THE SPEEDING OF THE KING'S SPITE
A king—estranged from his loving Queen
By a foolish royal whim—
Tired and sick of the dull routine
Of matters surrounding him—
Issued a mandate in this wise.—
"THE DOWER OF MY DAUGHTER'S HAND
I WILL GIVE TO HIM WHO HOLDS THIS PRIZE,
THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND."
But the King, sad sooth! in this grim decree
Had a motive low and mean;—
'Twas a royal piece of chicanery
To harry and spite the Queen;
For King though he was, and beyond compare,
He had ruled all things save one—
Then blamed the Queen that his only heir
Was a daughter—not a son.
The girl had grown, in the mother's care,
Like a bud in the shine and shower
That drinks of the wine of the balmy air
Till it blooms into matchless flower;
Her waist was the rose's stem that bore
The flower—and the flower's perfume—
That ripens on till it bulges o'er
With its wealth of bud and bloom.
And she had a lover—lowly sprung,—
But a purer, nobler heart
Never spake in a courtlier tongue
Or wooed with a dearer art:
And the fair pair paled at the King's decree;
But the smiling Fates contrived
To have them wed, in a secrecy
That the Queen HERSELF connived—
While the grim King's heralds scoured the land
And the countries roundabout,
Shouting aloud, at the King's command,
A challenge to knave or lout,
Prince or peasant,—"The mighty King
Would have ye understand
That he who shows him the strangest thing
Shall have his daughter's hand!"
And thousands flocked to the royal throne,
Bringing a thousand things
Strange and curious;—One, a bone—
The hinge of a fairy's wings;
And one, the glass of a mermaid queen,
Gemmed with a diamond dew,
Where, down in its reflex, dimly seen,
Her face smiled out at you.
One brought a cluster of some strange date,
With a subtle and searching tang
That seemed, as you tasted, to penetrate
The heart like a serpent's fang;
And back you fell for a spell entranced,
As cold as a corpse of stone,
And heard your brains, as they laughed and danced
And talked in an undertone.
One brought a bird that could whistle a tune
So piercingly pure and sweet,
That tears would fall from the eyes of the moon
In dewdrops at its feet;
And the winds would sigh at the sweet refrain,
Till they swooned in an ecstacy,
To waken again in a hurricane
Of riot and jubilee.
One brought a lute that was wrought of a shell
Luminous as the shine
Of a new-born star in a dewy dell,—
And its strings were strands of wine
That sprayed at the Fancy's touch and fused,
As your listening spirit leant
Drunken through with the airs that oozed
From the o'ersweet instrument.
One brought a tablet of ivory
Whereon no thing was writ,—
But, at night—and the dazzled eyes would see
Flickering lines o'er it,—
And each, as you read from the magic tome,
Lightened and died in flame,
And the memory held but a golden poem
Too beautiful to name.
Till it seemed all marvels that ever were known
Or dreamed of under the sun
Were brought and displayed at the royal throne,
And put by, one by one
Till a graybeard monster came to the King—
Haggard and wrinkled and old—
And spread to his gaze this wondrous thing,—
A gossamer veil of gold.—
Strangely marvelous—mocking the gaze
Like a tangle of bright sunshine,
Dipping a million glittering rays
In a baptism divine:
And a maiden, sheened in this gauze attire—
Sifting a glance of her eye—
Dazzled men's souls with a fierce desire
To kiss and caress her and—die.
And the grim King swore by his royal beard
That the veil had won the prize,
While the gray old monster blinked and leered
With his lashless, red-rimmed eyes,
As the fainting form of the princess fell,
And the mother's heart went wild,
Throbbing and swelling a muffled knell
For the dead hopes of her child.
But her clouded face with a faint smile shone,
As suddenly, through the throng,
Pushing his way to the royal throne,
A fair youth strode along,
While a strange smile hovered about his eyes,
As he said to the grim old King:—
"The veil of gold must lose the prize;
For I have a stranger thing."
He bent and whispered a sentence brief;
But the monarch shook his head,
With a look expressive of unbelief—
"It can't be so," he said;
"Or give me proof; and I, the King,
Give you my daughter's hand,—
For certes THAT IS a stranger thing—
THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND!"
Then the fair youth, turning, caught the Queen
In a rapturous caress,
While his lithe form towered in lordly mien,
As he said in a brief address:—
"My fair bride's mother is this; and, lo,
As you stare in your royal awe,
By this pure kiss do I proudly show
A LOVE FOR A MOTHER-IN-LAW!"
