WEARY.
Weary of the tumult of the town,
Of the burdens and the cares that weigh me down,
Of oppression, greed, and strife,
Of the din of city life,
Disappointments that my noblest efforts crown.
Weary of the world's vain, gilded styles,
Though my moments he with softest words beguiles;
Though he warble ne'er so blandly,
His old heart is false though friendly,
For he lingers near me but when fortune smiles.
Weary of his griefs and empty show,
To the quiet woods alone I love to go,
And in sweet repose abide
Where the sylvan echoes ride
On October's drowsy winds that whisper low.
Where the bonnie squirrel flits among the trees,
And the quail his piping flings upon the breeze,
Where the gold and brown leaves quiver
O'er the winding, osiered river,
Bearing on its soft, low music to the seas.
And the forest oak, so grand, majestic, high,
With his rainbow-mantled branches woos the sky,
And the wind a fairy story
Breathing o'er the maple's glory,
Brings it down in twirling crimson showers, where lie
Many springtime flowers, fast asleep,
Spreading over them a cover warm and deep;
And the sunlight glints and spangles
Through the wild and woody tangles,
Where alone the eye of God doth vigils keep.
Standing there on wild, leaf-covered sod,
Where perhaps no human foot before hath trod
My storm-tossed soul is blest
In a halo of sweet rest,
All alone within the crimson wood with God.
[TO A VIOLET.]
Violet, sweet violet,
Of modest, dainty grace,
Why dost thou hide among the grass
Thy pretty velvet face?
Thine eyes are filled with dew, thy breath
Makes sweet the air of spring;
Thy whispers low, sweet memories
Of other springtimes bring.
Sweet olden, golden springtimes,
When bluebirds sang so gay,
As I plucked thy sister blossoms
From a woodland far away,
With her, whose eyes, in color,
Sweet flow'r, were just like you,
And like you grew in radiance
From drinking heaven's blue.
Each spring, as lisping children,
As romping schoolgirls, too,
Our feet were bathed in violet banks
That dripped with melting dew;
Our souls were bathed in bliss divine,
As all day long we basked
In sweet and fragrant winds we knew
Had kissed them as they passed.
But when the summer sun shone hot,
Their slender stems were dried;
Their modest heads bent lower, and
Their fragrant blossoms died;
And could we pierce to-day the blue
Of heaven's dome so fair,
Methinks we'd see them blooming in
Celestial glory there!
Culled by our angel Emma,
In a rapturous clime, that lies
In the radiant, springtime glory
Of the fields of Paradise!
[GOLDEN DAYS.]
SONG.
(To my sister Emma.)
I've just seen the first robin of spring, Emma,
And he's warbling a sweet little song,
Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma,
And of joys that to childhood belong.
He was singing a song to his mate, Emma,
A sweet song of happiness and love,
And it echoed thro' woodland and dale, Emma,
Over valley and hilltop and grove.
Chorus:
Oh, those happy, happy days gone by, Emma,
Their memory is ever dear to me;
Oh, those old golden, glorious days, Emma,
When I played 'mong the flowers with thee.
Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma,
When life seemed only a song,
Holding neither a sorrow nor tear, Emma,
As we played 'mong the flowers all day long.
We gathered the mosses and ferns, Emma,
The cowslips and violets so blue,
And the crab-apple blossoms so sweet, Emma,
And the sweet, mellow May-apple, too.
Chorus.
You remember the old apple-tree, Emma,
With its wide-spreading branches o'erhead?
Such perfume I have never since found, Emma,
As its sweet, fragrant blossoms did shed.
But now we are far, far apart, Emma,
The sunny days of childhood are o'er,
But we'll roam hand in hand 'mong the flowers, Emma,
That bloom on the Bright Golden Shore.
Chorus.
[BABY MINE.]
Tired of laughter, tired of play,
Baby mine,
On my breast thy tresses lay,
Baby mine.
Cooing, loving, prattling, too,—
Shine and showers the whole day thro',
Tires a bonnie thing like you,
Baby mine.
