requesting his newspaper stopped;
+There were lyrics from Gusher, the poet, concerning sweet flow'rets and
+     zephyrs,
+And a stray gem from Plodder, the farmer, describing a couple of heifers;
+There were billets from beautiful maidens, and bills from a grocer or two,
+And his best leader hitched to a letter, which inquired if he wrote it,
+     or who?
+There were raptures of praises from writers of the weakly mellifluous
+     school,
+And one of his rival's last papers, informing him he was a fool;
+There were several long resolutions, with names telling whom they were by,
+Canonizing some harmless old brother who had done nothing worse than to
+     die;
+There were traps on that table to catch him, and serpents to sting and to
+     smite him;
+There were gift enterprises to sell him, and bitters attempting to bite
+     him;
+There were long staring "ads" from the city, and money with never a one,
+Which added, "Please give this insertion, and send in your bill when
+     you're _done_;"
+There were letters from organizations--their meetings, their wants, and
+     their laws--
+Which said, "Can you print this announcement for the good of our glorious
+     cause?"
+There were tickets inviting his presence to festivals, parties, and shows,
+Wrapped in notes with "Please give us a notice" demurely slipped in at the
+     close;
+In short, as his eye took the table, and ran o'er its ink-spattered trash,
+There was nothing it did not encounter, excepting perhaps it was cash.
+
+
+The Editor dreamily pondered on several ponderous things.
+On different lines of action, and the pulling of different strings;
+Upon some equivocal doings, and some unequivocal duns;
+On how few of his numerous patrons were quietly prompt-paying ones;
+On friends who subscribed "just to help him," and wordy encouragement
+     lent,
+And had given him plenty of counsel, but never had paid him a cent;
+On vinegar, kind-hearted people were feeding him every hour,
+Who saw not the work they were doing, but wondered that "printers are
+     sour:"
+On several intelligent townsmen, whose kindness was so without stint
+That they kept an eye out on his business, and told him just what he
+     should print;
+On men who had rendered him favors, and never pushed forward their claims,
+So long as the paper was crowded with "locals" containing their names;
+On various other small matters, sufficient his temper to roil,
+And finely contrived to be making the blood of an editor boil;
+And so one may see that his feelings could hardly be said to be smooth,
+And he needed some pleasant occurrence his ruffled emotions to soothe:
+He had it; for lo! on the threshold, a slow and reliable tread,
+And a farmer invaded the sanctum, and these are the words that he said:
+
+
+"Good-mornin', sir, Mr. Printer; how is your body to-day?
+I'm glad you're to home; for you fellers is al'ays a runnin' away.
+Your paper last week wa'n't so spicy nor sharp as the one week before:
+But I s'pose when the campaign is opened, you'll be whoopin' it up to
+     'em more.
+That feller that's printin' _The Smasher_ is goin' for you perty smart;
+And our folks said this mornin' at breakfast, they thought he was gettin'
+     the start.
+But I hushed 'em right up in a minute, and said a good word for you;
+I told 'em I b'lieved you was tryin' to do just as well as you knew;
+And I told 'em that some one was sayin', and whoever 'twas it is so,
+That you can't expect much of no one man, nor blame him for what he don't
+     know.
+But, layin' aside _pleasure_ for business, I've brought you my little boy
+     Jim;
+And I thought I would see if you couldn't make an editor outen of him.
+
+
+"My family stock is increasin', while other folks' seems to run short.
+I've got a right smart of a family--it's one of the old-fashioned sort:
+There's Ichabod, Isaac, and Israel, a-workin' away on the farm--
+They do 'bout as much as one good boy, and make things go off like a
+     charm.
+There's Moses and Aaron are sly ones, and slip like a couple of eels;
+But they're tol'able steady in one thing--they al'ays git round to their
+     meals.
+There's Peter is busy inventin' (though _what_ he invents I can't see),
+And Joseph is studyin' medicine--and both of 'em boardin' with me.
+There's Abram and Albert is married, each workin' my farm for myself,
+And Sam smashed his nose at a shootin', and so he is laid on the shelf.
+The rest of the boys are all growin', 'cept this little runt, which is
+     Jim,
+And I thought that perhaps I'd be makin' an editor outen o' him.
