vx/ ( A>
~
Y- A.
r^
AND THISTLEDOWN.
BY
5. Q. LAPIUS.
COLUMBUS, o. :
HANN & ADAIR, PRINTERS AND I;IM>I:K-S,
1896.
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1896, by
J. B. NAYLOR,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
PS
X V ~ <-
This is book number....!.. j of an author's
edition of two hundred copies only.
\ vxx^\5 yp OsJ^X B r
o ^
INDEX.
PAGE.
After the Battle 17
Along the Dust White River Road 33
A Memory 146
An Autumn Idyl 107
An OP Time Voleutiiie 125
A t the Country Store 1 50
Autumn 128
A Wild, Wet Night 80
Blossom and Fruit Id!)
Blue Eyes are Peeping at Me . . 56
Campin' Out 181
Chris'mas Down at Gran'pa's 1 10
Cradle and Coffin 78
Cupid is Abroad To-Night 92
Dan Tucker 71
Dedicatory 6
Doodle-up, Doodle-down 101
Down at Hughes's OP Shop 1 1;4
Easter on tue Farm 168
Far Out on the Azure Sea 41
Frolic in the Firelight 2">
Goldenrod and Thistledown 7
< ; run 'daddy Longlegs 54
( iran'pa's Chris'mas in the City 176
Gray Dawn 31
Here's a Glass to Old Time 22
He wa- My Friend 1 ^
How Santa Clans Comes 62
Jack Frost, the Artist 58
Like 'er Ma 143
Lock-Tender John . s4
Love Astray 20
Mine Little Comrade 51
Miss Dandeli'n . (t
Money Musk 131
My Pa He's 'ist a Dockerrnan 153
Newton Ridge 47
No Chris'mas Like Ther' Ust to Be 121
Pop-Paw Time 1 1 J>
Shut-Eye Town 18
Sight-ou-Seeu 115
Sleep 67
Sometime Somewhere 4-">
Summer Night 105
'Tis a Rare Old World 49
The Big Barn Mow 134
The Buckwheat Bloom 103
The Bumble Bee 158
The Castle of Dreams 82
The Chipmunk 1 ">
The Country Doctor !)5
The Final Test US
The Honest Old Chestnut Tree 13
The Little White School-House 160
The Mitten loo
The Night Wind 1!)
The Old Brass Band l;!7
The OP Fence Row 185
The I'ixy Bund ill)
The Summer Shower 7(i
The Thunder Storm 7>
That Jolly OP Chap in the Moon 140
Three Little Soldiers 11
Those Summer Days of Long Ago us
Turn Back the Clock of Time .'17
We're a Comiu' to V'r Show 17::
When the Year ( trows Old ^7
Who Wins His Way at Home 4-">
Winter Night Lullaby :!!
Winter in the I/i|> o' Spring K'>2
DEDICATORY.
To mine own little "pixy band"-
Of whom and for whom many of
These jingles were written this
Book is lovingly dedicated."
Goldenrod and Thistledown.
O, little book ! And everywhere
Thou goest banish darksome care-
God's gladsome sunshine furnish free
To every heart that asketh thee ;
Until each face of youth or age
That bendeth o'er thy printed page
Doth welcome thee with smile and nod
Far brighter than the goldenrod !
Go, little book and fare-thee-well !
What fate awaitheth, none may tell.
But where thou bidest be thy part
To lift and gladden some sad heart;
To tinge and brighten some dark place,
And chase away from some wan face
The soul-sick look, the work-worn frown
More lightly than the thistledown !
S. Q. L.
MALTA, OHIO, July 2o, 1896.
GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDOWN.
Miss Dandeli'n.
T ITTLE Miss Dandeli'n, roguish and fair,
Shakes her gold curls in the soft summer air;
Lifts her wee face to the bold, smiling sun
Waiting for kisses. Ah, isn't it fun !
Has for proprieties never a care
Little Miss Dandeli'n, roguish and fair!
Pretty Miss Dandeli'n, sweet and demure,
Thoughts of a lover can scarcely endure ;
Hides her fresh face from the sun's ardent gaze,
Ponders and dreams through the long summer days.
Older and wiser she's grown, to be sure-
Pretty Miss Dandeli'n, sweet and demure !
Stately Miss Dandeli'n, prim and precise,
Swaying her willowy form to entice
One chilly smile from her recreant love,
Swinging his way through the blue arc above.
Tresses of silver and features of ice-
Stately Miss Dandeli'n, prim and precise.
10 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDO WN.
Faded Miss Dandeli'n, grim and austere,
Watches and waits for her love to appear ;
Learning the lesson so bitter to learn
Love once rejected may never return.
Over her memory drop we a tear
Faded Miss Dandeli'n, grim and austere !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 11
Three Little Soldiers.
T^HREE little soldiers paper caps,
Corn-stalk guns and shoulder straps
Harked to the spring bird's early call ;
Shouldered arms, and one and all
Dropped into line and marched one day,
Over the hills and far away.
Three little soldiers, tired and sore,
Back from the bloodless, mimic war,
Clustered around their mother's knee
Told their tales in childish glee ;
Tales of a mock-heroic fray
Over the hills and far away.
^ '','- % :; ; * ^ % %
Three bonny youths their mother's pride
With tear-dimmed eyes and hurried stride,
Left at their bleeding country's call
Home and kindred all in all;
Went in the morning cold and gray,
Over the hills and far a\vav.
1- GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Under their blood-stained uniform
Three young hearts, once brave and warm,
Stirred by the bugle's piercing peal,
Throb no more with loyal zeal.
Three sturdy forms are lifeless clay
Over the hills and far away !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 13
The Honest Old Chestnut Tree.
OUCH an honest old tree !
And he smiled as he stood
Like a giant of eld,
In the edge of the wood ;
For the summer was ended,
The autumn grown old,
And his pockets were bulging
With treasures of gold.
But that imp of the universe,
Cunning Jack Frost
Caring much for a frolic
And naught for the cost
Won the Old Chestnut's heart
By his flattering wiles,
Till he showered down the gold
In great glittering piles.
14 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Not content with all this
Jack must do even worse,
So he loosened the strings
Of the poor fellow's purse ;
Then he called in the wind
'Twas a little too bad
And together they took
Every coin that he had.
Yes, they left the Old Chestnut
To hunger and cold,
And remorselessly squandered
His treasures of gold ;
And they chuckled and whistled
In infinite glee,
At the joke they had played
On the honest old tree.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 15
The Chipmunk.
A JOLLY well-fed monk is he
With fat-jowled face and unshorn crown.
A world of knavish thievery
Is hid beneath that striped gown.
He comes not with extended palms
A begging friar trusting luck ;
He has no need of people's alms,
This thievish woodman Friar Tuck.
He's quite devout; he tells his beads
With worthy zeal, at night and morn
What matter that they're golden seeds
From some poor farmer's field of corn !
He claims to live a celibate-
Yet I believe, without a doubt,
That I have seen his black-eyed mate
Peep from the door, when he was out!
16 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Within his narrow, leaf-lined cells,
Securely hidden 'neath the ground,
This feasting, plethoric rascal dwells ;
His ill-got booty piled around.
And yet, in spite of all his guile,
He's seldom greeted with a frown ;
More often he receives a smile
The monk that wears a striped gown.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 17
After the Battle.
A RIDERLESS horse in the leafy lane,
Covered with foam, and the broken rein
Trailing beneath his feet ;
A pale, ghastly face in the wan moonlight,
Washed by the dews of the silent night,
Free from the dust and heat.
A blood-stained coat and a broken blade
Gripped by a powder-grimed hand, that laid
Many a foeman low ;
A hoof-beaten field and a crimson sod
Mark where the demon of death has trod,
Smiting both friend and foe.
LE ENVOI.
A maiden leans far o'er her window-sill,
Waiting and watching and longing still
Fearing the news to learn.
The sounds of retreat swell the midnight air;
She brushes a tear, as she utters a prayer.
For him who will ne'er return !
18 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Shut-Eye Town.
WHEN the bees came in from their work to
rest,
And the shadows crept o'er the dark'ning west ;
When the swallows slept 'neath the sloping eaves,
And the night dew moistened the drooping leaves ;
When the stars peeped out and the sun went down,
Then the baby started for Shut-Eye Town.
When the bees returned to the honeyed feast,
And the shadows swept from the bright'ning east ;
When the swallows chirped in the apple trees,
And the moist leaves stirred in the morning breeze ;
When the sun peeped up and the stars went down,
Then the baby parted from Shut-Eye Town.
LE ENVOI.
But she smiled at the close of one summer day
Then she softly, silently slipped away ;
And that city old must be wondrous fair,
For the darling child is still ling'ring there ;
So our eyes are wet and our hearts bowed down
That our precious baby's at Shut-Eye Town.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN li>
The /Night Wind.
LAUGHING and crying, the Night Wind came
Over the hills from the boundless West
Sounding the trump of immortal fame,
Bearing a message of sin and shame,
Or a sigh from a childless mother's breast ;
Laughing that life is a summer day,
Crying that men grow old and gray !
Rejoicing and sobbing, the Night Wind sped
Over the hills to the distant East-
Sobbing with those who were watching the dead,
W r ith the fatherless one that was crying for bread,
And rejoicing with those at the marriage feast;
Sobbing that life is a brittle span,
Rejoicing that 'tis not the all of man.
Coming and going, the Night Wind said :
41 I laugh with the living, careless and gay ;
I sigh for the dying and weep o'er the dead,
And rejoice with those that are newly wed,
And sorrow with those that watch and pray
For the current of life gleams bright in the sun,
Then swift through the dismal shades must run !"
20 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Love Astray.
O
! he went astray
At the peep 'o day,
With his lute strings all a-tinkle,
With his head upright
And his face alight,
And his merry eyes a-twinkle.
Where the daisies nod
O'er the roadside sod,
And the chipmunk finds a cover,
Where the dust is gray
Down the broad highway,
Are the tracks of my truant lover.
Then his course he took
O'er the pebbly brook
And across the fields of clover,
Where the wild bees boom
In the fragrant bloom
And the sunshine dances over ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 21
And his nimble feet
Trod the golden wheat
Where the shy quails pipe and hover,
And the pathway brown
Toward the distant town
Bears the tracks of my truant lover.
Ah ! the hours slip by
And I seek him high
And low 'tis a sad endeavor !
For his voice is mute
And his tinkling lute
Seems lost and gone forever.
And my heart strings ache
And my heart strings break
As I onward toil to find him ;
But the quest is vain,
For the prize I gain-
Is the tracks he leaves behind him !
22 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Here's a Glass to Old Time.
T T ERE'S a glass to old Time ! Not the one that
he bears
To measure humanity's sorrows and cares,
But a glass of cut crystal, whose sparkles combine
With the crimson and gold of its honey and wine.
Let us drink, as our lips to the goblet we press,
To the hope that his shadow may never grow less ;
And extolling his virtues in metrical rhyme
Drain a bumper a beaker to old Father Time.
In the morning of life when we tickle our toes
With the sedges that grow where the meadow
brook flows,
When our hearts are as light as the zephyr that
trips
To the hum of the bee, where the honey-dew drips ;
Then old Time is our comrade our leader, I ween,
And we faithfully follow through shadow and sheen,
With our faces aglow and our bare feet agrime
Here's a beaker a bumper to old Father Time.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 23
In the sultry noontide, when the road trails away
O'er the hilltops afar, like a ribbon of gray ;
When our hearts are aflame and our temples abeat
And we're bearded and bronzed in the midsummer
heat;
Then old Time is our helper abroad in the fields
He garners the gold that the harvest land yields.
Side by side to the summit of manhood we climb
Let us quaff to the friendship of old Father Time !
In the sweet, dewy eve, when we're kissed by the
breath
Of the mists that arise from the river of death,
Hand in hand with old Time we stray down to the
boat
And he aids us in setting our frail craft afloat ;
With a sweep of his scythe he divides the last strand
Of the rope then he waves a farewell with his
hand.
'Tis the act of a friend, free from malice or crime
Here's a tear to the memory of old Father Time !
24 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN
Then a glass to old Time ! Not the one that
empow'rs
Him to measure our lives by the length of the
hours ;
But a goblet of crystal, whose sparkles combine
With the crimson and gold of its honey and wine.
Let us drink to his health, to his boundless success,
To the hope that his shadow may never grow less ;
And recounting his favors in metrical rhyme
Drain a bumper a beaker to old Father Time !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 25
Frolic in the Firelight.
OH ! the firelight plays on the cabin wall
As the beech wood snaps and crackles ;
And the eight-day clock standing stiff and tall,
Seems to nod and smile to the merry call,
Till the hoarse wind mutters, u Balance all!"
Then the dancers slip their shackles.
They are boots and shoes in a zigzag row,
Now freed from the feet that wore them ;
And they all leap forth in the firelight's glow,
And they madly caper heel-and-toe,
And the music sounds and the sweet strains flow
From the crackling blaze before them.
There are Tom's old shoes, with their knotted
string,
And they join in a noisy scuffle ;
There are grandpa's pumps, and they quickly swing
Into line and skip to the Highland Fling,
Or they nimbly cut the Pigeon Wing
And indulge in a double-shuffle.
26 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Yes, and grandma's sandals swiftly wheel
At the touch of the inspiration ;
And they trip with a clicking toe and heel
To the time of the Old Virginia Reel,
Till they wildly whirl as they seem to feel
A breath from the old plantation.
Then the tiny shoes that the baby wore
Tread light to the happy measure ;
And the father's boots they are tens or more
Crash down on the sanded cabin floor,
While the old house shakes and the rafters roar
With the boisterous sounds of pleasure.