Little violets so blue,
Baby mine,
Close their eyes now wet with dew,
Baby mine,
Saying, sweetheart, unto you,
Close those orbs of azure hue,
Where that glimpse of heaven gleams thro',
Baby mine.
Whence that dimpled foot and hand,
Baby mine?
Came they here at love's command,
Baby mine?
Or did angels, in their flight,
Drop this little blossom white
On the stream of time one night,
Baby mine?
Dimples guard thy crimson lips,
Baby mine;
Prints of fairy finger-tips,
Baby mine.
Now the shade of angel wings
Sweet repose upon thee brings,—
Silken soft thy slumberings,
Baby mine.
[LULLABY.]
Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my dear,
Nothing can harm you, for mother is near.
The journey is short, and the stars twinkle bright
O'er your path into Byloland, baby, good-night.
Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my pet,
Grasses that cover your pathway are wet
With dewdrops that sparkle like jewels so bright,
Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, good-night.
Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, sweetheart of mine,
Rest from their prattle those red lips of thine.
Bridges you cross in your Byloland flight
Sway to your footsteps, my baby, good-night.
Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, baby, my love,
Angels are watching thy cradle above.
Thy feet into Byloland's dreamy delight
Have entered, then rest, little pilgrim, good-night.
[A DAY IN JUNE.]
(To Mercy.)
This is the month of roses, dear,
The sweetest time of all the year.
Field, woodland, roadside,—everywhere,
Is clad in crimson beauty rare.
The very earth beneath our feet
Is covered with their petals sweet;
Where'er we go the balmy air
Is laden with sweet fragrance rare.
And now and then, dear, we may see
The cheerful, busy little bee
From out this dainty, crimson flow'r,
Sip nectar for his winter store.
The sky is blue, and there and here
We see a fleecy cloud appear;
Nor tongue nor pen can e'er portray
The beauties of this sweet June day.
In mem'ry, dear, it takes me back
Along life's sunny backward track
Just thirteen years, to a sweet June day
And a little cot, not far away,
Where roses bloomed, and song of bird
Throughout the livelong day was heard;
But never was this song so gay
As on that blissful, bright June day.
Within that little nut-brown cot,
On earth the dearest, sweetest spot,
A wee pink flower, both sweet and gay,
First opened to the light of day.
As time flew by on fairy wing,
This wee pink flower, this dainty thing,
Of all our love demanded part,
And twined its tendrils 'round each heart.
Sometimes, without, 'twas dark and dreary,
But all within this cot was cheery,
Because this little floweret gay
Chased gloom and shadows all away.
This dainty thing, so dear to me,
This little flower I have in thee.
'Neath blue June sky and rainbow shower,
Long live earth's purest, sweetest flower.
[CHRISTMAS ON THE FARM.]
Don't you remember, oh, brother mine!
What fun we had at Christmas-time,
Out on the old farm, you and I—
That home we loved in days gone by?
How up in the loft we used to climb
For nuts, stored there in autumn-time,
To crack and eat by the dear old fire,
While the cheerful blaze leaped high'r and high'r?
And when it was time to go to bed,
How each tired, sleepy little head
Was laid on a pillow, soft and white,
To dream of Christmas the livelong night?
And how in the morn, before 'twas light,
Our eyes were opened wide and bright,
As we ran a race down the high old stair,
To see if "Santa" had been there,
And brought his bundle of toys with him,
And filled our stockings up to the brim?
But dear old "Santa" would always stop
And fill them full to the very top.
Then we'd away to the old hillside,
The country shoemaker's cot beside—
Just 'round the corner, near the wood,
Where the tall old beech-tree grew and stood.
And the snowbirds hopped on its boughs awry
As our brand-new sled went whizzing by;
And down to the foot of the hill we'd go,
Over the crystal Christmas snow.
Oh, could life's downward journey be
As free from care for you and me;
Our hearts be filled with the same glad rays
Of those olden, golden Christmas days!
When life was so sunny, bright, and new,
Oh, brother mine! for me and you.
A happier home none ever had
Than ours, holding hearts so light and glad.
But those happy Christmas days of yore
To us will come again no more;
For she who chased all our care away
Sings a Christmas anthem in heaven to-day.