Then a thaw set in the old King's mood,
And a sweet Spring freshet came
Into his eyes, and his heart renewed
Its love for the favored dame:
But often he has been heard to declare
That "he never could clearly see
How, in the deuce, such a strange affair
Could have ended so happily!"
JOB WORK
"Write me a rhyme of the present time".
And the poet took his pen
And wrote such lines as the miser minds
Hide in the hearts of men.
He grew enthused, as the poets used
When their fingers kissed the strings
Of some sweet lyre, and caught the fire
True inspiration brings,
And sang the song of a nation's wrong—
Of the patriot's galling chain,
And the glad release that the angel, Peace,
Has given him again.
He sang the lay of religion's sway,
Where a hundred creeds clasp hands
And shout in glee such a symphony
That the whole world understands.
He struck the key of monopoly,
And sang of her swift decay,
And traveled the track of the railway back
With a blithesome roundelay—
Of the tranquil bliss of a true love kiss;
And painted the picture, too,
Of the wedded life, and the patient wife,
And the husband fond and true;
And sang the joy that a noble boy
Brings to a father's soul,
Who lets the wine as a mocker shine
Stagnated in the bowl.
And he stabbed his pen in the ink again,
And wrote with a writhing frown,
"This is the end." "And now, my friend,
You may print it—upside down!"
PRIVATE THEATRICALS
A quite convincing axiom
Is, "Life is like a play";
For, turning back its pages some
Few dog-eared years away,
I find where I
Committed my
Love-tale—with brackets where to sigh.
I feel an idle interest
To read again the page;
I enter, as a lover dressed,
At twenty years of age,
And play the part
With throbbing heart,
And all an actor's glowing art.
And she who plays my Lady-love
Excels!—Her loving glance
Has power her audience to move—
I am her audience.—
Her acting tact,
To tell the fact,
"Brings down the house" in every act.
And often we defy the curse
Of storms and thunder-showers,
To meet together and rehearse
This little play of ours—
I think, when she
"Makes love" to me,
She kisses very naturally!
. . . . . .
Yes; it's convincing—rather—
That "Life is like a play":
I am playing "Heavy Father"
In a "Screaming Farce" to-day,
That so "brings down
The house," I frown,
And fain would "ring the curtain down."
PLAIN SERMONS
I saw a man—and envied him beside—
Because of this world's goods he had great store;
But even as I envied him, he died,
And left me envious of him no more.
I saw another man—and envied still—
Because he was content with frugal lot;
But as I envied him, the rich man's will
Bequeathed him all, and envy I forgot.
Yet still another man I saw, and he
I envied for a calm and tranquil mind
That nothing fretted in the least degree—
Until, alas! I found that he was blind.
What vanity is envy! for I find
I have been rich in dross of thought, and poor
In that I was a fool, and lastly blind
For never having seen myself before!
"TRADIN' JOE"
I'm one o' these cur'ous kind o' chaps
You think you know when you don't, perhaps!
I hain't no fool—ner I don't p'tend
To be so smart I could rickommend
Myself fer a CONGERSSMAN my friend!—
But I'm kind o' betwixt-and-between, you know,—
One o' these fellers 'at folks call "slow."
And I'll say jest here I'm kind o' queer
Regardin' things 'at I SEE and HEAR,—
Fer I'm THICK o' hearin' SOMETIMES, and
It's hard to git me to understand;
But other times it hain't, you bet!
Fer I don't sleep with both eyes shet!
I've swapped a power in stock, and so
The neighbers calls me "Tradin' Joe"—
And I'm goin' to tell you 'bout a trade,—
And one o' the best I ever made:
Folks has gone so fur's to say
'At I'm well fixed, in a WORLDLY way,
And BEIN' so, and a WIDOWER,
It's not su'prisin', as you'll infer,
I'm purty handy among the sect—
Widders especially, rickollect!
And I won't deny that along o' late
I've hankered a heap fer the married state—
But some way o' 'nother the longer we wait
The harder it is to discover a mate.
Marshall Thomas,—a friend o' mine,
Doin' some in the tradin' line,
But a'most too YOUNG to know it all—
On'y at PICNICS er some BALL!—
Says to me, in a banterin' way,
As 'we was a-loadin' stock one day,—
"You're a-huntin' a wife, and I want you to see
My girl's mother, at Kankakee!—
She hain't over forty—good-lookin' and spry,
And jest the woman to fill your eye!