But the best of all, in the golden dusk,
Are the mother's slippers dancing;
L,ike the thistledown or the rustling husk,
As the night wind whistles loud and brusque
To the ancient tune of Money Musk,
And the firelight gleams are glancing.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 27
So they dance till the fire burns dim and low
And the hearth grows cold before them ;
Till the fading fire-beams come and go
And the black shades stagger to and fro,
Then they all slip back in their zigzag row,
To be found by the feet that wore them.
28 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Final Test.
WHEN all is said and all is done,
When all is lost or all is won
In spite of musty theory,
Of purblind faith and vain conceit,
Of barren creed and sophistry ;
In spite of all success, defeat
The judge applies to worst and best,
Impartially, this final test :
What hast thou done with brawn and brain
To help the world to lose or gain
An onward step? Canst reckon one
Unselfish, brave or noble deed)
That thou nor counting cost hast done
To help a brother's crying need ?
Not what professed nor what believed
But what good thing hast thou achieved !
Yea ! what attempted what achieved ?
Be not dismayed, be not deceived !
The tinsel bauble called success
The dross of wealth, the gloss of fame
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 29
That men throw up their hands to bless,
Is but an empty breath a name.
Far better is one word that slips
In blessing from a beggar's lips !
I hold to this : The loftiest soul
Of one great universal whole,
Is but a weak and meager part ;
The lowliest, by impulse fired
To worthy act of brain or heart,
Is heaven blessed and God-inspired
A bit of his most wonderous plan ;
And each a clod, and each a man !
The chosen few ! Prate not to me
Of consecrated sanctity ;
Nor stifle me, nor hedge me round
With puzzles algebraical,
To prove that this is holy ground
'Tis simply pharisaical!
God's heart of love is deep and wide,
And each soul has a place inside.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
When all is said and all is done
The battle lost, the battle won
In spite of ancient theory,
Of purblind faith and fruitless quest,
Of threadbare creed and sophistry ;
In spite of all this is the test :
What hast thou done with brawn or brain
To help the world a step to gain !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 31
Gray Dawn.
'"PHE dense white fog in drowsy folds
Bedecks the sleeping river's bed ;
About the hills it hangs and holds
In ragged patches overhead,
It slowly, idly, drifts away.
The sullen mill-dam booms and roars,
And drenched with clouds of flying spray
The wet, black rocks along the shores
Frown darkly at the coining day.
Gray dawn peeps in and sweetly smiles;
A light breeze sweeping down the stream,
Lifts high the fog in snowy piles ;
The sun's first burning lances gleam
Along the pebbled river banks,
And misty hosts in mad retreat,
Withdraw their broken, scattered ranks;
The bold sun marks their sad defeat
And dissipates their struggling flanks.
32 GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLDDOWN.
Gray dawn gives place to ruddy day,
The great sun swings thro' azure skies ;
And skimming, where the ripples play,
The screaming fish-hawks fall and rise.
The glassy water, cool and clear,
Reflects one solitary cloud ;
And morning song-birds, far and near,
Repeat their matins shrill and loud :
" The night is done and day is here."
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 33
Along the Dust-White *River
"Road.
A LONG the dust-white river road
The morning sun beams cringe and
crawl.
And in and out among the trees,
Stirred gently by the lazy breeze,
The tipsy shadows slip and sprawl ;
They stagger o'er the prickly wall
Of verdant hedge, and through the wheat,
With tossing arms and flying feet,
They nimbly dodge and madly run,
Spurred onward by the rising sun.
A squirrel startled by the sound
Of wheels upon the sun-parched ground,
Forsakes the breakfast he has found
And seeks his sheltering abode
Across the dust-white river road.
34 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Along the dust-white river road
The saucy red-bird chirps and trills ;
His liquid notes resound and rise
Until they meet the cloudless skies
And echo o'er the distant hills.
He steals, this rogue of crimson hue,
The poplar's cup of honey-dew,
And drains with many a gurgling note,
Tne contents down his pulsing throat.
The burning sun climbs high and higher,
The noontide hour draws nigh and nigher,
The bird forgets his cheery code
And hides his drooping wings of fire
Among the leaves along the road.
Along the dust-white river road
The fiery mid-day glare pours down ;
The drowsy waters shimmer o'er
The shining sands along the shore,
And out across the meadows brown
A stillness like the hush of death
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 35
Is mingled with the sultry breath
Of timothy and clover blooms.
One solitary work-bee booms
Across the shorn and barren fields,
Swift bent upon his homeward way ;
But overcome by heat he yields
And seeks a shelt'ring wisp of hay.
A yoke of oxen pant and sway
Beneath the driver's heavy goad ;
The laden wagon grinds and groans
And rattles o'er the heated stones
Along the dust-white river road.
Along the dust- white river road !
The weary sun plods down the west ;
The silent shadows trooping back
Upon their morning-traveled track,
Among the waters sink to rest.
The speeding sun beams leave the hills,
And fling their gorgeous banners high
Against the mottled, western sky ;
36 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
And coming night the valley fills
With dewy odors, strange and sweet,
Of fresh-mowed hay and rip'ning wheat ;
And like a benediction rare
Borne gently on the evening air
Adown the highway comes the sound
Of merry voices, homeward bound.
Like giant specters, grimly loom
The patient oxen and their load,
And disappear within the gloom
Along the dust-white river road.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 37
Turn Back the Clock of Time.
TURN back the clock of time ; let the hands
mark morning,
Still the weary pendulum and bind and leave it so ;
Write upon the dial then, to give the people
warning.
" We have drifted backward to the days of long
ago."
Roll back the wheels of time ; let each rosy second
Lengthen into minutes as it dallies to and fro ;
Let the bright hours linger and the sunny days
be reckoned
Only by the bird-notes of the dreamy long ago.
Turn back the clock of time ; let the clear brook's
ripple
Whisper of the long ago, amid the sun and gloom ;
Let the brown bees hear the welcome message as
they tipple
At the golden nectar of the fragrant clover bloom.
38 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Roll back the wheels of time hesitate no longer;
Youthful days were better far than present days,
I know.
Let the dim eyes brighten and the feeble limbs
grow stronger,
Basking in the sunshine of the balmy long ago.
Turn back the clock of time ; let the hands mark
morning,
Still the weary pendulum and bind and leave
it so ;
Write upon the dial then, to give the people
warning.
" We have drifted backward to the days of long
ago.''
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 39
Winter /Night Lullaby.
OH, the winds sweep high and the winds sweep
low-
Rock-a-by, baby, by !
And they whimper and howl as they come and go,
With their teeth of ice and their tongues of snow
Rock-a-by, baby, by !
While the clouds scud fast, and the paly moon
Chuckles and winks, and the firelight roon
Flickers and flits to the wild winds' croon
Rock-a-by, baby, rock-a-by !
Rock-a-by, baby, by !
Oh, the winds sweep low and the winds sweep
high
Hush-a-by, darling, hush !
For there's never a star in the midnight sky,
And the gaunt trees moan as the winds go by
Hush-a-by, darling, hush !
40 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
But the fire glows red and the hearth grows warm,
And you're cuddled and pressed to your mother's
form,
And sheltered and safe from the howling storm
Hush-a-by, darling, hush-a-by !
Hush-a-by, darling, hush !
Oh, the winds sweep slow and the winds sweep
fast!
Sleep-a-by, dearie, sleep !
For the snowflakes ride on the wintry blast,
And they dally and dance as the winds go past
Sleep-a-by, dearie, sleep !
Let the winds sweep high, let the winds sweep low.
Let the winds sweep fast, let the winds sweep slow,
There is never a hurt for my dearie oh !
Sleep-a-by, dearie, sleep-a-by ;
Sleep-a-by, dearie, sleep !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 41
Far Out on the Azure Sea,
CAR out on the beautiful azure sea
That mortals call the sky,
Where the feathery vapors drift to lee
As the soft winds idle by ;
Where the lightsome ripples play and run
From the dawn of day to the set of sun,
There the fairy islands of cloudland be
Far out on the azure sea.
Far out on the darkening azure sea
In the starbeam's paly light,
Where the skeleton shadows flit and flee
Through the warm midsummer night ;
Where the bright waves dance in their silver shoon
'Round the crescent shallop we call the moon,
There the crystal castles of cloudland be
Far out on the azure sea.
42 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Far out on the turbulent, azure sea
Where the grim gods wage their war,
Where the maniac winds sport wild and free
And the storm-guns flash and roar;
There the crescent shallop finds a grave,
O'erwhelmed in the vaporous, foam-capped wave,
And the ruined ramparts of cloudland be
Far out on the azure sea.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 43
Sometime So mewh ere.
OOMETIME somewhere be it soon or late,
At the daylight's close or its dawning,
We shall wrestle awhile with the guards of fate
And at last steal out through the western gate
Where the desert of death is yawning ;
And alone in the noonday glaring white,
Or abroad with the shades of the black midnight,
We shall traverse the sands till a city fair
Shall arise in the distance sometime somewhere!
Sometime somewhere be it late or soon,
At the daylight's dawn or its closing ;
In the langorous hush of the sultry noon
In the wan midnight with its tawny moon
We shall gaze on that scene imposing ;
And the gates of the city shall open wide,
And kissed by the breath of the flowers inside
Shall our hearts be healed of their cankered care,
And we shall be happy sometime somewhere !
44 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Sometime somewhere oh, glorious thought !
With the desert of death behind us,
We shall rest in the land that our hearts have sought,
And shall feast on the sweets that His love has
bought
And where never a want can find us.
With the intricate puzzles of life made straight,
And our burdens piled high at the outer gate,
We shall bask in the sunshine of love ; and there
Shall be happy forever sometime somewhere !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 45
Who Wins His Way at Home.
honor to the man who goes
In quest of unknown lands ;
Who braves the waste of arctic snows
The reach of tropic sands ;
Who leaves a wake across the lakes
Or o'er the salt-sea foam,
Bnt honor more to him who makes
Discoveries at home.
Due credit to the man who wars
Beneath death's sable wing,
Who plants his flag on foreign shores,
And conquers court and king ;
Who takes his bright, keen sword and writes
His name on heaven's dome
But credit more to him who fights
His battles hire at home.
46 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The man who conquers homely hate
L/ives opposition down,
Is fit to rank among the great
Is worthy of a crown.
Upon the gilded page of fame,
Within truth's massy tome,
By rightful claim should be his name
Who wins his way at home.
All honor hath the prophet, save
Within his native land
E'en fools are great who find a grave
Upon a foreign strand.
The native sage but lives and dies
To feed earth's fertile loam ;
His credit lies beyond the skies
He gets none here at home.
'Tis better to be best in Gaul
Than second best at Rome ;
'Tis well to be the best at ail-
But better, best at home.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
/Newton "Ridge.
TIP the long Newton Ridge where the highroad
^^ of gray
Lies asleep in the blaze of the hot summer day,
Where the byroads and hedges are drowsily sweet
With the smell that exhales from the clover and
wheat ;
There the fields are as green and the flow'rs are as
fair,
And the lights on the scene are as rich and as rare
As they were in the days of my youth, when I
played
At the turn of the road, in the apple tree's shade.
Up the long Newton Ridge ! Why, it seems but
a night
Since I gazed up the road, as it trailed out of sight,
And I thought that the dust-cloud, the summer
breeze whirled
O'er the treetops afar, marked the end of the world ;
48 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
And the village whose chimneys were issuing forth
'Their black volumes of smoke, a few miles to the
north,
Was a city of wealth whose inhabitants rolled
O'er their pavements of pearl, in their coaches of
gold.
Up the long Newton Ridge I am dreaming to-day
Of its by-roads of green and its high-roads of gray ;
And my soul's peeping back through a chink in
the wall
Of the years that divide, as I strive to recall
All the dear sunny faces that smiled as they
played
At the turn of the road, in the apple tree's shade;
And the song in my heart is a plank in the bridge
Over which I stray back to that long Newton
Ridge.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 49
Tis a Rare Old World
T
'IS a rare old world,
'Tis a fair old world
That unfolds to our mortal view ;
With the mountains green
And the seas between,
And the clouds in the arching blue ;
With the fragrant flow'rs
And the dewy bow'rs
A most beautiful place, I ween.
'Tis a neat old world
And a sweet old world
And the best we have ever seen.
'Tis a bright old world,
'Tis a light old world.
Yet the puniest child at birth,
As it opes its eye,
With a mewling cry,
Seems to challenge the big round earth ;
50 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
And it shuts its fists
In the crowded lists
Of inherited lust and sin
'Tis a bland old world
And a grand old world,
Yet we weep as we struggle in.
'Tis a mad old world,
'Tis a sad old world
To the thousands of toiling men ;
But the ceaseless strife
For the bread of life
Brings a speedy relief and then !
When our forms are prest
To the brown earth's breast,
Will the riddle be solved, no doubt.
'Tis a drear old world,
And a dear old world
Yet we smile as we hurry out !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 51
Mine Little Comrade.
I ITTLE comrade comrade mine
Cheeks of roses, lips of wine,
Dimpled arms that oft entwine
'Round my neck, and eyes divine;
I am thirty, grave and gray,
Thou but five yet lackaday !
Rulest me in artless way
Sweeter than the sweets of May.
Little comrade, for thy sake
Ah ! the journeys that we take
Over mountain, sea and lake ;
Strange discoveries we make.
Arm in arm, by hook or crook,
Spying out each hidden nook,
Here a peep and there a look
All within a story book !
52 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Little comrade, climb my knee ;
Thou shalt journey hence with me,
To the distant lands that be
Far beyond the dark-blue sea.
Nestle closer as we sail
Let thy dear voice be the gale
Piping out a cheery hail
Unto every passing tale.