+
+
+"He ain't no great shakes for to labor, though I've labored with him a
+     good deal,
+And give him some strappin' good arguments I know he couldn't help but
+     to feel;
+But he's built out of second-growth timber, and nothin' about him is big
+Exceptin' his appetite only, and there he's as good as a pig.
+I keep him a-carryin' luncheons, and fillin' and bringin' the jugs,
+And take him among the pertatoes, and set him to pickin' the bugs;
+And then there is things to be doin' a-helpin' the women indoors;
+There's churnin' and washin' of dishes, and other descriptions of chores;
+But he don't take to nothin' but victuals, and he'll never be much,
+     I'm afraid,
+So I thought it would be a good notion to larn him the editor's trade.
+His body's too small for a farmer, his judgment is rather too slim,
+But I thought we perhaps could be makin' an editor outen o' him!
+
+
+"It ain't much to get up a paper--it wouldn't take him long for to learn;
+He could feed the machine, I'm thinkin', with a good strappin' fellow to
+     turn.
+And things that was once hard in doin', is easy enough now to do;
+Just keep your eye on your machinery, and crack your arrangements right
+     through.
+I used for to wonder at readin' and where it was got up, and how;
+But 'tis most of it made by machinery--I can see it all plain enough now.
+And poetry, too, is constructed by machines of different designs,
+Each one with a gauge and a chopper to see to the length of the lines;
+And I hear a New York clairvoyant is runnin' one sleeker than grease,
+And _a-rentin'_ her heaven-born productions at a couple of dollars apiece;
+An' since the whole trade has growed easy, 'twould be easy enough, I've
+     a whim,
+If you was agreed, to be makin' an editor outen of Jim!"
+
+
+The Editor sat in his sanctum and looked the old man in the eye,
+Then glanced at the grinning young hopeful, and mournfully made his reply:
+"Is your son a small unbound edition of Moses and Solomon both?
+Can he compass his spirit with meekness, and strangle a natural oath?
+Can he leave all his wrongs to the future, and carry his heart in his
+     cheek?
+Can he do an hour's work in a minute, and live on a sixpence a week?
+Can he courteously talk to an equal, and browbeat an impudent dunce?
+Can he keep things in apple-pie order, and do half a dozen at once?
+Can he press all the springs of knowledge, with quick and reliable touch,
+And be sure that he knows how much _to_ know, and knows how to not
+     know too much?
+Does he know how to spur up his virtue, and put a check-rein on his pride?
+Can he carry a gentleman's manners within a rhinoceros' hide?
+Can he know all, and do all, and be all, with cheerfulness, courage,
+     and vim?
+If so, we perhaps can be makin an editor 'outen of him.'"
+
+
+The farmer stood curiously listening, while wonder his visage o'erspread;
+And he said, "Jim, I guess we'll be goin'; he's probably out of his head."
+
+
+But lo! on the rickety stair-case, another reliable tread,
+And entered another old farmer, and these are the words that he said:
+
+
+"Good-morning, sir, Mr. Editor, how is the folks to-day?
+I owe you for next year's paper; I thought I'd come in and pay.
+And Jones is agoin' to take it, and this is his money here;
+I shut down on lendin' it to him, and coaxed him to try it a year.
+And here is a few little items that happened last week in our town:
+I thought they'd look good for the paper, and so I just jotted 'em down.
+And here is a basket of cherries my wife picked expressly for you;
+And a small bunch of flowers from Jennie--she thought she must send
+     somethin' too.
+You're doin' the politics bully, as all of our family agree;
+Just keep your old goose-quill a-floppin', and give 'em a good one for me.
+And now you are chuck full of business, and I won't be takin' your time;
+I've things of my own I must 'tend to--good-day, sir, I b'lieve I will
+     climb."
+
+
+The Editor sat in his sanctum and brought down his fist with a thump:
+"God bless that old farmer," he muttered, "he's a regular Editor's trump."
+
+
+And 'tis thus with our noble profession, and thus it will ever be, still;
+There are some who appreciate its labors, and some who perhaps never will.