[MY LITTLE BROWN-EYED SWEETHEART.]
When evening shadows gather round,
And work of day is done,
When down the west horizon sinks
The glorious, golden sun,
And sweetly sing the whip-po-wils
Ode to the closing day,
Back to my home among the hills
My visions often stray.
Chorus:
Tho' time from mem'ry may efface
All else that's sweet and tender,
Those happy olden, golden days
I ever shall remember.
Oh, happy, olden, golden days,
Oh, days with sunshine laden,
When I wandered o'er those verdant hills
With a little brown-eyed maiden.
Where flowers were fair and fields were green,
And trees with blossoms lade,
'Twas there I met and loved and wooed
A little brown-eyed maid;
And oftentimes she'd sing to me
Sweetly her Flower Song,
As o'er those verdant, flowery hills
We gaily strolled along.
Chorus:
But that was years, long years ago,
Yet o'er and o'er again
In dreams I'm with my brown-eyed love,
And hear that sweet refrain.
Tho' death's cold frost has touched my flower,
And bid its life depart,
Yet still within my soul doth live
My little brown-eyed sweetheart.
Chorus:
[I KNOW TWO EYES.]
SONG.
I know two eyes—two jet-black eyes,
Yet fond and true and tender.
I see them in the twinkling stars,
And in the glowing ember.
You girls may talk of sweet blue eyes,
Or on soft brown eyes tarry,
But I will take those jet-black eyes,
So sparkling, bright, and merry.
They come to me at twilight hour,
They come in morning early,
They come my every joy to share,
Those jet-black eyes so merry.
They come at noon, and when I'm sad
They look at me so kindly,
Their ever-tender, sparkling glance
Dwells on me, oh, so fondly.
I know two eyes—two jet-black eyes,
Yet fond and true and tender;
They're bright as any twinkling star
Up in the heavens yonder.
I look into those sparkling eyes,
Those jet-black eyes so merry,
And see within their radiant depths
The love-light of my "dearie."
[CUPID'S MISTAKE.]
Cupid looked forth one bright spring day,
And whispered, "Now I must away.
Old winter, with his frost and snow,
Took his departure long ago.
"O'er roadside, field, and woodland, too,
Sweet violets grow, with eyes so blue;
Blossoms of every hue and shade
The balmy air with perfume lade.
"There's light and sunshine everywhere;
All nature is so wondrous fair;
E'en from the woods the wild birds sing
A welcome to the newborn spring.
"This surely is my harvest time,
To make men bow at Love's sweet shrine;
For all around, below, above,
Will help me make men fall in love."
So from beneath his flow'ry tent
He started on this mission bent.
First to the halls of wealth and rank
Went cunning Cupid with his prank.
On reaching them, to his dismay,
Those halls in deepest quiet lay;
And music, once the food of love,
Could not be heard below, above.
So Cupid's little wings he spread,
And, flying, to himself he said,
"The lawyer will be in, I know,
He's poring o'er his books, I trow.
"Poor fellow, what a lot is his!
To be shut up a day like this,
From sunlight, flowers, and wild bird's song,
Trying to balance right and wrong.
"I'll take my tiny little dart,
And lightly touch the lawyer's heart,
And show him how love's sweet, glad light
Can make his dingy office bright."
But when he reached the longed-for spot,
He found the studious lawyer not.
These words he read upon the door,
"The lawyer will be in at four."
"To the office of the doctor kind
I'll go," said he, "for there I'll find
Him tending to his patients' ills
With soothing balms and dainty pills."
But doctor's doors were closed, and lo!
Just as poor Cupid turned to go,
These words he read 'twixt tears, alack!
"At six the doctor will be back."
Next to the dentist man he flew,
And called upon the merchant, too;
In every place, the city 'round,
But not a bit of game he found.
"Well, well!" said Cupid, with a moan,
"The world has cold and heartless grown."
So once again his wings he spread,
And over country roads he sped,
Back toward his home among spring flowers,
And shady walks, and leafy bowers;
But as he flew the stream beside,
A crowd of wheelmen there he spied.