Little comrade comrade mine-
Flaxen tresses, silken fine,
Azure eyes that glint and shine
Like the corn flow'rs of the Rhine ;
List thou, darling bend thy look,
Here's a shepherd, plaid and crook,
With his sheep beside a brook
All within a story book !
Little comrade, let thy feet
Press yon ancient city's street
Bruising odors, rare and sweet,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 53
From Italia's marguerite ;
Northward turn a cunning glance-
Keen as Scotia's thistle lance-
Lead me then a nimble dance,
Up across the fields of France.
Little comrade comrade mine
Cheeks of roses, lips of wine,
Azure eyes that glint and shine
Like the corn flow'rs of the Rhine ;
We have waded every brook,
Peered in every hidden nook,
Ah ! the journey that we took
All within a story book !
54 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Gran'daddy Longlegs.
HTHROUGH the dreamlike mist that floats
Up the path of childhood,
Like a night bird's plaintive notes
Piping from the wildwood,
Comes the singsong threnody
Of a farm-boy roaming
Far adown the dewy lee,
In the dusky gloaming:
" Gran'daddy Longlegs
With y'r strip-ed trousiz
Take y'r longes' p'inter an'
Tell me where my cows is !"
O'er the clover rank and sweet
Floats the cowbell's tinkle,
Out beyond the rip'ning wheat
Fireflies are a-twinkle ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 55
In and out among the hedge
Nimble hares are leaping,
And along the forest's edge
Dark and dank, is creeping
u Gran'daddy Longlegs,
Tell me where my cows is,
'R I'll pull y'r p'inter off
An spile y'r strip-ed trousiz !"
Years of peace have come and gone
Crash and blare of battle,
Yet the farm-boy still plods on
Hunting for the cattle ;
And his singsong threnody
Sets my pulses beating,
Till my lips move lispingly
All my soul repeating :
" Gran'daddy Longlegs
With y'r strip-ed trousiz
Take y'r longes' p'inter an'
Tell me where my cows is !"
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Blue Eyes are Peeping at Me.
A A 7HEN the birds sing their songs in the gray
morning light,
And the blushing east heralds the sun ;
When my spirit awakes from the slumbers of
night
And rejoices that day is begun ;
Then I hear a sweet voice 'tis a dear little girl's
Shouting in innocent glee
And a pair of blue eyes, from under brown curls,
Are roguishly peeping at me.
I'm at work in my office ~^ hear a low sound,
And the door on its hinges swings wide ;
I cease from my labor, and turning around
Find a wee bonny form at my side.
A sweet childish face is uplifted to mine,
A small hand caresses my knee ;
And from under brown tresses, silken and fine,
Two blue eyes are peeping at me.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 57
'Tis night, and ensconsed in my big easy chair
I'm perusing a late magazine
A small, graceful form has ascended the stair,
And will quickly appear on the scene ;
Then a speedy farewell to both paper and book,
Au revoir to all sweet reverie
For, sparkling with fun, from yon shadowy nook
Blue eyes will be peeping at me.
So I fondly imagine whatever I do,
Or wherever I chance to be,
That those little eyes so enchantingly blue
Are continually peeping at me ;
And I earnestly hope, when my sails are unfurled
To embark on eternity's sea
When I take a last look at this beautiful world,
Those blue eyes'll be peeping at me !
58 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Jack Frost, the Artist.
TACK FROST, the little artistic elf,
Took palette and brush from off the shelf,
And softly whispered : " A beautiful scene
I'm going to fashion in silver sheen."
So stretching his nimble legs he sped
Away to the sleeping river's bed ;
His magic brush swept once or twice,
And the river was covered with crystal ice.
The rocky hill, from base to dome,
He painted in silver monochrome ;
And high on the summit where hemlocks grow
He whitened its surface with powdered snow.
The brook that leaped from the moss-grown ledge
He changed to a curtain, whose jeweled edge
Swept over the ferns on the rock beneath,
And held them locked in an icy sheath.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 59
Then over the meadows he swiftly flew,
And silvered the grasses with frozen dew ;
And all night long the merry elf
Kept softly singing to himself:
" This picture I'm painting will last, I 'know,
For the paints that I'm using are ice and snow ;
And the North Wind brought this brush to me,
From his home in the frozen polar sea."
The fairy picture faded away
In the ardent rays of the sun, next day ;
But little Jack Frost persistent sprite-
Will paint it again some other night.
Down from the north, in the midnight's hush,
He'll silently come with palette and brush,
And then by the light of the morn you'll see
A picture of silver filigree.
60 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Pixy Band.
WHEN I forsake the busy street
And trail my foot-prints home at night,
A band of naughty pixies meet
Me on the steps, with keen delight ;
They nimbly steal my hat, and take
Away my overcoat and cane,
My wet umbrella seize, and shake
Adown my back the drops of rain !
In vain I plead : " Ah ! leave me go,
And bar the way no longer, please ;
Why will ye clog my footsteps so
Why will ye hang about my knees?"
They bend me down and mount my back,
And heedless quite of bump or fall
They make the floor a racing track,
And speed me through the entrance hall.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 61
We reach the parlor ; there they place
For me my easy-cushioned chair,
And pull my beard and pinch my face
And comb awry my scanty hair.
They call me " papa '' man alive !
Sure, fortune smites with heavy hand,
When I, a youth of thirty-five,
Am father to a pixy band !
L'ENVOI.
Beside a row of drowsy heads,
With moistened eyes each night I stand ;
And bend and kiss them in their beds
God bless my little pixy band !
62 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
How Santa Claus Comes.
"WOU have asked me for a rhyme
' Telling unto you the time
And the mystic, mazy manner
In which Santa Claus can climb
Up the chimneys and the flues,
Free from blister, burn or bruise,
With a pack upon his back, of
Toys and trinkets for the shoes
Of the little people who,
All the sleepy summer through,
Watched and waited for the filling
Of their shoes and stockings, too.
As to time well, let me see !
When the north wind whistles free
From the frozen fields of Greenland,
Down across the Polar sea,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 63
Till Jack Frost takes up the croon,
Snaps his fingers at the moon
And the snowflakes flit and flutter
To the music of the tune ;
Then with doughnuts, dolls and drums
Skates and sleds and sugar-plums
And a pack of pretty presents,
Good old Santa always comes.
In the wan and wintry night,
When the moon is beaming bright
And the snow-drifts glint and glisten
In the mild and mellow light,
Then, if you will lend an ear,
Sounding faint but crystal clear,
You will hear him as he cracks his
Whip and chirrups to his deer ;
Softly, softly, near or far,
Not another sound to mar,
Like the tinkle of a sleigh-bell
Or the twinkle of a star.
64 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
That's the time he always comes,
With his pack of dolls and drums,
Balls and books and pretty presents,
Skates and sleds and su^ar-plums ;
Riding in a dancing sleigh
Drawn by twenty deer, they say,
Heltei-skelter, hurry-skurry
Never pausing once to pay
Toll, or give a single peep
Whether roads are rough and steep ;
Finning, fretting, never getting
Time to take a minute's sleep,
Such a hale and hearty sprite !
With two eyes as burnished bright
As the twinkling stars above him,
And a bushy beard of white ;
With a broad back barely bent
By the years that he has spent
In the service of the children,
And a waist protuberant ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 65
Belted, buckled, girded in
From the pimple on his chin,
To the dimple on his knee-cap
Where his fur-topped boots begin !
That's old Santa, I declare !
Funny, fussy, debonair,
With a wealth of health and humor
And a plenteous stock of hair.
And the chimneys? Ah, ''ma belle,
I am cautious how I tell
That he slips and scrambles down them,
Like a toad into a well ;
For I've waited oft to get
Just a glimpse of him, and yet
Spite of all my weary watching
We have never, never met !
That's the way he always comes
With his pack of dolls and drums,
Nuts and candies, pretty presents,
Tricks and toys and sugar-plums,
66 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN .
And if you will lend an ear,
Sounding faint but crystal clear,
You will hear him as he cracks his
Whip and chirrups to his deer;
Softly, softly, near or far,
Not another sound to mar
Like the tinkle of a sleigh-bell
Or the twinkle of a star !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 67
Sleep.
T^HOU dear, anaesthetizing Sleep!
In waves of slumber, warm and deep,
Enfold me from the cold world's frown,
And press my weary eyelids down
With soothing touch ; about my head
The fairy scenes of dreamland spread,
And o'er my fevered spirit fling
The shadow of thy drowsy wing !
For I'm aweary of the strife
The ceaseless struggle men call life ;
Would bend my throbbing temples low,
Whilst list'ning to the rhythmic flow
Of thy sweet strains ; within thy arms,
Unmindful of earth's mad alarms
And rasping cares, would sweetly rest
Among thy slumbrous garments pressed]!
68 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Those Summer *Days of
Long Ago
'"PHOSE summer days of long ago!
I seem to feel and know them still
The berry blossoms white as snow,
The crimson clover on the hill ;
The sleepy highroad, old and gray,
That yawned and stretched, and crept away
Within the woodland, cool and black,
And never, never more come back !
I seem to feel the idle breeze
That loitered down the shady ways ;
To hear the drowsy drone of bees,
And know within my soul the blaze
Of truant sunbeams dancing bright
Adown the highroad out of sight.
I seem to see the low rail fence,
That worming onward mile on mile,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 69
Was redolent with pungent scents
Of sassafras and camomile.
Within a fence rail tall and bare,
The saucy bluebird nested there ;
'Twas there the largest berries grew,
As every barefoot urchin knew !
And swiftly, shyly creeping through
The tangled vines and brambles dense
The mingled sunshine and the dew
The Bob White perched atop the fence ;
And, flinging toil and care away,
He piped and lilted all the day.
Those summer days of long ago !
The noisy catbird flitted o'er
The dogwood's yeasty waves of snow
The dark green wood the further shore ;
And I, a barefoot boy of ten,
Stole tiptoe down the mossy glen
To count the baby birds at rest
Within their snugly hidden nest.
70 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Across the stubble fields of gold
Ashimmer in the pulsing heat
Those dreamy noontide hours of old
Come trooping back with flying feet,
Until I seem to feel and know
Those summer days of long ago !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 71
*Dan Tucker.
' r ~PIS a summer night and a harvest moon,
'Tis an old time country party ;
There are lusty lads- in their heavy shoon,
There are buxom lasses hearty ;
And the noise floats out through the open door,
Till the night wind soft rejoices
At the shuffling feet on the cabin floor,
And the hum of merry voices.
Oh! its-
" OP Dan Tucker's come to town
Swingin' the ladies all aroun' ;
First to the east an' then to the west
An' then to the one 'at he loves best.
Git out o' the way fer ol' Dan Tucker
He's too late to git his supper !"
Oh, the noon of night and the starry skies
Oh, the young hearts wildly beating !
And the ruby lips and the shining eyes
Are the old, old tale repeating;
72 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
And the misty moon, as it climbs the hill
Where the dewdrops glint and glisten,
Has a smile for the lonely whippoorwill
That has quit his song to listen.
And it's
" OP Dan Tucker's come to town
Salutin' the ladies up an' down ;
First to the east an' then to the west
An' then to the one 'at he loves best.
Jine the chorus loud an' hearty,
An' we'll 'ave a jov'al party !"
Oh ! it's" Ol' Dan Tucker's come to town "
To the tune of a squeaky fiddle,
And" Salutin' the ladies all aroun' "
Is the bashful swain in the middle ;
And " first to the east an' then to the west''
How he claps his hands and dances,
" An' then to the one 'at he loves best "
Does he turn his loving glances.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 73
For it's
" Apple cider, punkin pie
The gray cat kicked out the black cat's
eye;
Shanghai chickens grows so tall,
Takes a week for the'r aigs to fall !
Hey, Jim-a-long ! Aint she a posey?
Hey, Jim-a-long, Jim-a-iong Josey !"
As the pale moon dies in the distant west
And the farm cock hurls his warning,
As the ghostly fog at the wind's behest
Shakes hands with the rosy morning ;
Then the lights fade out, and the flying feet
That have danced through a night of pleasure,
Creep home through the dust and the golden wheat
To the strain of the same old measure !
Oh! its
" Ol' Dan Tucker's come to town
Salutin' the ladies all aroun' ;
First to the north an' then to the south
An' then to the one with the sweetest
mouth.
Git out o' the way fer ol' Dan Tucker
He's too late to git his supper !"
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
When /Night Stalks in.
\ \ 7 HEN Night stalks in !
A veil of sombre, ragged lace
Is thrown across the moon's fair face.
The demons of the upper air
Are howling, shrieking everywhere ;
They raise one universal shout
As heaven's lamps are blotted out
And haggard Night, amidst the din,
Is swiftly, surely ushered in.
When Night stalks in !
The sooty clouds drop slowly down,
And fogs of dingy yellow crown
The chimney tops. The feeble glare
Of lamps illumes the outer air ;
Anon the sweeping rain and sleet
Invade the darkened, slush-paved street,
And revelry and death and sin
With gruesome Night are ushered in.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 75
When Night stalks in !
The river lashed by icy rain
With sullen moan betrays its pain,
And rushing past the bridge's piers
It foams and frets in useless tears.
Along the wet, deserted street,
Where traffic's pulse was wont to beat,
Dense blackness holds ; and o'er the town
Night's sable garment settles down.
76 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Thunder Storm.
A CROSS the zigzag line of hills
That wall the verdant valley in,
The rumble of the thunder mills,
With muttering, fast increasing din
Comes rolling down.
Great banks of smoky clouds outspread
Along the dark horizon's rim ;
The furnace fires flash amber red
And show the night-sky black and grim
Above the town.
The fiery tempest's formed, released ;
A momentary space it holds,
Then howling like a frenzied beast
It shakes the lightning from its folds,
And booms and roars.
OOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 77
The vivid flashes, bluish white,
The tossing, shivering trees reveal
And cut athwart the inky night,
Like flashing blades of polished steel ;
The rain downpours.
The storm sweeps o'er. The frowning hills
Stand outlined in the feeble light,
A broken wave of moonshine spills
And puts the dusky clouds to flight ;
The sky grows clear.
A glad bird twitters 'mong the trees ;
The sullen storm growls far away
As down the eastern skies it flees,
To meet the coming King of Day ;
The morn draws near.
78 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Cradle and Coffin.
'"THE cradle, indeed ! 'Tis the coffin, I trow,
: For it shelters the nearest to death that we
know;
Just a faint bit of fire in oblivion's dark
Bursting into a flame dying out as a spark ;
Infin'tesimal atom of infinite worth
Hid away mid the sorrows and sins of the earth.
'Tis the nearest to death that we know and the
gloom
Of uncertainty serves as the walls of the tomb.
The coffin, forsooth ! 'Tis the cradle of God ;
And eternity's infant will gambol and nod,
When the dark clouds of ignorance roll from its view
And the sun-drops of knowledge come filtering
through.
It will prattle and smile in this hour of its birth,
And the pitiful toys that it juggled on earth
Will be cast from its hand to be valued no more
For the glorious treasures that God has in store.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 79
The cradle, the coffin but terms at the best ;
The one savors of toil and the other of rest ;
The one leads up to manhood its folly, its curse,
And the other leads well, it can never be worse.
'Tis the cradle that bids us to wake and to weep,
'Tis the coffin invites us to slumber and sleep ;
And eternity's infant will gambol and nod
When it wakens at last in the cradle of God !
80 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
A Wild, Wet /Night.
' '""PIS a wild, wet night ! And the cutting blast
Strips the sail in shreds, from the creaking
mast
Of a helpless ship that is drifting fast
Upon the rocks ;
And the mad waves gnash at the rock-bound shore
Till their hungry jaws are with foam flecked o'er,
While the lightnings flash and the thunders roar
Like earthquake shocks.
'Tis a drear, old night ! On the cruel bar
Lies a stark form lashed to a broken spar,
And the harsh winds laughs and a single star
Looks coldly down ;
While the glad waves toy with the golden hair
On the dead man's brow that is broad and fair,
And the pale moon smiles that his features wear
A frozen frown.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 81
L'ENVOI.
'Tis a clear, warm day ! And a cottage stands
Where the rough hills meet with the yellow sands ;
And among the gorse on the brown uplands
A song-bird trills.
There's a white face pressed to the window pane,
There's a wan cheek wet with the tear-drop's rain,
And the soft wind whistles a funer'l strain
Across the hills !
82 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Castle of Dreams.
T HAVE parted the golden-fringed curtain,
That hangs at the portal of sleep ;
I have passed through the twilight uncertain,
Where the winds of forgetfulness sweep ;
And I bask in a light warm and tender
That o'er me caressingly streams,
While I gaze on the beauty and splendor
Of the mystical Castle of Dreams.
Here the fountains are ceaselessly spraying
A fragrance exotic and rare,
And unseen hands of spirits are playing
A soft and voluptuous air ;
Here the sweetest of song-birds are singing
Till my soul is ablaze, and it seems
That the music of heaven is ringing
Through the mystical Castle of Dreams.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 83
In this castle most beautiful flowers
Are mingling their tropical blooms,
And I catch mid the evergreen bowers
The breath of their subtle perfumes ;
From the star-lighted ceiling suspended,
The bright lamp of destiny gleams,
And its rays like a rainbow are blended
In the mystical Castle of Dreams.
In this castle the goblet of pleasure,
As it presses the dreamer's moist lip,
Has never a limit of measure
Knows never a halt nor a slip.
Here they plan no vain things for the morrows,
But bask in the present's glad beams ;
And they shut out the world and its sorrows
From the mystical Castle of Dreams !
84 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Lock-Tender John.
WN on the bank of the fair inland river
Stands the lone cottage of Lock-Tender John;
'Round it the autumn winds whistle and shiver,
O'er it the gray clouds sweep lazily on.
Softly the clear waters murmur the story
Lovingly, lispingly telling it o'er,
Till the gaunt sycamores, aged and hoary,
Whisper and bend to the reeds on the shore.
Here in the years that have glimmered and
vanished
Ere the white cottage had gone to decay
Here, like a criminal ruthlessly banished,
Dwelt the old lock-tender, wrinkled and gray.
Whether the dial marked midnight or morning,
Whether the weather brought sunshine or rain,
John's eager ears caught the boat-whistle's
warning
John's bony hands gripped the arm of the crane.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 85
Bright were his eyes as the crystalline bubbles
Dancing away in the sun's brightest gleam ;
Free was his mind from all sorrows and troubles
Calm as the face of the swift-flowing stream.
Gruff was his voice as the loud billows dashing
Under the dam at the base of the rock,
White was his hair as the creamy foam flashing
Staunch was his heart as the walls of the lock.
Seasons rolled by, and each year's panorama
Showed him more feeble, as scene followed scene ;
" Finis " appeared at the close of life's drama
Only a few fleeting pictures between.
One dreary night when the cloud racks were flying,
Racing like specters across the black sky-
When the sad wind was complaining and sighing,
John nestled down on his pallet to die.
There in the stillness of midnight, unbroken
Save by the tick of the clock on its shelf,
Breathing a prayer though the words were un
spoken
John closed accounts 'twixt his God and himself;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Then breaking in like an echoing dream-note
Drowning the voice of the querulous clock
Came the faint, faraway call of a steamboat,
Saying: "Come, open the gates of the lock.' 1
Never by him had the summons been slighted !
Tottering up from his couch at the call,
Pleading for strength his dim lantern he lighted
Then staggered down to the crane on the wall.
Slowly the grim gates swung open, and smiling
There at his post the old lock-tender died
Just as the great steamer rounded the piling,
Passed through the gateway and floated inside!
Down on the bank of the fair inland river
Stands the lone cottage of Lock-Tender John ;
'Round it the autumn winds whistle and shiver,
O'er it the gray clouds sweep lazily on ;
Softly the song-birds are telling the story
Trilling it forth from their hearts and their throats :
" Angels swung open the bright gates of glory
To him who had opened the gates for the boats !"
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 87
When the year Grows Old.
\ \ J HEN the year grows old,
When the sunflower's gold
Turns to common dross and crumbles
Into brown and earthy mold,
When the sunlit skies
And my truelove's eyes
Fade and pale before the splendor
Of the aster's purple dyes ;
Then the copse-entangled byways,
And the forests and the fields,
Flecked with bits of flaming crimson
That the fiery maple yields,
Feel the touch of melancholy
That the fleeting moments hold,
And the hilltops wear a halo
When the year grows old.
88 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
When the year grows old,
And the fall wind cold
Pipes and whistles down the highway
Like a hoiden overbold,
When the gray clouds frown
And the thistledown
Flits and trips a merry measure
In its silver-spangled gown ;
Then the hazelnuts are falling
In a mad and mazy trance,
And the rustling leaves are calling
To the thistle's airy dance ;
Yet a touch of melancholy
Rests upon the wood and wold.
And the sun is veiled and hazy
When the year grows old.
When the year grows old
When the bright days fold
Their phantom tents and speed adown
The centuries untold;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 89
When the moments fly,
And the hours slip by
Like the shuffle of a footstep
Or the twinkle of an eye ;
Then the sumac glad in glory
Holds the ford above the mill,
And the oak tree, grim and hoary,
Guards the pass upon the hill ;
But a taste of melancholy
To the sons of men is doled,
That the earth is filled with folly
And the year grows old !
90 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Summer Shower.
PHE frown on the face of the noonday sun
'Neath the silvery cloud-drifts creeping,
The rattle of rain-drops one by one,
Where the tall grass waves and the shadows run
And the freshening breeze is sweeping ;
The scream of the startled, homeless bird
And the wild bee's hurried humming,
The bleating cries of the frightened herd
Tell the summer shower is coming.
The patter of rain in the village street,
Like a bevy of fairies tripping ;
The thunder's crash and the lightning's sheet
Where the trailing clouds and the brown earth
meet
And the streams from the low eaves dripping ;
The war that the tawny billows wide
In the gullies are madly waging,
And the barefoot urchin that stems the tide
Show the summer shower is raging.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 91
The quivering flash as the lightning dies
And the roll of the distant thunder,
The glittering rainbow that spans the skies
Where the columns of feathery vapor rise
And the blue sky showing under;
The changing hues of the rip'ning grain
Where the sunshine and shade are blended
Mark the close of the sweet, refreshing rain ;
And the summer shower is ended.
92 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Cupid is Abroad To-/Night.
LYING hoofs and jingling bells,
On the air the music swells ;
Frozen spume- flakes floating wide,
From the steeds on either side ;
Swaying sled with merry load
Down the sheeted, moonlit road
Glides, an engine strong and swift,
Through each deep, opposing drift ;
Beauty's cheeks are crimsoned bright
Cupid is abroad to-night !
Shouting boys and laughing girls,
Sparkling eyes and shining curls,
Foaming steeds and creaking sleighs
Ploughing through the snowy ways.
Merry jest and happy song
Cheer the crowd that speeds along,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 93
By the farm-house grim and dark,
Where the watch- dog's wicked bark
Makes the horses shy with fright
Cupid is abroad to-night !
Crescent moon and twinkling stars
Strew the road with silver bars,
Mingling with the dismal shade
By the tossing treetops made.
Here doth naughty Cupid hide,
Bow and quiver at his side,
Waiting to discharge a dart
At some blushing maiden's heart ;
See, the red lips change to white-
Cupid is abroad to-night !
Slender form kept safe from harm
By a strong encircling arm ;
Lovelit eyes and ruby lips,
Fingertips meet fingertips ;
94 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Hand clasps hand and then, you know,
Cupid leaps from out the snow,
Finishes the work begun
Two hearts pierced instead of one.
Hear him laugh the merry sprite
Cupid is abroad to-night !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 95
The Country Doctor.
'"PHE country doctor ! Let the bard
Whose lyre is tuned to idle praise
His locks unshorn, his face uumarred
By sweat and grime, his hands unscarred
By daily toil in dulcet lays,
In empty word and hollow phrase
Recount the annals of the great ;
Let him record and celebrate
Their noble deeds ; their pomp and state,
Their wisdom all perpetuate.
A humbler theme to you I bring
The smell of flow'rs, the breath of spring,
The flutter of the blue bird's wing,
And with it all I bring to you
The country doctor, good and true.
The country doctor ! Him whose life
From sun to sun is daily rife
With bootless toil and ceaseless strife ;
96 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Whose sturdy frame is made to feel
The summer's flame, the winter's steel
I come to sing in praise of him.
His soul is fat, his purse is slim,
His eyesight keen, his foresight dim
For caring naught for pow'r or pelf,
While there's a crust upon the shelf,
He works for fun and boards himself!
Ah ! ye, who traverse city streets
On swaying springs and cushioned seats,
The difficulties that he meets
The bumps and jolts ye little know.
Through seas of mud, o'er wastes of snow,
Where icy tempests howl and blow,
In pouring rain, where torrents flow
And sheen and shadow come and go,
Astride the sorriest of nags
And armed with spur and saddlebags,
He onward works his weary way ;
And be it night or be it day,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 97
He never falters nor looks back
Adown the steep and rugged track,
But sets his teeth and onward plods
Himself a clod among the clods !
I've said " a clod among the clods.' 1
'Twere better, " god among the gods !"
For sacrificing hours of ease
And striving hard to do and please,
And winning but the dregs and lees
Of life's sweet wine, he fights disease
With clenched hands and bated breath
And knows no conqueror but death.
It shames me not to tell the truth
An unkempt, muddy god, forsooth!
Besmeared bespattered leggings, suit
From crown of hat to sole of boot,
And oft-times tumbled in the wave
That seems to yawn a watery grave,
He bobs serenely on the flood
And swims about the sea of mud.
For lo ! his pockets are so light
He can not disappear from sight.
98 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
No scientific friend has he
Who ends his name "A. M., M. D."
Or tacks thereto a " Ph. G."
To help him in perplexity,
And earn them both a handsome fee ;
But when he finds a knotty case,
A problem that he dare not face,
He sends his patient off to town
To some physician of renown.
(God save the mark ! All, all are great
Who dwell within the city's gate ! )
And this great man dilates his eyes
And rubs his hands, looks wondrous wise-
And nimbly gobbles up the prize !
The city doctor counts his gold,
Makes fresh deposits in the banks,
And sends the country doctor, old
A neatly-worded note of thanks !
To church the city doctor goes,
(Ye need not smile and wink at me
And strive his spotless name to smirch ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 99
I'm told on good authority
The city doctor goes to church.)
To take an hour's profound repose,
To hear the gilded organ ring,
To say his pray'rs and nod and doze
And see the sweet soprano sing ;
The organ peals, the tenor squeals-
Great Scott ! how good that doctor feels.
The self-same hour, the same-self date,
The country doctor, sport of fate,
Moves up some gully's rocky course,
Astride his rhubarb-colored horse ;
The only anthem that he hears,
The only tune that greets his ears
Is murmured by the evening breeze
Which moans u Old Hundred" thro' the trees!
The city doctor spends his days
In crowded marts and traveled ways;
At night he sees the latest plays,
And rests his half-enchanted gaze
100 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
On some new "star" that lights the stage
A star of most uncertain age,
Of whom the critics rant and rage.
The country doctor, poor, despised
His purse half starved and undersized
Contents himself to stay at home ;
The only stars he ever knows
Are those that rest in heaven's dome
And light the waste of winter snows.
The country doctor ! Blessed be he
Who sets the weary sufferer free
From burning fever, racking pain
And countless ills and does it, too,
Without a thought or hope of gain ;
Without a single cent in view !