+But in the great time that is coming, when loudly the trumpet shall sound,
+And they who have labored and rested shall come from the quivering ground;
+When they who have striven and suffered to teach and ennoble the race,
+Shall march at the front of the column, each one in his God-given place,
+As they pass through the gates of The City with proud and victorious
+     tread,
+The editor, printer, and "devil," will travel not far from the head.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HOUSE WHERE WE WERE WED.
+
+I've been to the old farm-house, good-wife,
+Where you and I were wed;
+Where the love was born to our two hearts
+That now lies cold and dead.
+Where a long-kept secret to you I told,
+In the yellow beams of the moon,
+And we forged our vows out of love's own gold,
+To be broken so soon, so soon!
+
+I passed through all the old rooms, good-wife;
+I wandered on and on;
+I followed the steps of a flitting ghost,
+The ghost of a love that is gone.
+And he led me out to the arbor, wife,
+Where with myrtles I twined your hair;
+And he seated me down on the old stone step,
+And left me musing there.
+
+The sun went down as it used to do,
+And sunk in the sea of night;
+The two bright stars that we called ours
+Came slowly unto my sight;
+But the one that was mine went under a cloud--
+Went under a cloud, alone;
+And a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world,
+Fell down on the old gray stone.
+
+But there be words can ne'er be unsaid,
+And deeds can ne'er be undone,
+Except perhaps in another world,
+Where life's once more begun.
+And maybe some time in the time to come,
+When a few more years are sped,
+We'll love again as we used to love,
+In the house where we were wed.
+
+
+
+
+
+OUR ARMY OF THE DEAD.
+
+By the edge of the Atlantic, where the waves of Freedom roar,
+And the breezes of the ocean chant a requiem to the shore,
+On the Nation's eastern hill-tops, where its corner-stone was laid,
+On the mountains of New England, where our fathers toiled and prayed,
+Mid old Key-stone's rugged riches, which the miner's hand await,
+Mid the never-ceasing commerce of the busy Empire State,
+With the country's love and honor on each brave, devoted head,
+Is a band of noble heroes--is our Army of the Dead.
+
+On the lake-encircled homestead of the thriving Wolverine,
+On the beauteous Western prairies, with their carpeting of green,
+By the sweeping Mississippi, long our country's pride and boast,
+On the rugged Rocky Mountains, and the wierd Pacific coast,
+In the listless, sunny Southland, with its blossoms and its vines,
+On the bracing Northern hill-tops, and amid their murmuring pines,
+Over all our happy country--over all our Nation spread,
+Is a band of noble heroes--is our Army of the Dead.
+
+Not with musket, and with saber, and with glad heart beating fast;
+Not with cannon that had thundered till the bloody war was past;
+Not with voices that are shouting with the vim of victory's note;
+Not with armor gayly glistening, and with flags that proudly float;
+Not with air of martial vigor, nor with steady, soldier tramp,
+Come they grandly marching to us--for the boys are all in camp.
+With forgetfulness upon it--each within his earthy bed,
+Waiting for his marching orders--is our Army of the Dead.
+
+Fast asleep the boys are lying, in their low and narrow tents,
+And no battle-cry can wake them, and no orders call them hence;
+And the yearnings of the mother, and the anguish of the wife,
+Can not with their magic presence call the soldier back to life;
+And the brother's manly sorrow, and the father's mournful pride,
+Can not give back to his country him who for his country died.
+They who for the trembling Nation in its hour of trial bled,
+Lie, in these its years of triumph, with our Army of the Dead.
+
+When the years of Earth are over, and the cares of Earth are done,
+When the reign of Time is ended, and Eternity begun,
+When the thunders of Omniscience on our wakened senses roll,
+And the sky above shall wither, and be gathered like a scroll;
+When, among the lofty mountains, and across the mighty sea,
+The sublime celestial bugler shall ring out the reveille,
+Then shall march with brightest laurels, and with proud, victorious tread,
+To their station up in heaven, our Grand Army of the Dead!
+
+
+
+
+
+APPLE-BLOSSOMS.
+
+Underneath an apple-tree
+Sat a maiden and her lover;
+And the thoughts within her he
+Yearned, in silence, to discover.