"Ha! ha!" laughed he, "I've found them all,
Both short and tall, both great and small.
Oh, what a pretty lad I see
Gliding along so merrily!
"With pretty boots laced to the knee,
His limbs how shapely, blithe, and free;
If I can get such game as he,
This trip a grand success will be."
So, saying this, his bow he bent,
And through the air his arrow sent;
Straight toward this pretty lad it flew,
And pierced his bosom through and through.
"My! wasn't that a blissful aim.
I'll fly to earth and get my game."
But when he reached that laddie's side
He looked perplexed, then horrified.
Then quickly rose and flew away,
And as he went was heard to say:
"Oh, what a blunder! Now I see
Fort Wayne is not the place for me;
"For, counting now my time and cost,
This lovely day is worse than lost.
My wings are weary, brain's awhirl,
For, oh, 'twas but a Bloomer Girl!"
[DEWEY'S VICTORY.]
'Tis morning at Manila,
The first dawn of the May;
Along the eastern horizon
We see the light of day.
As spreads its golden splendor
And drives away the night,
The hills that guard the islands
Are decked with diamonds bright.
The cocoa palms so olden,
Now robed in silvered green,
Stretch their broad branches heav'nward
To golden fields serene.
And yon cathedral spire gleams
With glory from the skies;
The beauty of the Sabbath
Across the city lies.
A little bay rests softly
Among those sun-kissed isles,
Reflecting heaven's azure,
And basking in God's smiles.
Upon its sleeping waters
A Spanish squadron lies;
Her flags unfurl their folds, and
Upon sweet breezes rise.
Lo! another fleet approaches,
More beauteous and grand;
The flag she bears so proudly
Has waved o'er Freedom's land!
She comes across the billows,
And in Freedom's cause to-day
The smoke and fire of battle
Enfold Manila Bay.
Look! on Fort Cavite they're firing!
Their efforts now prevail;
'Tis shattered into splinters,
And Spanish cheeks grow pale
The cannons belch forth thunder!
The shells burst thick and fast!
With might charge Freedom's heroes,
Amid the purple blast.
The handsome flagship Reina
Christina's sinking now;
She's robed in flames and ruin,
From th' Olympia's snowy bow.
Now all the Spanish squadron,
Its proud and dauntless crew,
Sinks 'mid the storm of battle,
'Neath troubled waters blue.
Nor falls a single hero
In Freedom's cause so true,
While fighting 'neath the banner
That's red and white and blue.
The Philippines are freed from
All tyrant rule and reign,
Avenged the noble sailors
On board our gallant Maine!
The gory hands of Spain are
In ocean waters laved,
O'er whose enchanted bosom
This morn her banner waved.
Hills, mountains, vales, and rocks ring
With shouts of victory,
As falls the sunset's crimson
Across the earth and sea.
And Dewey's noble squadron,
That bravely won the day,
On drowsy winds is floating
"Old Glory" o'er the bay.
All hail! our great commander,
Thou hero of the sea,
With your brave and noble boys you
Have captured victory.
Your name is wreathed in glory,
Its praises will be sung
Wherever Freedom's flag is
To Freedom's breezes flung.
The guns you've fired to-day,
On the first of flow'ring May,
Will thunder o'er Spain's hilltops
Ten thousand miles away!
Fling higher Freedom's emblem!
Long may its colors wave
Where God has given victory
To Freedom's noble brave.
[BATTLE OF SANTIAGO BAY.]
Just off the coast of an isle that lies
Where silver'd, feathery palm-trees rise
As if their branches would kiss the skies
So blue, so far away;
When woke each vale the Sabbath bell,
On seas that gently rose and fell,
Our nation's warships lay.
As dreamily, lazily basking, they
In quiet tropical sunshine lay,
In sight of a placid, sleeping bay,
Where anchored the Spaniard's ships,
"A big boat's coming from the bay!
The Spaniard's squadron comes this way!"
Came loud from a lookout's lips.
As one by one came the fleet of Spain
Across the bay, toward the main,
With hope in each bosom they once again
Launched forth on open sea.