I come to sing in praise of him,
Whose soul is fat, whose purse is slim,
Whose eyesight keen, whose foresight dim ;
For caring naught for fame or pelf,
While there's a crust upon the shelf
He works for fun and boards himself !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 101
Doodle-Up, Doodle-Down.
F~~\OWN the dusty highway where the truant
' breeze
Loiters o'er the roadside sod,
On within the woodland where the giant trees
Welcome them with smile and nod,
Twain of dainty maidens, with their finger-tips
Delving in each tiny mound,
Breathe this cabalistic message from their lips:
" Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !
Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down, doodle-down
Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !"
4k Doodle, doodle-up !" and the nimble insect clown
Wriggles through the yellow mold ;
" Doodle, doodle-up !" and the straying curls of
brown
Mingle with the curls of gold.
Eager little faces, bodies bending low,
Nodding little sun-kissed crowns,
Rosy lips all keeping up the pantomimic show;
102 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
"Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !
Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down, doodle-down
Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !"
" Doodle, doodle-down !" and the comic clown in
gray
Quickly disappears from sight ;
" Doodle, doodle-down !" and the shining curls of
day
Mingle with the curls of night.
Merry little voices, happy little hearts,
Faces where the sunbeams drown ;
Laughing eyes a peeping, keen as Cupid's darts
" Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !
Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down, doodle-down
Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !"
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 103
The Buckwheat Bloom.
H, the buckwheat bloom ! Oh, the buckwheat
bloom !
Where the sunbeams sleep and the wild bees boom,
Where the brown leaves fall and the sweet winds
croon
Through the lengthened shades of the afternoon ;
There the white fields lie in the wood's embrace
And the stream slips by with a smiling face
'Twixt the roadside fence and the woodside gloom
Are the fragrant billows of buckwheat bloom.
Oh, the buckwheat bloom ! Oh, the buckwheat
bloom !
When the skies are soft and the gray hills loom
Through the distant reaches of amber light
When the goldenrod by the stream is bright ;
Then I love to stray where the warm winds catch
At the milk-white spray in the buckwheat patch
From the roadside fence to the woodside gloom
Through the fragrant billows of buckwheat bloom.
104 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Oh, the buckwheat bloorn ! Oh, the buckwheat
bloom !
When the blackbird swings on a bending plume
Of the golden corn, as it nods and sways
In the yellow light of the autumn days;
Then I close my eyes, and my senses yield
To the spell that lies in the buckwheat field
'Twixt the roadside fence and the woodside gloom
'Mong the fragrant billows of buckwheat bloom.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 105
Summer /Night.
\ A HLLOW bows dip in the murm'ring stream,
Tiny waves lap on the sandy shore;
Far o'er the water the moon's bright beam
Silvers the ripples that gently roar.
There in the shadow a row-boat lies
Nothing the night or the silence mars,
Save in the distance a night-bird cries
Under the light of the burning stars.
Off to the southward the city lights
Flicker and dance in the flowing stream ;
There at the base of yon rocky heights
Fires in a steamer's red furnace gleam.
Discord is off to the land of dreams-
Nothing the half-holy silence mars,
Save in the distance a wild bird screams
Under the light of the burning stars.
106 GOLDKNROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Dews are caressing the meadow's breast ;
Perfume of flowers pervades the air,
Lulling the mind to a passive rest
Free from all worry and want and care.
Fireflies are flitting in flaming arcs
Nothing the mystical silence mars,
Save in the distance a watch-dog barks
Under the light of the burning stars.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 107
An Autumn Idyl.
'"THE mid day sun rides overhead
His smiling face a copper-red,
And through the crisp, frost-bitten air
From grassy knoll to hilltop bare
A hazy vapor breathes ;
Like one who laughing at a joke
Exhales a puff of fragrant smoke,
And hiding half his jolly face,
Behind the folds of floating lace
Peeps through the filmy wreathes.
Adown yon hazel-lined ravine,
The ragged sandstone cliffs between,
Where fallen leaves, all gold and red,
Are clogging fast the stony bed,
A silver ribbon shines;
And through the smoky atmosphere
There floats aloft now dull, now clear
The water's tinkling sound, and then
It whispers through the rocky glen,
Like night wind in the pines.
108 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Among the shocks of bladed corn,
Where plenty fills her lavish horn,
A flock of black-birds speeding south
Have paused to feed each hungry mouth,
And chatter, fight and scream.
Across the ploughed and seeded fields
Where fresh-cast grain a harvest yields
The chipmunk, sleek and brown a pair
Of south-bound geese divides the air ;
Their snowy pinions gleam.
The year is growing rich and old.
The yellow corn, like heaps of gold,
And purple grapes, whose clusters shine
Like amethysts from Asia's mine,
Are riches vast, untold ;
The luscious apples overhead
Are precious rubies, shining red.
The hale year hums a harvest song
Enjoys his wealth thinks life is long;
But he is growing old !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 109
Blossom and Fruit
!. ! her cheeks were the pink of the crabapple
blows,
And her breath was the essence of perfume that
flows
From the heart of the blossom ; and bathing her
lips
Was the nectar divine that the honey-bee sips.
And that bonny May morn with the wind in the
south
As the bee to the blossom I clung to her mouth,
Till I reeled like a man that is drunken with wine,
And entreated and plead: "Oh, my darling, be
mine!"
L' ENVOI.
She has altered somewhat since she honored my
suit,
And to-day she resembles the well-matured fruit ;
So I'm looking for Cupid the treacherous elf
For I've found her the acid crabapple itself !
110 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Chris'mas "Down at Gran'pa's.
7\ l\ Y pa, you know, 's a docker-man
An' we live in the city ;
An' pa thinks it's the proper plan
But ma says : " It's a pity
'At little folks can't have a place
To stretch theirselves, an' romp an' race
An' git the freckles on the'r face
An' run an' jump 'an frolic ;
To hear the hum 'o honey bees
An' git green apples from the trees "
" W'y sure," says pa, " an' colic!' 1 ' 1
My gran'pa lives 'way over down
The track the railroad follers,
' An in a place called Clovertown,
Among the hills an' hollers.
He has the bigges', warmes' han'
An' he's the goodes', bestes' man
'At ever lived 'r ever can
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Ill
My gran'pa is, I guess, sir ;
An' my ma says 'at we'n he dies
He'll climb right up the starry skies
An' live in heaven yes, sir !
My gran'ma's good as him 'r near !
An' they're ist allus happy,
An' he calls gran'ma, " mammy dear "
An' gran'ma calls him " pappy ;"
My ma says : " Gran'ma's growin' old,
But true as steel an' good as gold
An' half 'er worth was never told ;"
An' pa says: "Now, ther's gran'pa
His heart's so big an' growin' fast,
His breast won't hold it all at last;
He's ist as good as gran'ma !"
Well, my pa said las' holiday :
" Ef you be good an' min' me
I'll pack you up an' run away
Wher' not a soul can fin' me.
112 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
We'll ist slip down an' take the train-
An' let 'er snow 'r let 'er rain
We'll never grumble n'r complain
Ef we git safe to gran'ma's ;
An' ther' we'll stay a solid week
An' you can all play hide-an'-seek
In that big barn o' gran'pa's."
W'en we got on the cars to ride
The ingine was a tootin',
So we ist took our seats inside
An' went a skallyhootiri* /"
Nen ma said, " whew" an' pa he joked
An' 'lowed 'at even ingines smoked,
An' shocked his sides 'an coughed an'
choked
Ist acted awful funny ;
Nen w'en the man said, " Tickets, please,"
W'y pa he squirmed an' shocked his knees,
An' said, " I ain't no money !"
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 113
Well, ma she fairly had to grin
To see him cut such capers,
An' pa said, " I'm a boy ag'in "
An' gived the man some papers.
Nen w'en we got to gran'pa's place,
W'y ther' was gran'pa's good ol' face
An' gran'ma with 'er cap o' lace,
A waitin' fer to greet us ;
An' ma runned up 'mos' out o' breath
An' nearly hugged 'em both to death
To think they'd come to meet us.
Oh ! we ist had the bestes* times,
Fer gran'pa toP us stories
An' gran'ma read us heaps o' rhymes
'Bout heaven an' its glories;
An' 'en w'en Chris'mas eve corned 'roun'
A great big snow was on the groun',
An' gran'pa 'lowed he heard the soun'
114 GOLDKNROD AND THISTLEDO WN.
O' Santy's deers a prancin' ;
An' grau'ma peeked at me an' said :
" W'y look at little curly-head
'Er eyes is fairly dancin'. "
An' Santy Claus corned sure enough
Nobody heard 'im knockin'
An' put ist heaps an' loads o' stuff
In everybody's stockin'.
We had a Chris'mas dinner, too,
An' pa said : " Wat am I to do ?
Ther's ist so much I can't git through !"
An' 'en he smiled at gran'ma;
An' ma spoked up an' said : " Oh ! dear,
I know I'll want to come nex^ year
Fer Chris'mas here with gran'pa!"
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 115
Sight-on-Seen.
\S IND o' tradin' sight-on-seen !
'F I can make you understand-
'F I can tell you what I mean,
Jine with me, an' hand in hand
Le's jest up an' slip away
'Along the shadders cool an' gray ;
Swap the dust fer fresh-mowed hay,
Dandeli'us an' fields o' green,
Change September back to May
Jest like tradin' sight-on-seen.
Swan to gracious ! 'f I could see
Them ol' days 'an be once more
Somethin' like I ust to be,
Tough an' hearty to the core ;
116 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN
Feel my pockets bulgin' wide
With the'r load o' things inside
Marbles, hooks an' lines an' dried
Fishin' worms an' stuff I-jing !
I'd jest swap the years between
Now an' then, fer any thing
Kind o' tradin' sight-on-seen.
'Taint no use o' waitin' ! Le's
Natcherly jest amble back
Down the road to happiness ;
'Long the ol' foot-beaten track
Runnin' up from Bingham's mill,
Through the Geddes place until
Tired an' tuckered out we stop,
Zigzag back an' forth, an' drop
Down acrost the Bishop hill.
Cool our bare feet in the grass,
Where the beech trees lock an' lean
Up above us as we pass ;
Sort o' tradin' sight-on-seen.
GOLDENROD AND TH 1STLEDO VVN. Ill
Le's 'xchange this feverish life,
Gallin' care an' sharp distress
Trade these busy days o' strife
Fer an hour o' idleness.
Le's stretch out an' bat our eyes
At the depth o' summer skies,
Where the turkey-buzzard lies
Anchored in the upper air ;
Far above the hilltops, where
Mingled waves o' shade an' sheen
Lap among the gold an' green,
Harvest fields an' pastur' lands
Tradin' with 'em sight-on-seen.
Sort o' tradin' sight-on-seen !
'F I could make you understand
'F I could tell you what I mean,
Step by step an' hand in hand
We'd jest creep an' lazy on,
Down the wood path to the pon'-
Like we done in days that's gone ;
118 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Stretch full length upon the steep
Overhangin' bank an' peep
At two pairs o' blue eyes keen,
Smilin' at us through the deep,
Dim an' sleepy water-screen
Tradin' with us sight-on-seen.
'Taint no use o' wishin', though !
Life jest hurries on an' on
Ust to wait fer days to go,
Now it seems they're up an' gone
'Fore we have a chance to see
Where we are ; an' there we be
Glancin' at eternity !
Yet, if I could have my way
Gi' me back the fresh-mowed hay,
Dandeli'ns an' fields o' green ;
Turn September back to May-
Jest like tradin' sight-on-seen !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 119
Pop-Paw Time.
A \ J 'EN the hazel-nut drops from its rustlin' pod
An' the woods 're a painted dream,
Wen the sycamore ball at the season's call
Floats away on the dancin' stream,
Then I feel like I ust to feel years ago,
An' I natcherly talk in rhyme,
Per in some way I know by the marks that show
It's a gittin' 'bout pop paw time.
I can see the bald slope o' the sand-rock field
An' the windin' ol' county road,
An' the patch on the hill where we'd eat our fill
O' the best ones that ever growed ;
I can see the ol' fence where we ust to rest,
After makin' the weary climb
An' with silent accord we'ld thank the Lord
That he ever made pop-paw time !
120 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Oh ! we're grizzled ol' men who were merry lads,
An' the seasons go hurryin' on,
But the pop-paw patch where the red-birds hatch
Is the same as in years that's gone ;
An' the fall wind sings as it ust to sing,
Like the breath of a distant chime,
An' the rip'nin' fruit is as sure to suit
Fer it's jest comin' pop-paw time.
Wen the world appears cold an' my lot looks hard,
An' this life seems a tangled snare,
Then I gaze through my tears at those distant years
An' I lose every earthly care ;
Fer the heart of a mortal won't go far wrong,
An' he'll never do no great crime,
If he'll think o' the days an' the wildwood ways
That he traveled in pop-paw time !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
/No Chris'mas Like Ther'
Ust to Be.
talk o' Chris'mas goodness me !
It's nothin' like it ust to be,
When me an' Hank an' Poke an' Jake
'Ld whet our teeth on sorghum cake
The kind that mother ust to make
Until our very jaws 'Id ache;
An' stand around the pot o' lard
That she 'ad hung out in the yard,
An' watch the doughnuts bilin' hard
An' lookin' fat an' crisp an' brown,
As they was bobbin' up an' down.
With dirty face?, greasy paws
An' happy hearts we waited ; 'cause
We knowed them things meant Santa Claus.
Ther' aint no Chris'mas No, siree !
It's nothin' like it ust to be.
122 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Don't speak o' pies, sir mercy sake !