+Round them danced the sunbeams bright,
+Green the grass-lawn stretched before them;
+While the apple-blossoms white
+Hung in rich profusion o'er them.
+
+Naught within her eyes he read
+That would tell her mind unto him;
+Though their light, he after said,
+Quivered swiftly through and through him;
+Till at last his heart burst free
+From the prayer with which 'twas laden,
+And he said, "When wilt thou be
+Mine for evermore, fair maiden?"
+
+"When," said she, "the breeze of May
+With white flakes our heads shall cover,
+I will be thy brideling gay--
+Thou shall be my husband-lover."
+"How," said he, in sorrow bowed,
+"Can I hope such hopeful weather?
+Breeze of May and Winter's cloud
+Do not often fly together."
+
+Quickly as the words he said,
+From the west a wind came sighing,
+And on each uncovered head
+Sent the apple-blossoms flying;
+"'Flakes of white!' thou'rt mine," said he,
+"Sooner than thy wish or knowing!"
+"Nay, I heard the breeze," quoth she,
+"When in yonder forest blowing."
+
+
+
+APPLES GROWING.
+
+Underneath an apple-tree
+Sat a dame of comely seeming,
+With her work upon her knee,
+And her great eyes idly dreaming.
+O'er the harvest-acres bright,
+Came her husband's din of reaping;
+Near to her, an infant wight
+Through the tangled grass was creeping.
+
+On the branches long and high,
+And the great green apples growing,
+Rested she her wandering eye,
+With a retrospective knowing.
+"This," she said, "the shelter is,
+Where, when gay and raven-headed,
+I consented to be his,
+And our willing hearts were wedded.
+
+"Laughing words and peals of mirth,
+Long are changed to grave endeavor;
+Sorrow's winds have swept to earth
+Many a blossomed hope forever.
+Thunder-heads have hovered o'er--
+Storms my path have chilled and shaded;
+Of the bloom my gay youth bore,
+Some has fruited--more has faded."
+
+Quickly, and amid her sighs,
+Through the grass her baby wrestled,
+Smiled on her its father's eyes,
+And unto her bosom nestled.
+And with sudden, joyous glee,
+Half the wife's and half the mother's,
+"Still the best is left," said she:
+"I have learned to live for others."
+
+
+
+
+
+ONE AND TWO.
+
+I.
+If you to me be cold,
+Or I be false to you,
+The world will go on, I think,
+Just as it used to do;
+The clouds will flirt with the moon,
+The sun will kiss the sea,
+The wind to the trees will whisper,
+And laugh at you and me;
+But the sun will not shine so bright,
+The clouds will not seem so white,
+To one, as they will to two;
+So I think you had better be kind,
+And I had best be true,
+And let the old love go on,
+Just as it used to do.
+
+II.
+If the whole of a page be read,
+If a book be finished through,
+Still the world may read on, I think,
+Just as it used to do;
+For other lovers will con
+The pages that we have passed,
+And the treacherous gold of the binding
+Will glitter unto the last.
+But lids have a lonely look,
+And one may not read the book--
+It opens only to two;
+So I think you had better be kind,
+And I had best be true,
+And let the reading go on,
+Just as it used to do.
+
+III.
+If we who have sailed together
+Flit out of each other's view,
+The world will sail on, I think,
+Just as it used to do;
+And we may reckon by stars
+That flash from different skies,
+And another of love's pirates
+May capture my lost prize;
+But ships long time together
+Can better the tempest weather
+Than any other two;
+So I think you had better be kind,
+And I had best be true,
+That we together may sail,
+Just as we used to do.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE FADING FLOWER.
+
+There is a chillness in the air--
+A coldness in the smile of day;
+And e'en the sunbeam's crimson glare
+Seems shaded with a tinge of gray.
+
+Weary of journeys to and fro,
+The sun low creeps adown the sky;
+And on the shivering earth below,
+The long, cold shadows grimly lie.
+
+But there will fall a deeper shade,
+More chilling than the Autumn's breath:
+There is a flower that yet must fade,
+And yield its sweetness up to death.
+
+She sits upon the window-seat,
+Musing in mournful silence there,
+While on her brow the sunbeams meet,
+And dally with her golden hair.