"Each man to his gun!" the commodore cried,
And the warships plowed through the cloven tide,
In the trail of the enemy.
"Full speed ahead! Open fire!"
The commodore's voice rose high'r and high'r,
'Midst smoke and flames to the enemy nigh'r,
The gallant fleet plunged on.
The cannons poured forth fire and thunder,
The great shells cleft the waves asunder,
As gun replied to gun.
Right through the hot hell-fire and shell,
Through mist and smoke and shot that fell
O'er ship and boiling sea, pell-mell,
Charged Freedom's heroes true.
For o'er the battle's smoke and fury
Waved high the synonym of glory,—
The old "Red, White and Blue."
Great crashing volleys, long and loud,
Swept from the decks the Spaniards proud,
Then wrapped their boats in a smoky shroud,
And left them beached and burning.
Their decks in human blood were laved,
O'er which the yellow banner waved
So vauntingly that morning.
That eve the sunset's crimson ray
Touched gently, softly, tenderly
The waves that moaned where the lost fleet lay,—
The pride of Spain erstwhile,—
And crowned the man who climbed the height
To plant "Old Glory's" spangles bright
On sun-kissed Cuba's Isle.
[THE OLD MAN'S STORY.]
We'd been a talkin'—me and Ma—
A deal about our Bill.
He wuz well nigh onto thirty,
And gettin' older still.
He wa'n't a lazy lad, you see,
Wuz tall and strong and big,
But to accomplish anything
He must git up and dig.
Next we sot out to talk of Sal;
She wa'n't a hansum lass,
But luvin'er or kinder soul
Ne'er stepped on medder grass.
Sez I, "Good wimmen never grows
Frum idle gals, 'tis true;"
So we decided Sally should
Airn her own livin' too.
And then we talked about the twins,—
About our Joe and Jim.
Joe allus wuz a truant cuss,
And oft I've wallerp'd him
Fer runnin' 'way from skule to watch
The ships cum in at sea.
He allus said, "When I'm a man,
A sailor I will be."
Wuz allus gettin' inter scraps
On politicks at skule;
It wa'n't no use to send 'im,
He broke ever' gol-durned rule.
But Jim wuz sort o' studious;
He keered a heap fer books.
Lazy? I guess! On summer days
He'd find the shady nooks
And lay and read, while me and Bill
Got out and dun the work,
And airned a decent livin' fer
This lazy, wuthless shirk.
But Sue, she wuz a hansum gal;
Her cheek wuz like the rose;
Her breth wuz sweet as any breeze
The June-time ever blows.
Her eyes wuz dark and full of fire,
Her cheeks wuz churry red,
Her body sort o' willery,
But she'd a haughty head.
But if you wanted her to work
She never could be found;
And, mebby, if you scoured the farm
And all the country round,
You'd find her sittin' in a tree
A-whistlin' o' the tune
She'd heered the medder lark a-singin'
To the skies o' June.
And so one nite I called 'em in,
I think jest arter tea.
Sez I, "We've clothed and edecated you—
Yer Ma and me;
But now we're gettin' old, our j'ints
O' roomatism tells,
And it's high time fer you to airn
A livin' fer yoursel's."
Our kids wuz proud as eny
Indiany's ever grown,
And so, afore another month
They left us all alone.
Bill went to Philadelphy town
And hired to a store
As keeps all sorts o' things in lots,
Oh, millions,—mebby more.
Sal went to work fer Deken Dobbs,
And Joe went off to sea;
But Jim turned out an editor—
A mighty man wuz he.
Along kum one o' them air shows
With gals that danced and sang;
And, spite of all her ma could say,
Our Sue, she j'ined the gang.
As years went by our Bill he wed
A hansum city wife,
And went to livin' in accord
With high-dad city life.
The children kum till he possessed
O' them a mammoth fold;
And ever'thing he teched jest seemed
To turn to yaller gold.
Sal, wed to Deken Dobbs's son,
Wuz happy, but so poor;
And meny children played around
Her country cabin door.
But then she loved that wuthless man,
And p'raps, when all is told,
She's happier 'n she would 'a' bin
If she had wed fer gold.