Ther' nothin' like she ust to bake
Fer me an' Hank an' Poke an' Jake
Ther's Doc an' Sam I 'most fergot
An' we 'Id eat 'em sizzlin' hot,
An' cough an' choke ; the tears 'Id rise
An' burn an' smart our hungry eyes,
Fer eatin' them 'ere hot mince pies.
An' Chris'mas eve that stingy Doc
'Ld alluz aim to hang his sock
Right underneath the wooden clock,
An' in the center o' the row ;
He thought he had a better show
Fer Santa Claus to see it there.
Don't speak o' Chris'mas ! I declare
The times has changed; It's plain to see
They're nothin' like they ust to be.
Don't mention fun, sir! That 'ere Hank
Was up to ev'ry sort o' prank.
He dearly loved to tease that lank,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 123
Impatient, fiery-tempered Poke
Who didn't somehow like a joke
A bit more'n a cat likes smoke.
So Hank 'Id say : " Poke's sech a pig,
He thinks his socks ain't hardly big
Enough to hold his sheer o' things,
That Santa Claus at Chris'mas brings;
We'll have to take some straps an' strings
An' tie 'em 'round his trouser legs,
An hang 'em on the hick'ry pegs
Where pap hangs up the pouch an' gun.''
An' then they'd tussel ! W'y the fun
O' now-a-days you'll all agree
Ain't nothin' like it ust to be !
An' Santa Claus ! I ain't no doubt
You people don't know nothin' 'bout
The time we had a-findin' out
Who Santy re'ly was ; fer pap
'Ld rub his shins an' stretch an' gap,
1-4 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDO VVN .
As if he's goin' to take a nap
A-thinkin up some clever trap
To git us youngsters off to bed.
An' when we'd gone he'd up an' spread
The ashes on the hearth, an' tread
Among 'em till you'd re'ly swear
That Santy had been walkin' there ;
An' scratch the sut all off the flue
To show us where he'd wiggled through.
No, sir, ther' ain't no times like we
But p'raps the change is jest in me,
An' I ain't like I ust to be !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 125
An Ol' Time Volentine.
T T'S nothin' to boast of n'r what you'ld call,
Nowadays, much of a volentine;
But sweeter'n honey an' bitter as gall
'Re the memories it brings to this heart o' mine.
Crumpled an' creased is the tear-blotted page ;
Kind of a musty an' mildewed smell
Lingers about it the essence of age
Strivin' the record o' years to tell.
Up in one corner all splattered with blood
Cuddles a true lover's heart-an'-hand,
Woven so close that the fiery flood
O' war never ruptured the brittle band.
There, underneath it, some writin' I view
Speakin' as only such brief words can-
Dated on volentine day, sixty-two :
"" This is my answer to Bob from Nan."
126 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
That's what I sent to my true lover boy
Battlin' away fer his native land ;
Wrote him a message o' hope an' joy
Sent him a volentine heart-an'-hand.
Oh ! but his purty blue eyes flashed bright
So they 'ave told me an' sad months through
He kep' it concealed from his comrades' sight,
Buttoned away in his blouse o' blue.
Kep' it and cherished it two long years,
Carried it with him through marches an' fights ;
Baptized it with kisses an' bathed it in tears
Thought of it days an' dreamed of it nights.
Then, when the struggle was almost done
An' the people was liftin' the'r hands to bless
Jest when the vic'try was nearly won,
He gave up his life in the Wilderness.
There in the bullet- ploughed thicket o' death
Heaped with the shot-mangled Blue an' Gray,
He muttered my name with his latest breath ;
Then by the faint, feeble glimmer o' day,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 127
Scribbled these words on my volentine
Last loyal thought of a dyin' man,
Wrote in a zigzag an' tremulous line :
" This is my farewell from Bob to Nan."
Years 'ave gone by, but I keep it to-day
'Long with his pocket-book, badge an' rings ;
All of 'em sacredly treasured away
Bitter an' sweet 're the mem'ries it brings.
Fettered an' bound by a true lover's band,
Hearts may grow old, but they still beat true ;
Only a volentine heart-an'-hand
A time-yellowed hand an' a heart o' blue !
128 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Autumn.
T CAN ketch his husky whisper borne upon the
' passin' breeze,
An' the echo of his footsteps as he steals among
the trees ;
I can hear his plaintive whistle as he winds his
distant horn,
An' the rustle of his garments as he hurries through
the corn ;
Fer he's comin in his splendor decked in colors
rich an' grand
An' he'll bring his legions with him fer to ockypy
the land,
An' they'll plant the'r crimson standards on the
hilltops overhead
When the goldenrod's a bloomin' an' the shoe-
make's growin' red.
He has called his clans together to prepare 'em fer
the raid,
An' the locus'es 're busy each a whettin' up his
blade ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 129
While the wild geese speedin' southward pipe a
doleful funer'l strain,
Per grim death'll reap a harvest as he follers in his
train.
Yet he tries to give a warnin' to a few especial
friends,
An' the light an' nimble thistle-down's the messenr
ger he sends;
But it loiters an' it tarries till the precious time has
sped
An' the goldenrod's a bloomin' an' the shoemake's
growin' red.
He's a comin' he's a comin' to fulfill his cherished
boast,
An' the fields'll flame in splendor with the glory of
his host.
He will flaunt his gorgeous banners like the
vaunted knights of old,
An' the burnished woods'll glisten with the glitter
of his gold ;
130 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
But a somber shade o' sadness will be hoverin' over
all,
An' a minor chord o' sorrow rise above his martial
call,
While the winds'll sob an' shiver to the measure
of his tread
When the goldenrod's a bloomin' an' the shoe-
make's growin' red !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 131
Money Musk.
/^~\N the ol' back porch at Rugby's,
Where the grapevines clumb the eaves,
An' the moonlight slantin' through 'em
Fell in broken, silver sheaves;
Where the smoky torches spluttered
On the'r pegs ag'in the wall,
An' the whippoorwill was singin'
In the poplar big an' tall ;
Where the bloomin' roses scented
All the silent summer dusk,
There's where Rugby played the fiddle
An' we danced the Money Musk.
I'ld git you fer a pardner
Ev'ry time I had a chance
If I had to take another,
Then I didn't care to dance ;
132 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
An' y'r black eyes snapped with laughter
As you moved about the porch,
While y'r dark hair streamed behind you
Like the smoke from off a torch.
How y'r milky teeth was shinin'
Like a nubbin from the husk,
As you shook the floor at Rugby's
To the tune o' Money Musk.
There the lightnin' bugs was swarmin'
'Bout the house in burnin' show'rs,
Like a storm o' sparks a fallin'
On the fragrant, dewy flow'rs ;
An' the tinkle of a cow-bell
Floated down the grassy lane,
While a screech-owl in the distance
Was at work predictin' rain.
But grim jealousy was tearin'
At my heart with claw an' tusk,
Per you'd danced with Billy Johnson
To the tune o' Money Musk.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDO VVN. 133
Can it be that forty years has gone
Sence Harper lean an' tall,
Ust to nearly strike the ceilin'
When they shouted " balance all?"
Can it be y'r hair is frosted,
An' y'r eyes 're not so bright
As they ust to be at Rugby's
On a sultry summer night?
Well, I thank the stars above me
That you're still my Kitty Rusk
That I ust to promenade with
To the tune o' Money Musk !
134 QOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Big Barn-Mow.
r I ^HERE was rosy hours o' sunshine in my child
hood days,
When I feasted on the bright an' golden scene ;
There was dewy hours o' shadder 'long the cool
highways,
When I lolled beneath the hedges dark an' green ;
There was happy hours o' laughter down the fern-
lined glen
An' my hungry heart is famished fer 'em now
But o' all the treasured places that my soul knowed
then,
I am longin fer the big barn-mow !
Thinkin' o' the moss-growed eaves,
Dreamin' o' the garnered sheaves,
List'nin' fer the tread
O' the raindrops overhead
Longin' fer the big barn-mow !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 135
How I ust to love to nestle, ou a warm June day,
Where the wasps had built the'r nests along the
comb
With my body softly cradled on the waves o' hay,
An' my senses soothed to slumber in its foam ;
While the fragrant breezes stealin' through the
wide barn door
Gently dallied with the curls upon my brow,
An' the chaff went wildly dancin' 'crost the ol'
barn floor
Jest a dreamin' in the big barn-mow !
Cuddlin' in the fresh-mowed hay,
Up beneath the rafters gray ;
Catchin' what was said
By the swallers overhead
Dreamin' in the big barn-mow !
Ah ! them precious days 'ave vanished an' the
years 'ave gone
That contained the fullest measure o' my joy;
But I'm clingin' to the'r mem'ry, an' I still dream
on
13(5 GOLDKNROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
'Bout the barn in which I frolicked when a boy.
When the balmy winds o' summer stir my scant,
gray hair,
Then it sort o' sets me thinkin' that somehow
I 'ave left my soul entangled in the cobwebs there,
Still a swingin' in the big barn-mow !
Swayin' in the rus'lin' breeze,
Harkin' to the dronin' bees ;
Shrinkin' half in dread
From the spiders overhead
Swingin' in the big barn-mow !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 137
The Old Brass Band.
I've a hungry heart fer melody, an eager ear fer
tunes,
An' I've heard some touchin' music in my day,
Fer I've slumbered to the lullabies the night-wind
croons,
An' I've wakened to the robin's cheerful lay ;
I've regaled my inner natchur on the red-bird's
trills,
When the sassy varlet ockypied the land,
An' I've feasted on the murmur o' the ripplin'
rills
But they're nothin' to the ol' brass band.
I've rejoiced to ketch the whisper o' the wind swept
leaves,
An' I've shuddered at the ocean's angry roar;
I've harkened to the rustle o' the golden sheaves
An' the honey-bees a buzzin' 'round the door,
138 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN .
But ther' aint a note o' music in the whole wide
earth
That can touch me like a fairy's magic wand,
That can fill my legs with ginger an' my heart with
mirth
Like the music o' the ol' brass band.
Ah ! but don't I jest remember how the Timms'
Band boys
Ust to play before the ol' town hall,
Till the whippoorwill was drownded in the waves
o' noise
An' the liquid notes was floatin' over all ;
Till the children left the'r playin' an' the women
stopped the'r walk,
An' the lovers strollin' through the dewy shade,
Quit the'r gentle cooin' 'cause they couldn't hear
each other talk
Fer the music that the ol' band played !
They'ld start with " Annie Laurie " sweetest tune
I ever heard
An' the solemn sounds 'Id echo far away,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 139
Then they'd give a taste o' " Listen to the Mockin'
Bird,"
An' they'd foller that with " Darlin' Nelly Gray,"
Till the dreamy notes 'Id quiver in the starlit skies
An' the people held the'r breath on ev'ry hand
Till I'd find the teardrops tricklin' from my half-
shet eyes,
As I listened to the ol' brass band !
Ther's a heap o' solid comfort to a man like me,
In the thought that when we leave this earthly
sphere,
When the golden goblet's broken an' the soul's set
free
We shall sing the happy songs we sung when here i
But I'll never be contented wtth the music there,
Though the golden harps be pealin' loud an' grand,
If ther' aint a brassy flavor in the air somewhere
Jest a mem'ry o' the ol' brass band !
140 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
That Jolly OP Chap in the Moon.
T T E'S a prodigal chap is the Man in the Moon v
An' I can't understand him, I swan !
Per he stays out o' nights from December to June,
And he squanders his change till he finds party
soon
That his very last quarter is gone ;
Then instead o' behavin' hisself as he should,
An' reformin' his habits as most people would
W'y, it seems that possessed by the spirit o' sin
He gits ready to do it all over ag^in !
He's a curious critter this Man in the Moon
An' he stays out so late of a night
That he seldom gits home till the next afternoon,
Lookin' sickly an' pale an' as wild as a loon
A dejected an' miser'ble sight ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 141
Then he'll tumble in bed an' the curtains he'll
pull,
An' the next time you see him he's probably full
Hidin' under a cloud, while avoidin' a dun,
An' attemptin' to borry a light from the sun!
Yet, the Man in the Moon is a friend to us all
He's a good-natured, jolly ol' elf;
But he's livin' so high an' his sal'ry's so small
That you'd possibly find, should you happen to call,
He's existin' on moonshine itself.
You may call him a luny ol' rogue, if you please,
An' insist that his diet is limburger cheese,
But he's stood all the shafts that 'ave ever been
hurled
An' he never has yet turned his back on the world!
Ah ! a faithful ol' friend is the Man in the Moon
An' he never refuses to lend ;
With his face all aglow an' his heart all atune
He will grant to the meanest this heavenly boon,
142 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN
That he'll wait an' he'll watch to the end.
In the lone, silent night through the winder he'll
peep,
An' he'll bend o'er the face of the dear one asleep,
Till a halo of heaven encircles her head
An' a dreamy smile lights up the face o' the dead !
GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDOWN. 143
Like 'er Ma.
QOMEHOW things jest sort o' seem
Like a misty, hazy dream,
Sence my little gal is gone
Her my heart was set upon.
Yeller curls was on 'er head-
Golden ringlets you 'ave said ;
Blue as indigo her eyes
You'd compared 'em to the skies;
Pinkish nose, an' right beneath
Rows o' white an' shiny teeth,
Dimpled cheeks an' well, you see,
Like 'er ma, an' not like me !
I can see her plain to-day
Jest as when she went away ;
See the smiles that run an' race
One another 'cross 'er face,
Up an' down an' everywhere
Hidin' in the dimples there.
144 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
When we ust to take a walk
How that little gal 'Id talk
'Bout the blossoms on the trees,
'Bout the birds an' flowers an' bees ;
She liked purty things, you see
Like 'er ma, an' not like me !
I was alluz big an' rough,
Sort o' made o' knotty stuff,
But my wife, it's mighty plain,
Has a some'at smoother grain.