And I'm a-goin' there Sund'y,—and now," says he,
"I want to take you along with ME;
And you marry HER, and," he says, "by 'shaw I
You'll hev me fer yer son-in-law!"
I studied a while, and says I, "Well, I'll
First have to see ef she suits my style;
And ef she does, you kin bet your life
Your mother-in-law will be my wife!"
Well, Sundy come; and I fixed up some—
Putt on a collar—I did, by gum!—
Got down my "plug," and my satin vest—
(You wouldn't know me to see me dressed!—
But any one knows ef you got the clothes
You kin go in the crowd wher' the best of 'em goes!)
And I greeced my boots, and combed my hair
Keerfully over the bald place there;
And Marshall Thomas and me that day
Eat our dinners with Widder Gray
And her girl Han'! * * *
Well, jest a glance
O' the widder's smilin' countenance,
A-cuttin' up chicken and big pot-pies,
Would make a man hungry in Paradise!
And passin' p'serves and jelly and cake
'At would make an ANGEL'S appetite ACHE!—
Pourin' out coffee as yaller as gold—
Twic't as much as the cup could hold—
La! it was rich!—And then she'd say,
"Take some o' THIS!' in her coaxin' way,
Tell ef I'd been a hoss I'd 'a' FOUNDERED, shore,
And jest dropped dead on her white-oak floor!
Well, the way I talked would 'a' done you good,
Ef you'd 'a' been there to 'a' understood;
Tel I noticed Hanner and Marshall, they
Was a-noticin' me in a cur'ous way;
So I says to myse'f, says I, "Now, Joe,
The best thing fer you is to jest go slow!"
And I simmered down, and let them do
The bulk o' the talkin' the evening through.
And Marshall was still in a talkative gait
When he left, that evening—tolable late.
"How do you like her?" he says to me;
Says I, "She suits, to a 'T-Y-TEE'!
And then I ast how matters stood
With him in the OPPOSITE neighberhood?
"Bully!" he says; "I ruther guess
I'll finally git her to say the 'yes.'
I named it to her to-night, and she
Kind o' smiled, and said 'SHE'D SEE'—
And that's a purty good sign!" says he:
"Yes" says I, "you're ahead o' ME!"
And then he laughed, and said, "GO IN!
And patted me on the shoulder ag'in.
Well, ever sense then I've been ridin' a good
Deal through the Kankakee neighberhood;
And I make it convenient sometimes to stop
And hitch a few minutes, and kind o' drop
In at the widder's, and talk o' the crop
And one thing o' 'nother. And week afore last
The notion struck me, as I drove past,
I'd stop at the place and state my case—
Might as well do it at first as last!
I felt first-rate; so I hitched at the gate,
And went up to the house; and, strange to relate,
MARSHALL THOMAS had dropped in, TOO.—
"Glad to see you, sir, how do you do?"
He says, says he! Well—it SOUNDED QUEER:
And when Han' told me to take a cheer,
Marshall got up and putt out o' the room—
And motioned his hand fer the WIDDER to come.
I didn't say nothin' fer quite a spell,
But thinks I to myse'f, "There's a dog in the well!"
And Han' SHE smiled so cur'ous at me—
Says I, "What's up?" And she says, says she,
"Marshall's been at me to marry ag'in,
And I told him 'no,' jest as you come in."
Well, somepin' o' 'nother in that girl's voice
Says to me, "Joseph, here's your choice!"
And another minute her guileless breast
Was lovin'ly throbbin' ag'in my vest!—
And then I kissed her, and heerd a smack
Come like a' echo a-flutterin' back,
And we looked around, and in full view
Marshall was kissin' the widder, too!
Well, we all of us laughed, in our glad su'prise,
Tel the tears come A-STREAMIN' out of our eyes!
And when Marsh said "'Twas the squarest trade
That ever me and him had made,"
We both shuck hands, 'y jucks! and swore
We'd stick together ferevermore.
And old Squire Chipman tuck us the trip:
And Marshall and me's in pardnership!
DOT LEEDLE BOY
Ot's a leedle Gristmas story
Dot I told der leedle folks—
Und I vant you stop dot laughin'
Und grackin' funny jokes!—
So help me Peter-Moses!