+
+She gazes on the sea of light
+That overflows the western skies,
+Till her great soul seems plumed for flight
+From out the window of her eyes.
+
+Hopes unfulfilled have vexed her breast,
+Sad smiles have checked the rising sigh;
+Until her weary heart confessed,
+Reluctantly, that she must die.
+
+And she has thought of all the ties--
+The golden ties--that bind her here;
+Of all that she has learned to prize,
+Of all that she has counted dear;
+
+The joys of body, heart, and mind,
+The pleasures that she loves so well;
+The grasp of friendship, warm and kind,
+And love's delicious, hallowed spell.
+
+And she has wept, that she must lie
+Beneath the snow-wreaths, drifted deep,
+With no fond mother standing nigh,
+To watch her in her silent sleep.
+
+And she has prayed, if it might be
+Within the reach of human skill,
+And not averse to Heaven, that she
+Might live a little longer still.
+
+But earthly hope is gone; and now
+Comes in its place a brighter beam,
+Leaving upon her snowy brow
+The impress of a heavenly dream:
+
+That she, when her frail body yields,
+And fades away to mortal eyes,
+Shall burst through Heaven's eternal fields,
+And bloom again--in Paradise.
+
+
+
+
+
+AUTUMN DAYS.
+
+Yellow, mellow, ripened days,
+Sheltered in a golden coating;
+O'er the dreamy, listless haze,
+White and dainty cloudlets floating;
+Winking at the blushing trees,
+And the sombre, furrowed fallow;
+Smiling at the airy ease
+Of the southward-flying swallow.
+Sweet and smiling are thy ways,
+Beauteous, golden, Autumn days!
+
+Shivering, quivering, tearful days,
+Fretfully and sadly weeping;
+Dreading still, with anxious gaze,
+Icy fetters round thee creeping;
+O'er the cheerless, withered plain,
+Woefully and hoarsely calling;
+Pelting hail and drenching rain
+On thy scanty vestments falling.
+Sad and mournful are thy ways,
+Grieving, wailing, Autumn days!
+
+
+
+
+
+DEATH-DOOMED.
+
+They're taking me to the gallows, mother--they mean to hang me high;
+They're going to gather round me there, and watch me till I die;
+All earthly joy has vanished now, and gone each mortal hope,--
+They'll draw a cap across my eyes, and round my neck a rope;
+The crazy mob will shout and groan--the priest will read a prayer,
+The drop will fall beneath my feet and leave me in the air.
+They think I murdered Allen Bayne; for so the Judge has said,
+And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!
+
+The grass that grows in yonder meadow, the lambs that skip and play,
+The pebbled brook behind the orchard, that laughs upon its way,
+The flowers that bloom in the dear old garden, the birds that sing
+and fly,
+Are clear and pure of human blood, and, mother, so am I!
+By father's grave on yonder hill--his name without a stain--
+I ne'er had malice in my heart, or murdered Allen Bayne!
+But twelve good men have found me guilty, for so the Judge has said,
+And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!
+
+The air is fresh and bracing, mother; the sun shines bright and high;
+It is a pleasant day to live--a gloomy one to die!
+It is a bright and glorious day the joys of earth to grasp--
+It is a sad and wretched one to strangle, choke, and gasp!
+But let them damp my lofty spirit, or cow me if they can!
+They send me like a rogue to death--I'll meet it like a man;
+For I never murdered Allen Bayne! but so the Judge has said,
+And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!
+
+Poor little sister 'Bell will weep, and kiss me as I lie;
+But kiss her twice and thrice for me, and tell her not to cry;
+Tell her to weave a bright, gay garland, and crown me as of yore,
+Then plant a lily upon my grave, and think of me no more.
+And tell that maiden whose love I sought, that I was faithful yet;
+But I must lie in a felon's grave, and she had best forget.
+My memory is stained forever; for so the Judge has said,
+And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!
+
+Lay me not down by my father's side; for once, I mind, he said
+No child that stained his spotless name should share his mortal bed.
+Old friends would look beyond his grave, to my dishonored one,
+And hide the virtues of the sire behind the recreant son.