The last I heered of rompin' Sue,
I b'lieve it wuz a "hit"
They called it that she made in France,
And ever' night she'd git
Great piles o' flowers, roses and sich,
O' yaller, red and white;
And ever' time she danced she fetched
Ten thousan' francs a night!
But Jim—poor Jim! our lazy boy—
He did'nt fare so well;
He's good in larnin', but, somehow,
His paper didn't sell.
But why it didn't I can't tell,
And of'n wonder yit;
Fer when the people brung in stuff
As fer his paper writ
Thet didn't sound jest right to him,
And wuzn't right in looks,
He allus tuk and made it right,
Fer Jim wuz good in books.
He know'd about the president,
Congress and senate, too;
Could tell you all that they hed done
And what they'd ort to do.
And when he found he couldn't make
Enuff to buy a bike,
He walked off down the railroad track
Toward the Klonindike.
But do you know that wuthless Joe
Turned out the best of all?
When down-trod Cuby needed help,
He answered duty's call,
An' what he taught ol' haughty Spain
I guess she'll not forget;
Fer the way he licked them Spanyards
Wuz a caution, now, you bet!
The people all went wild about
His bravery and fame,
An' now he's got an "Admiral"
Hitched on afore his name.
But nairy youngster would 'a' knowed
What in his brain-pan lay
'F I hadn't said, "Git up and dust!"
To them that summer day.
[TO MY DOG.]
Noble fellow, faithful friend!
Devoted, kind, and true;
In all this wide, wide world I've found
No one who loves like you.
Faithful dog, rememb'rest thou
(Oh, lucky day for thee!)
When thou, a friendless puppy, came
To beg a crust from me?
Then thou wast hungry, footsore, cold,
Thy sides were lank and thin;
But when I saw thy friendly face
I gladly took thee in.
Now thou art beautiful and plump.
Thy fur is soft and sleek,
A pretty collar buckled round
Thy noble, glossy neck.
But thou, oh, noble, trusty friend,
Repay'st this care of mine
A thousand-fold, for who could spurn
Devotion such as thine?
I know if thou, in time to come,
Some other friend should find,
Thou wilt not say of me harsh words
And sentences unkind.
So they who would our friendship scorn—
My fondness would reprove,—
Would better come to thee and learn
True gratitude and love.
[SOMEBODY.]
There's somebody stayin' aroun' our house—
I don't know who or where—
That sneaks about an' follers me out
An' in an' ever'where
I go; an' 'sturbs my skates an' things,
An' scatters 'em all about;
But you bet your stuff it'll go mighty tough
With 'im when I find 'im out!
Though I hang my hat an' coat away,
Up on the peg with care,
I'll just be bound they can't be found
When I want 'em,—anywhere.
When I've hunted for 'em till I'm late for school,
An' mad as one ol' March hare,
An' a dozen more, right down on the floor
I'll find that hat, just where
Somebody's went an' throwed it down,—
It's the same with my books each day,
My bat an' ball, my mittens an' all,
Though I'm sure I put 'em away.
But I tell you this: if I ever find
Who that meddlesome "somebody" is,
I'll rout 'im, an' scout 'im, an' all that's about 'im,
I'll learn 'im to mind his biz.
[THE HERO OF EVERY-DAY LIFE.]
(SONG.)
We sing of the hero of battle,
We cherish and worship his name;
Of the hero of old, and the hero of gold,
Of him who has honor and fame.
The hero of love's tender passion,
Who basks in its mystical ray,
As we journey along, but never a song
For the hero we meet every day.
The one who can face, aye, so bravely
His losses, rebuffs, and defeat;
Whose heart will not break though the world may forsake,—
From the enemy will not retreat.
Who never will murmur at fate, when
It seems an unmerciful foe,
But struggles along with a heart true and strong,
And strikes a far nobler blow.
Though his last golden castle is shattered
And sown to the wind long ago,
Each one that he meets with a warm smile he greets,—
His burden we never may know.
But hark! sweetest melodies mingle
With the din of earth's tumult and strife—
Heaven's joyous bells ring and archangels sing
For the hero of every-day life.