Fer that little gal o' mine
Was o' timber straight an' fine ;
An' her manners was polite
'Cause 'er ma had learnt 'er right;
Yes, mam, ma," an' "yes, sir," when
She was talkin' to the men.
She was smart as she could be
Like 'er ma, an' not like me !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 145
But my little gal is gotie
Her I ust to dote upon ;
An' the world looks ruther dim
Sence she went to live with Him.
Seems as if the sun don't shine,
An' the posies droop an' pine ;
Days 're long an' nights 're drear
'Cause the little thing aint here.
No one peeks from 'hind the door,
There's no playthings on the floor;
Life don't have no charm, you see
Hardly, fer 'er ma an' me !
14H GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
A Memory.
A M I a feelin' lonesome? Well,
It's ruther hard fer me to tell.
I've been a settin' here a thinkin'
'Bout the weather; sort o' drinkin'
In the sunshine an' a blinkin'
At the landscape ;
Then my ol' eyes got to winkin',
An' a haze was in the air
Must 'ave been some teardrops there ?
Mebby !
All to onct behind my chair
I heard a noise ; an' then a pair
O' chubby arms was 'round my neck,
An' two red lips ag'in my ear
Was murm'rin' low an' soft an' clear:
" Gran'pa, let me comb y'r hair!"
My-o-my ! It took me back
Along life's dusty wagon-track,
Down through the shadders thick an' black
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 147
To them sweet, lazy days in June
Long years ago.
I thought o' how we'd rest at noon,
Out on the ol' front porch at home.
The swallers hatchin' 'neath the comb
'Ld pant an' gap', with heavin' breast
An' wings spread out acrost the nest
Jest sufferin' with the heat
That beat
In fiery waves
Down on the roof above the porch,
Till things seemed hot enough to scorch.
'Twas jest one stretch o' deep-blue skies
Without a cloud ;
Ol' Bose, the dog, 'Id close his eyes
An' whinin', snappin', at the flies
'Ld try to sleep ; but 'twa'nt no go
The little mischiefs pestered so.
He'd wag his great tail to an' fro,
148 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOW N .
An' gittin' up with amblin' pace
An' look o' misery on his face,
He'd try to find a cooler place.
His red an' drippin' tongue lolled out,
He'd look about
An' seek relief.
The mornin' glories closed the'r cups;
An' me stretched out there in the shade,
An' jest arrayed
In nothin' but my pants an' shirt
Not carin' fer the dust an' dirt
'Ld hear
A soundin' low an' soft an' clear
Upon the hot an' smother'n' air:
41 Say, Jimmy, let me comb y'r hair!"
An' then I'd wake an' roughly shove
My long hair back ; an' there above
Like wing-tips of a snow-white dove
Ten little fingers soft with love
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 149
Was fondlin' 'round my sunburnt face.
Ah, little sister ! years 'ave gone
An' she has swiftly traveled on,
Far up the shinin' golden stair
That leads to heaven over there ;
An' yet to-day I seem to hear
A whisper'n' through the atmosphere,
An' soundin' low an' soft an' clear
Say, Jimmy, let me comb y'r hair !"
I'd better come an' take a walk
Around the place with you, an' talk
O' cheerfuler things? Well, mebby so !
Jest hand me down my cane ; I'll go.
150 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
At the Country Store.
* ( '""PHAT tale o' yours reminds me of "-
And Jonas crossed his legs
And knocked the ashes from his pipe
Upon a box of eggs
" A feller that I ust to know,
His name was Jim Van Horn,
Who cleared a twenty-acre lot
An' planted it in corn.
So far, so good ; fer corn's all right
A ruther payin' crop,
But Jim's was that 'ere triflin' kind
That's only fit to pop.
The neighbors laughed at him a sight
He didn't keer a darn
An' in the fall he shucked it out
An' piled it in the barn,
Along o' several bar'ls o' black
GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDOWN. 151
Merlasses that he made
Another one o' his idees
That somehow never paid.
Well, one day Jim fixed up some trade
An' ambled off to town,
An jest as he come home at night
The barn was burnin' down.
As true as I'm a settin here
An' never told a yarn,
That popcorn popped so tarnal big
It swelled an' bu'st the barn !
It sounded like a cannon's roar ;
The grains flew far an' wide,
An' one ol' cow out in the field
Give up the ghost an' died.
She thought it was a snowstorm, sir,
An' yieldin' up 'er breath ;
She shivered once 'r twice an' then
Dropped over froze to death.
The popcorn an' rnerlasses mixed
152 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
An' packed down in the stalls,
An' Jim, he cleared a fortune, sir,
A sellin' popcorn balls!"
Then Jonas caught his basket up
And quickly slid away,
For he who lies and leaves may live
To lie another day.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 153
My Pa He's 'ist a Docker-man,
/\ l\ Y pa, he's 'ist a docker-man ;
An' my ma said to me one day :
" Your pa has goned an' tooked a bran'
New baby-boy acrost the way,
To Mrs. Giles ; an' maby, dear,
If you be good an' ast him to,
He'll bring a re'ly baby here
A little bruzzer boy fer you !"
Well, when my pa corned home at night,
An' put his slippers on an' said
He guessed he'd haf to go an' write
A letter 'fore he went to bed,
I climbed upon his knee an' 'en
I hugged an' kissed him two 'r free,
An' ast him if he wouldn't sen'
An' git a bruzzer boy fer me.
154 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
He said he would; an' 'en he winked
His eye at ma, an' coughed an' smiled
An' said he kin' o' somehow finked
He wouldn't diserpoint the child.
I don't know what he meant, but ma
1st clapped 'er han's an' 'en she said
It was a splendid joke on pa
An' 'en they sent me off to bed.
Well, when the baby corned, you know,
'Twas ist anuzzer girl ! an ma
Was ist heart-sick about it, so
She had to stay in bed ; an' pa
He 'lowed the folks in babylan'
Was out o' boys, an' so they sent
A girl 'r didn't un'erstan'
The km o' baby that he meant !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Mitten.
RAN'MAM settin' by the fire
Wiped 'er specs an' rubbed 'er lashes,
Hitched 'er cheer a little nigher
Dipped 'er pipe into the ashes ;
Said in half pervokin' tone
As she wound er' ball o' knittin' :
" Better leave the gals alone,
'R you'll mebby git the mitten."
"Well," said I, "I must agree
You're uncommon good at guessin',
Pokin' of y'r fun at me
All because you see me dressin' ;
I'm a goin' to spellin' school
My, jest see how late it's gittin' !"
Gran'mam said : " Don't be a fool,
'R you 11 mebby git the mitten."
156 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Through the medder, down the road-
With the stars above me blinkin',
I kep' tusslin' with the load ;
Keepin' up a mighty thinkin'.
Here was purty Lizy Stone,
Plump an' playful as a kitten
" Better leave the gals alone,
'R you'll mebby git the mitten !"
Wen the spellin' school was out
An' the boys an' gals was matin'
I a wraslin' hope an' doubt
Stood there like a dunce a waitin' ;
Felt my face a burnin' red
While my heart was fairly splittin',
" Now 'r never, Jim," I said
u ,An' you'll mebby git the mitten !"
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 157
There she come, a purty pout
'Round 'er rosy lips a flittin' ;
I jest stuck my elbow out
'R you'll mebby git the mitten !''
Well, I fixed the matter there
All in 'bout a half a minute ;
Got the mitten fair an' square
But er' little hand was in it!
158 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Bumble Bee.
TEST along 'bout now, while the skies 're blue
An' the winds 're soft an' the summer's new,.
'S when when I like to loll in the medder-lot,
'Fore the dew dries off an' the sun grows hot ;
With my face turned up an' my arms stretched out,
An' the clover bloom an' the bees about,
Till I lose myself an' my thoughts float free
On the gauzy wings o' the bumble bee !
Oh ! there aint no trouble 'at's likely to come
Where the clover's green an' the busy hum
O' the bumble bee, as he splits the air,
Seems to rid a body of every care ;
Fer the mind gits lulled by his buzzin' din,
Till the sense slips out an' the sleep slips in
An' the soothin'est sound in the world to me,
Is the drowsy drone o' the bumble bee !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 159
'Bout the first o' June 'r the last o' May,
When the woods 're green an' the fields 're gay,
Then I jest stretch out where the sunlight spreads
'Mong the dandeli'ns an' the clover heads;
An' I listen there to that sing-song hum
Till my eyes go shet an' my brain gits numb
Fer the soothin'est music on earth to me
Is the sleepy drone o' the bumble bee !
160 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
The Little White School-House
the wind-swept top o' the long clay ridge,
Nestlin' close to the dark green wildwood,
Where the beech limbs bend 'round its gable end
Is the school-house I loved in childhood ;
But its chimbley's gone an' the walls 're gray,
While the moss on the roof is showin',
An' the cold rains pour through the open door
Where the jimpson an' burdock's growin'.
In the flow'r-flecked years o' the golden past
There I played as a barefoot gypsy,
When the wild bee bent to the clover's scent
Till his wings an' his legs got tipsy ;
When the lazy winds swept the rioened grain
Where the cradles was brightly gleamin',
An' the sun-kissed haze o' the summer days
Bore the sound o' the catbird's screamin.'
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 1<>1
'Cross the 'ol stone step crept the brier-torn feet
O' the careless an' tardy scholar,
While his face all grime told o' berry time
An' the patch in the plundered holler.
Here he'd lisp a story o' work at home,
In a way that was most surprisin'
But his fruit-stained lips an' his finger tips
Spoke the truth there was no disguisin'.
In the medder strip jest beyond the road
Sleeps the form o' the gruff ol' master;
But the headstone's gone with his name upon,
An' the grave-lot's become a pastur'.
Yet the school-house stands like a veter'n scarred,
Fightin' time with a grim endeavor,
An' though warped an' bent it's a monument
O' the days that 're gone forever.
11
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN
Winter in the Lap 'O Spring.
IT'S the most pervokin' nonsense
That I ever heerd about !
Here's the dandeli'ns a bloomin'
An' the Johnny-jump-ups out,
Here's the cherry trees in blossom
An' the blue-birds on the wing
But ol' Winter's still a lingerin'
In the flow'ry lap o' spring.
It's enough to make a body's
Temper fairly bile an fizz
Jest to see that gray ol' codger,
Stiffened up with rheumatiz,
Ljmpin' 'round among the posies
But the most disgustin' thing
Is to see the dotard lollin'
In the lap o' rosy spring.
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 163
u She's as purty as a picter "
Poets say, an' praise 'er form ;
Claim 'er eyes 're bright an' sparklin'
An' 'er breath is sweet an' warm.
But I own that it amazes
Me to see the maiden fling
Both 'er arms around ol' Winter
I'm a little down on Spring !
W'y, it's set the people talkin'
'Bout the bold an' shameless pair,
An' the peach trees 're a blushin'
At the scanderlous affair ;
Wile the robins 're so 'shamed, sir,
That they skeercely dare to sing
Per that villian's still a-cuddlin'
In the lap o' balmy Spring !
GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLE DO W N .
"Down at Hughes's Old Shop.
r~\OWN at Hughes's ol' shop ! In the summers
* ' gone by,
When the pastur's was green an' the tint o' the
sky
Was as meltin'ly soft as the color that lies
In the love-lighted depths of a baby's blue eyes ;
Where the brown country road comin' in from the
west
Met the one from the east an' concluded to rest,
Where the north road an' south road both come to
a stop
There us boys ust to frolic 'round Hughes's ol'
shop.
Jimmy Hughes the big smith with a pipe in his
lips,
With his apr'n tucked up an' his hands on his hips,
Ust to stand in the door till some farmer rode in
Then the bellows 'Id wheeze an' the work 'Id
begin ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 1 ( ''">
An' the sweat drops 'Id gether an' start in a race
Down the gullies an' seams on his wrinkled ol'
face ;
An' us barefooted youngsters 'Id garner the crop
O' sparks from the anvil at Hughes's ol' shop.
Down at Hughes's ol' shop ! Where the road up
the ridge
Brung the peppermint smell from the Deaver run
bridge,
Where the road from the west as it clambered the
hill
Bore the rumble an' roar o' the big water-mill ;
An' the north road an' the south road was sweet
with the scent
That the dogwoods an' may apples lavishly lent
There we ust to play marbles, an' black-man, an'
hop-
Step-an'-jump 'round the corner o' Hughes's ol'
shop.
1R6 GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDO w N .
There was little Ti Henry a big one fer noise,
Jim Lutgen, George Teters, the three Darnell boys,
Win Rogers, Wes Bishop, Gid Newton, Ev Scott,
Marp Ellis, Charl Rivers an' some I've fergot.
Oh, yes ; an' a feller I'll not tell his name
Who has sence tried to climb the greased ladder o'
fame;
But they say he's got stuck sever'l miles from the
top
An' he ust to make rhymes down at Hughes's ol'
shop.
Down at Hughes's ol' shop ! When the mid
winter sky
Is as black as the night an' the winds whistle by ;
When the giant oaks shiver an' shake in the blast
An' the'r moanin' complaint seems a voice from
the past ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 167
Then the ghosts o' the days that 're gone 'pear to
creep
From the dusty ol' shop where they've long been
asleep,
An' the'r tread is as light as the snowflakes that
drop
On the Newton Ridge Road, down at Hughes's ol'
shop !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Easter on the Farm.
T NEVER think o' Easter day
But what my mind begins to stray
From present scenes, an' slip away
Back down the tangled track o' years
Bestrewed with boyish hopes and fears,
Bedewed with sweet an' bitter tears
Until the ol' home place appears;
An' mem'ry with its subtle art,
Begins to play a tender part
Upon the strings o' my ol' heart.