+And I can fancy, if there my corse its fettered limbs should lay,
+His frowning skull and crumbling bones would shrink from me away;
+But I swear to God I'm innocent, and never blood have shed!
+And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!
+
+Lay me in my coffin, mother, as you've sometimes seen me rest:
+One of my arms beneath my head, the other on my breast.
+Place my Bible upon my heart--nay, mother, do not weep--
+And kiss me as in happier days you kissed me when asleep.
+And for the rest--for form or rite--but little do I reck;
+But cover up that cursed stain--_the black mark on my neck!_
+And pray to God for his great mercy on my devoted head;
+For they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!
+
+But hark! I hear a mighty murmur among the jostling crowd!
+A cry!--a shout!--a roar of voices!--it echoes long and loud!
+There dashes a horseman with foaming steed and tightly-gathered rein!
+He sits erect!--he waves his hand!--good Heaven! 'tis Allen Bayne!
+The lost is found, the dead alive, my safety is achieved!
+For he waves his hand again, and shouts, "The prisoner is reprieved!"
+Now, mother, praise the God you love, and raise your drooping head;
+For the murderous gallows, black and grim, is cheated of its dead!
+
+
+
+
+
+UP THE LINE.
+
+Through blinding storm and clouds of night,
+We swiftly pushed our restless flight;
+With thundering hoof and warning neigh,
+We urged our steed upon his way
+Up the line.
+
+Afar the lofty head-light gleamed;
+Afar the whistle shrieked and screamed;
+And glistening bright, and rising high,
+Our flakes of fire bestrewed the sky,
+Up the line.
+
+Adown the long, complaining track,
+Our wheels a message hurried back;
+And quivering through the rails ahead,
+Went news of our resistless tread,
+Up the line.
+
+The trees gave back our din and shout,
+And flung their shadow arms about;
+And shivering in their coats of gray,
+They heard us roaring far away,
+Up the line.
+
+The wailing storm came on apace,
+And dashed its tears into our fade;
+But steadily still we pierced it through,
+And cut the sweeping wind in two,
+Up the line.
+
+A rattling rush across the ridge,
+A thunder-peal beneath the bridge;
+And valley and hill and sober plain
+Re-echoed our triumphant strain,
+Up the line.
+
+And when the Eastern streaks of gray
+Bespoke the dawn of coming day,
+We halted our steed, his journey o'er,
+And urged his giant form no more,
+Up the line.
+
+
+
+
+
+HOW WE KEPT THE DAY.
+
+I.
+The great procession came up the street,
+With clatter of hoofs and tramp of feet;
+There was General Jones to guide the van,
+And Corporal Jinks, his right-hand man;
+And each was riding his high horse,
+And each had epaulettes, of course;
+And each had a sash of the bloodiest red,
+And each had a shako on his head;
+And each had a sword by his left side,
+And each had his mustache newly dyed;
+And that was the way
+We kept the day,
+The great, the grand, the glorious day,
+That gave us--
+_Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_
+(With a battle or two, the histories say,)
+Our National Independence!
+
+II.
+The great procession came up the street,
+With loud da capo, and brazen repeat;
+There was Hans, the leader, a Teuton born,
+A sharp who worried the E flat horn;
+And Baritone Jake, and Alto Mike,
+Who never played any thing twice alike;
+And Tenor Tom, of conservative mind,
+Who always came out a note behind;
+And Dick, whose tuba was seldom dumb,
+And Bob, who punished the big bass drum.
+And when they stopped a minute to rest,
+The martial band discoursed its best;
+The ponderous drum and the pointed fife
+Proceeded to roll and shriek for life;
+And Bonaparte Crossed the Rhine, anon,
+And The Girl I Left Behind Me came on;
+And that was the way
+The bands did play
+On the loud, high-toned, harmonious day,
+That gave us--
+_Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_
+(With some music of bullets, our sires would say,)
+Our glorious Independence!
+
+III.
+The great procession came up the street,
+With a wagon of virgins, sour and sweet;
+Each bearing the bloom of recent date,
+Each misrepresenting a single State.