[THE CHILD'S INQUIRY.]
Oh, where is that beautiful city, mamma,
The one that is called Fort Wayne?
Does it rest in the light of a clear blue sky,
'Way out on a sandy plain?
Or may it be found where the roses climb
Over trellises built so high
That if you would pluck off the topmost one
You'd have to climb up to the sky?
Or where all the streets are so smooth and so clean
That buggies and bicycles, too,
Glide along with all ease in the sweet dreamy breeze,
Like balloons in soft heavens of blue?
Mother: Not there, my child, not there.
Fort Wayne is a hustling city, my dear,
On the banks of the old Maumee,
Where most of the folks are too busy to care
The beauties of nature to see.
'Tis a place where they all pay a tax, my dear,
For repairing the street, you know,
That they all may enjoy their bicycles, dear,
As "bumpety bump" they go.
And should you e'er enter that city, my dear,
Be sure that you always look down,
Or first thing you know in a rut you will go,
And find yourself flat on the ground.
Or if 'tis not you that is flat on the ground,
Your bicycle ruined will be—
There are tacks, broken beer-bottles strewn all around,
And your tire will be punctured, you see.
Fort Wayne is the city of "tags," my dear,
As every taxpayer knows;
Tags on their horses, their wheels, and their dogs,
And tags from their heads to their toes.
When its people go into the country, my dear,
To enjoy its cool breezes and shade,
They are bangled and spangled with tags, my dear,
Till they look like a circus parade.
It is there, my child, it is there.
[TO THE OLD TOWN CLOCK.]
Oh, servant faithful, tried, and true,
Through sunshine, storm, and shower,
Thy face for nearly forty years
Has graced the court-house tower;
Thy hands have never idle hung,
Thy face was always cheery,
Thy ever-swinging pendulum
Seemed never, never weary.
When we were late to work or school,
How gently didst thou chide us,
Telling in soft and muffled chimes
How swiftly time glides by us.
Oh, how the workman loved thy voice,
When thou, at set of sun,
Proclaimed in softest, sweetest chimes,
That his day's work was done.
But to us all it lost its charm,
And sounded cross and surly,
When wakened by its loud alarm
In morning, oh, so early!
The maple trees that spread their boughs
O'er the court-house yard below,
Each year yield up their foliage
To winter's frost and snow.
The birds that nest and sing among
Their boughs in summer time,
When winter winds begin to blow,
All seek a sunny clime.
But thou, oh, tried and faithful one,
Wert always just the same,
Keeping the time with merry chime
Through sunshine, snow, and rain.
For forty years thou'st kept the time,
While in the court below
Stood he who perpetrated crime,
Waiting his doom to know;
And when a murderer was tried,
Who, for a little pay,
Did take the life of a trusting friend,
In a hut not far away,
"One, two, three," we heard thee say,
In measured tones and slow,
As forth, to be tried in heav'nly courts,
His blood-stained soul did go.
Oh, cruel was thy fate, old clock!
For many days ago
Thy old familiar face was crushed
By workmen's sturdy blow.
They say they'll build a new court-house,
And that they will replace
By timepiece handsome, bright and new
Thy old storm-beaten face.
Then thou, oh, servant tried and true,
Through storm, sunshine, and show'r,
The music of thy mellow chimes
We'll hear again no more.
[AFTERWHILE, SOMEWHERE.]
Some day the misty shadow
That covers your heaven of blue,
Will melted be, and you will see
The rainbow gleaming through.
The tears you've shed in silence
For love that was wasted here—
Be still, O soul! They'll find their goal,
Afterwhile, somewhere.
Though deeds of tend'rest kindness
Oft bitter reproaches bring,
As the drowning bee that you'd set free
Repays you with a sting.
The pain you bear in silence,
For confidence wasted here
Will blossoms yield in a sun-kissed field,
Afterwhile, somewhere.
Though years of honest labor
Success has never crowned,
No fruit they brought, though nobly wrought,
Dire Fate has always frowned.
The seed you've sown with patience,
The labor you've wasted here,
Again will bloom in the harvest-home,
Afterwhile, somewhere.