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diff --git a/old/farmb10.txt b/old/farmb10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8338e3e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/farmb10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2639 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Farm Ballads, by Will Carleton + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****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 + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FARM BALLADS *** + +This file should be named farmb10.txt or farmb10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, farmb11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, farmb10a.txt + +Produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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