+There was California, pious and prim,
+And Louisiana, humming a hymn;
+The Texas lass was the smallest one--
+Rhode Island weighed the tenth of a ton;
+The Empire State was pure as a pearl,
+And Massachusetts a modest girl;
+Vermont was red as the blush of a rose--
+And the goddess sported a turn-up nose;
+And looked, free sylph, where she painfully sat,
+The worlds she would give to be out of that.
+And in this way
+The maidens gay
+Flashed up the street on the beautiful day,
+That gave us--
+_Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_
+(With some sacrifices, our mothers would say,)
+Our glorious Independence!
+
+IV.
+The great procession came up the street,
+With firemen uniformed flashily neat;
+There was Tubbs, the foreman, with voice like five,
+The happiest, proudest man alive;
+With a trumpet half as long as a gun,
+Which he used for the glory of "Number 1;"
+There was Nubbs, who had climbed a ladder high,
+And saved a dog that was left to die;
+There was Cubbs, who had dressed in black and blue
+The eye of the foreman of Number 2.
+And each marched on with steady stride,
+And each had a look of fiery pride;
+And each glanced slyly round, with a whim
+That all of the girls were looking at him;
+And that was the way,
+With grand display,
+They marched through the blaze of the glowing day,
+That gave us--
+_Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_
+(With some hot fighting, our fathers would say,)
+Our glorious Independence!
+
+V.
+The eager orator took the stand,
+In the cause of our great and happy land;
+He aired his own political views,
+He told us all of the latest news:
+How the Boston folks one night took tea--
+Their grounds for steeping it in the sea;
+What a heap of Britons our fathers did kill,
+At the little skirmish of Bunker Hill;
+He put us all in anxious doubt
+As to how that matter was coming out;
+And when at last he had fought us through
+To the bloodless year of '82,
+'Twas the fervent hope of every one
+That he, as well as the war, was done.
+But he continued to painfully soar
+For something less than a century more;
+Until at last he had fairly begun
+The wars of eighteen-sixty-one;
+And never rested till 'neath the tree
+That shadowed the glory of Robert Lee.
+And then he inquired, with martial frown,
+"Americans, must we go down?"
+And as an answer from Heaven were sent,
+The stand gave way, and down he went.
+A singer or two beneath him did drop--
+A big fat alderman fell atop;
+And that was the way
+Our orator lay,
+Till we fished him out, on the eloquent day,
+That gave us--
+_Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_
+(With a clash of arms, Pat. Henry would say,)
+Our wordy Independence!
+
+VI.
+The marshal his hungry compatriots led,
+Where Freedom's viands were thickly spread,
+With all that man or woman could eat,
+From crisp to sticky--from sour to sweet.
+There were chickens that scarce had learned to crow,
+And veteran roosters of long ago;
+There was one old turkey, huge and fierce,
+That was hatched in the days of President Pierce;
+Of which, at last, with an ominous groan,
+The parson essayed to swallow a bone;
+And it took three sinners, plucky and stout,
+To grapple the evil and bring it out.
+And still the dinner went merrily on,
+And James and Lucy and Hannah and John
+Kept winking their eyes and smacking their lips,
+And passing the eatables into eclipse.
+And that was the way
+The grand array
+Of victuals vanished on that day,
+That gave us--
+_Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_
+(With some starvation, the records say,)
+Our well-fed Independence!
+
+VII.
+The people went home through the sultry night,
+In a murky mood and a pitiful plight;
+Not more had the rockets' sticks gone down,
+Than the spirits of them who had "been to town;"
+Not more did the fire-balloon collapse,
+Than the pride of them who had known mishaps.
+There were feathers ruffled, and tempers roiled,
+And several brand-new dresses spoiled;
+There were hearts that ached from envy's thorns,
+And feet that twinged with trampled corns;
+There were joys proved empty, through and through,
+And several purses empty, too;
+And some reeled homeward, muddled and late,
+Who hadn't taken their glory straight;
+And some were fated to lodge, that night,
+In the city lock-up, snug and tight;
+And that was the way
+The deuce was to pay,
+As it always is, at the close of the day,
+That gave us--
+_Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!_
+(With some restrictions, the fault-finders say,)
+That which, please God, we will keep for aye--
+Our National Independence!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Farm Ballads, by Will Carleton
+
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