An' then an' then I seem to see
The dear home-faces, seem to be
A boy again an' feel the charm
O' Easter Sunday on the farm.
A week 'r two before the time,
The price o' aigs 'Id alluz climb
The up'ard grade. u It's jest a crime
GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDOWN. 16J>
To eat 'em " mam 'Id up an' say
" I only hope the hens '11 lay
A lot of 'em, to take away
To market, fer I want to pay
Fer winder-blinds 'an ev'ry thing
To fix the spare room np this spring;
You boys must hunt the nests, an' bring
The aigs to me before they freeze.
Ther' aint no use to whine an' tease
Fer Easter aigs, an' whimper ' please;'
The times is hard an' aigs is dear
You got to go 'ithout this year !''
I'd wink at Hank, he'd wink at me ;
We'd look at Poke an' find that he
Was up to snuff, an' then us three
'Ld hurry out beneath the sheds
An' hunt among the carts an' sleds
An' thresh-machines an' wagon-beds,
To find the aigs ; we'd scratch our heads
170 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
An' scheme an' plan an' slap our laigs
A-chucklin' how we'd hide them aigs.
We'd search the dim an' dusty mows,
The clover hay above the cows,
An' in the bin behind the plows
Among the oats we'd dig a hole,
An' there we'd hide the aies we stole.
Well, when the aigs quit comin' in,
W'y mam 'Id scold an' we 'Id grin,
An' pap 'Id growl: " It does beat sin
About them hens; it 'pears that they
Are jest determined they won't lay.
They 're no account, I hope an' pray
They'll go to Halifax an' stay !"
An' mam 'Id answer: ''Good-land! John,
To see the way you carry on ;
But then, it does beat all I swan !
Them hens lay on an' never cease
When aigs aint worth a cent apiece,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 171
But when they're worth the'r weight in gold
An' other folks has took an' sold
A sight of 'em, we're in disgrace
'Ithout an aig upon the place !"
So mam 'Id grumble an' lament,
An' pap'ld scold an' give full vent
To all his wrath an' discontent :
" It's jest the way, now ! When you sent
To market, you fergot about
My plug-tobacker, I've no doubt,
An' here I'm 'most entirely out;
An' then you might 'ave saved a few
Fresh aigs fer Easter Sunday, too
I don't see what the boys '11 do."
Then we'd rush off an' rob the bin
An' bring the bushel basket in
Chuck full o' aigs ; an' mam 'Id grin
An' pap 'Id kind o' cough an' smile
An' say he knowed it all the while !
l~l' GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN
An' that's the reason why I say
I never think o' Easter day,
But what my thoughts '11 slip away
Off down the traveled track o' years-
Made musical with boyish cheers
Until the big log-stable rears
Its roof in sight, an' home appears;
An' mem'ry, with its magic art,
Begins to play a tender part
Upon the chords o' my ol' heart.
An' then an' then its good to see
The dear home-faces, good to be
A boy again an' know the charm
O' Easter days upon the farm !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 17.'!
We're a Comin' to g'r Show.
[TO THE ( OXKKDKHATE VETKKANS OK <!EOKGIA.]
w
E'RE a comin'
We're a comin' !
An' I write to let you know
That we've saved a few spondulicks,
An' we're comin' to y'r show.
Not with musketeers an' drummers,
As we done in sixty-four
Wen Bill Sherman's Yankee bummers
Marched from Georgy to the shore
O' the big an' broad Atlantic ;
But we're comin' by-an'-by
With a han' shake an' God-bless-you
An' a tear-drop in the eye.
Fer we hail you all as brothers
An' I write to let you know,
With our sweethearts an' our mothers
We're a comin' to y'r show !
174 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
We're a com in'
We're a comin' !
With our children an' our wives,
Fer we've forged our guns to plowshares
An' our swords to pruniu' knives.
WVre a comin' with the mem'ry
Of our heroes in our minds
Growin' greener than the greenest
O' y'r watermelon vines;
But we'll meet you an' we'll greet you
With no hatred born o' war,
Fer our souls 're pink an' innocent
An' juicy to the core.
So, we hail you all as brothers
An' I write to let you know,
With our babies an' the'r mothers
We're a comin' to y'r show !
We're a comin'
We're a comin'!
An' I write you to say
That we'll twine the common laurels
O' the Bluecoats an' the Gray
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 175
'Round our hearts in union garlands ;
An' we'll teach the world to know
That w'en Georgy has a circus
W'y, the North'll see the show !
Fer we're jest one common country,
An' the banner o' the free
Shakes its starry folds above us,
" From Atlanta to the sea.''
So, we're comin' yes, we're comin'
An' I write to let you know,
That from Maine to Californy
We're a comin' to y'r show !
176 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
Gran'pa's Chris'mas in the
City.
\ A ^'EN Chris'mas time corned routr las' year
The weather was a snowin' ;
Nen w'en it turned off sharp an' clear
The win' commenced a blowin',
An' sent the snowflakes whirlin' by
So we could hardly see the sky,
An' piled the drifts 'ist awful high
An' filled the roads an' hollers ;
Till pa 'lowed : " It '11 make the train
'1st hump 'erself with might an' main
To keep the track she follers."
My gran'pa lives in Clovertown
An' some folks thinks it's witty
To say he's 'ist a " country clown,' 1
'Cause they live in the city.
But we live in the city, too,
An' wouldn't know 'ist w'at to do,
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 1~~
'R how we ever could git through,
If we'd no good ol' gran'pa;
Per he 'ist sen's us lots o' things,
An' w'en he comes he alluz brings
A basketful an' gran'ma !
My gran'pa's 'ist the bestes' man,
Ther' ain't no one above 'iin ;
An' pa says u Built on such a plan
'At folks can't help but love 'im."
My gran'ma's mos as good as him,
An' kin' o' tall, an' stooped, an' slim,
An' says " My eyes is growin' dim,"
W'en she can't read the papers;
She calls me " precious little lamb,"
Nen gives me tarts an' berry jam,
An' laughs at all my capers.
Well, Chris'mas eve my pa says : " Rain
'R shine I think y'r gran'pa
'LI come up on the evenin' train,
An' bring along y'r gran'ma ;
12
178 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDO VVN.
We won't 'ave very long to wait,
'Nless 'at pesky train is late,
A wadin' drifts across the state
So, hurry 'r you'll miss 'em ;
Come, hus'le on y'r things le's go
Right down an' meet the Z. an' O.,
An' be the firs' to kiss 'em."
Wen we got to the station, ther'
Was heaps o' ingines shriekin',
An' smoke an' cinders ever'wher',
An' car-wheels 'ist a screakiri ;
My pa says : " W'y ! the Z. an' O.
'S a'ready in ; I'd like to know
Wat's come of 'at ol' gran'pa, though
Him an' his traps an' gran'ma.''
Nen' some one come a rushin' in
An' chucked me underneaf the chin
An' ther' was dear ol' gran'pa !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 179
Oh' ain't my gran'pa awlul nice!
He picked me up an' squeezed me,
An' says; "Y'r face is cold as ice ;"
Nen pinched my cheeks an' teased me.
An' 'en right back o' wher' he stood
I saw a shawl an' quilted hood,
An' heard my gran'ma aint she good !
Say : " / mils' have a kiss, dear ;
Las' 1 Chris'mas time, a year ago,
You corned to our house through the snow,
So I've corned up here this year."
My gran'pa wored his shaggy coat
An' great big wooly mittens,
An' had a thing tied roun' his throat
'At looked \-\ktfuzzy kittens ;
His cowhide boots was greasy black,
An' 'en he had upon his back
A fat an' shiny carpet-sack
Oh, how his eyes did twinkle !
His nose was kin' o' rosy red,
A gray fur cap was on his head
He looked 'ist like Kris Krnklc !
180 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
An' Oh ! the time we had nex' day
Wen we went out a walkin' ;
Fer gran'pa he was very gay
An' never stopped a talkin'.
We peeked in all the winders wide
An' bought mos' ever'thing inside
'Nen I got sick, 'ist 'cause I tried
To eat up all my candy ;
An' gran'ma laughed an' 'lowed she guessed
At Chris'mas times 'twas alluz best
To have a doctor handy !
My gran'ma says she never dreamed
O' half so good a time, sir,
An' gran'pa says it re'ly seemed
Like ever\\\\K<g was prime, sir ;
An' 'lows 'at nex* year he'll come back
Along the snowy railroad track,
An bring his shiny carpet-sack
An' lots o' things an' gran'ma;
An' ma says : " Ain't he 'ist too good !
I don't see how we ever could
Have Chris'mas without gran'pa!"
O H!
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 181
Campin' Out.
the peoples all 'ist crazy down to our place,
an' my pa
'Lows they've got the "campin' fever;" an' one
day he says to ma :
" Now, don't you go git no hifalutin' notions in
yer head
'Bout this campin' out an' fishin" -'em's the very
words he said !
" Cause you'll 'ave a much more gooder time a
stayin' here in town,
Nan a roastin' in the bilin' sun, an' traipsin' up an'
down
The river with a pack o' fools an' gittin' sick, no
doubt ;
Per it's all dadburn tomfoolery, is this 'ere campin'
out !"
Well, my ma went on a sweepin', 'ist as if she
didn't heard
'Cause w'en pa gits on his tantrums, w'y she never
says a word
182 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
But she kin' o' shocked an' chuckled as she reached
the kitchen shelf
An' tooked down the brush an' dust-pan, an' she
whispered to herself:
" I can see he's got the fever, an' it won't be half
a day
Till we'll all be busy plannin' an' a packin' to go
way!"
Sure enough, 'at night at supper pa 'ist come a
rushin' in,
An' he hollered as he tucked his napkin underneaf
his chin :
" Say ! we're goin' out a campin', little woman ;
I'll be blest
If I'll stay at home an' hustle w'ile Jess Timms
an' all the rest
'Re a lollin' roun' in shady tents, an' tellin' fairy
tales
'Bout the'r suckers big as sawlogs an' the'r mud-
cats big as whales !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
We'll 'ist pack our traps an' amble off to cool an'
quiet joys,
An' we'll spen' a happy fortni't wiv Jim Mellor an'
the boys ;
So you git the chil'ern ready here's a hiphurroar
an' shout
Per the blue ol' 'Skingum River an' a time a
campin' out !"
Oh ! we went an' had the goodes time at ever,
ever was !
Fer we waded in the water 'ist as ever'body does,
An' we ketched the bigges' fishes mos' as long as
my two han's;
An' my pa had his bait in aywg", the uzzer folks in
cans !
Nen at night we all 'ist tumbled into one big
sleepin' tent,
An' my pa 'Id ast my ma if she wa'nt awful glad
we went ;
Nen he'd low 'at way o' livin' was a sure cure fer
the gout
Say ! we all 'ist had a lovely time w'en we was
campin' out !
184 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
'Course the san' blowed in the butter an' the
skeeters they was bad,
An' they sometimes pestered pa's bal' head till he
was fightin' mad;
Nen it rained one night, an' pa said 'at a reg'lar
Noey's flood
Come a tearin' down the hillside an' it filled the
tent wiv mud !
But we all 'ist had the bestes' time 'at ever, ever
was,
Fer the bloom was on the elders an' the bees was
on the buzz ;
An' my pa says 'at a feller is a good-fer-nothin' lout
'At '11 stay in town an' swelter w'en he might be
campin' out!
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 185-
I
^
The Ol' Fence *Row.
ONG the ol' fence row, 'long the ol' fence row,
How I love to wander slowly as the seasons
come an' go !
When the star-like blows 're glearnin' from the
brier's leafy spray,
An' the snowy elder blossoms forms a fragrant
milky way ;
When the wing-stirred air is laden with a thousand
subtle scents,
Then I love to wander slowly 'long the ol' rail
fence.
Oh, the ol' fence row ! Oh, the ol' fence row !
I can see it it as I saw it in the misty long ago;
With the milk-weed pods a burstin' and the shoo-
make growin' red,
With the sassafras a sheddin' spicy odors overhead,
1<S6 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
With the tangled vines a creepin' thro' the many
cracks an' rents
An' the fuzzy catnip growin' 'long the ol' rail
fence.
'Long the ol' fence row, long the ol' fence row,
Many winter days I've traveled in the freezin' ice
an' snow.
I 'ave seen the faded flowers an' 'ave heard the
chillin' breeze,
As it sung o' colder weather through the naked,
leafless trees ;
But the sunny May-time follered with its balmy
recompense,
An' the path was green an' sinilin' 'long the ol' rail
fence.
Oh, the ol' fence row ! Oh, the ol' fence row !
Seems that life is somethin' like it as we're trampin'
to an' fro ;
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 187
Fer the blossoms an' the brambles 're a growin'
side by side,
An' the daisy's overshaddered by the thistle in its
pride;
An' to keep the beaten pathway takes a deal o'
common sense
Fer the track o' life's as crooked as an ol' rail
fence !
188 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN.
He Was My Friend.
TJlS presence lingers still about the room,
His footsteps echo yet upon the floor,
His cheery smile still brightens all the gloom
Though he has hurried out and shut the door ;
And biding here to-day I feel and know
Whatever way his fading footprints trend,
A little lapse of time and I shall go
He was my friend.
He softly hurried out and shut the door
And all my soul with bitter anguish shook ;
I strive to pierce the darkness, o'er and o'er
'Tis not for me to know the course he took !
Yet biding here in grief I can but know
That blue and kindly skies above him bend,
And whither he has journeyed I shall go
He was my friend !
GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 189
A little lapse of time and then and then
The outer door again shall open wide,
And I shall leave the busy haunts of men
To overtake him journey at his side.
And biding here alone I can but pray
Whatever fate it pleases God to send,
Oh ! let me clasp his hand again some day-
He was my friend !
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