Ot's no time for monkey-shine,
Ober I vast told you somedings
Of dot leedle boy of mine!
Ot vas von cold Vinter vedder,
Ven der snow vas all about—
Dot you have to chop der hatchet
Eef you got der sauerkraut!
Und der cheekens on der hind leg
Vas standin' in der shine
Der sun shmile out dot morning
On dot leedle boy of mine.
He vas yoost a leedle baby
Not bigger as a doll
Dot time I got acquaintet—
Ach! you ought to heard 'im squall!—
I grackys! dot's der moosic
Ot make me feel so fine
Ven first I vas been marriet—
Oh, dot leedle boy of mine!
He look yoost like his fader!—
So, ven der vimmen said,
"Vot a purty leedle baby!"
Katrina shake der head. . . .
I dink she must 'a' notice
Dot der baby vas a-gryin',
Und she cover up der blankets
Of dot leedle boy of mine.
Vel, ven he vas got bigger,
Dot he grawl und bump his nose,
Und make der table over,
Und molasses on his glothes—
Dot make 'im all der sveeter,—
So I say to my Katrine,
"Better you vas quit a-shpankin'
Dot leedle boy of mine!"
No more he vas older
As about a dozen months
He speak der English language
Und der German—bote at vonce!
Und he dringk his glass of lager
Like a Londsman fon der Rhine—
Und I klingk my glass togeder
Mit dot leedle boy of mine!
I vish you could 'a' seen id—
Ven he glimb up on der chair
Und shmash der lookin'-glasses
Ven he try to comb his hair
Mit a hammer!—Und Katrina
Say, "Dot's an ugly sign!"
But I laugh und vink my fingers
At dot leedle boy of mine.
But vonce, dot Vinter morning,
He shlip out in der snow
Mitout no stockin's on 'im.—
He say he "vant to go
Und fly some mit der birdies!"
Und ve give 'im medi-cine
Ven he catch der "parrygoric"—
Dot leedle boy of mine!
Und so I set und nurse 'im,
Vile der Gristmas vas come roun',
Und I told 'im 'bout "Kriss Kringle,"
How he come der chimbly down:
Und I ask 'im eef he love 'im
Eef he bring 'im someding fine?
"Nicht besser as mein fader,"
Say dot leedle boy of mine.—
Und he put his arms aroun' me
Und hug so close und tight,
I hear der gclock a-tickin'
All der balance of der night! . . .
Someding make me feel so funny
Ven I say to my Katrine,
"Let us go und fill der stockin's
Of dot leedle boy of mine."
Vell.—Ve buyed a leedle horses
Dot you pull 'im mit a shtring,
Und a leedle fancy jay-bird—
Eef you vant to hear 'im sing
You took 'im by der topknot
Und yoost blow in behine—
Und dot make much spectakel
For dot leedle boy of mine!
Und gandies, nuts und raizens—
Und I buy a leedle drum
Dot I vant to hear 'im rattle
Ven der Gristmas morning come!
Und a leedle shmall tin rooster
Dot vould crow so loud und fine
Ven he sqveeze 'im in der morning,
Dot leedle boy of mine!
Und—vile ve vas a-fixin'—
Dot leedle boy vake out!
I t'ought he been a-dreamin'
"Kriss Kringle" vas about,—
For he say—"DOT'S HIM!—I SEE 'IM
MIT DER SHTARS DOT MAKE DER SHINE!"
Und he yoost keep on a-gryin'—
Dot leedle boy of mine,—
Und gottin' vorse und vorser—
Und tumble on der bed!
So—ven der doctor seen id,
He kindo' shake his head,
Und feel his pulse—und visper,
"Der boy is a-dyin'."
You dink I could BELIEVE id?—
DOT LEEDLE BOY OF MINE?
I told you, friends—dot's someding,
Der last time dot he speak
Und say, "GOOT-BY, KRISS KRINGLE!"
—Dot make me feel so veak
I yoost kneel down und drimble,
Und bur-sed out a-gryin',
"MEIN GOTT, MEIN GOTT IN HIMMEL!—
DOT LEEDLE BOY OF MINE!"
. . . . . . . . . .
Der sun don't shine DOT Gristmas!
. . . Eef dot leedle boy vould LIFF'D—
No deefer-en'! for HEAVEN vas
His leedle Gristmas gift!
Und der ROOSTER, und der GANDY,
Und me—und my Katrine—
Und der jay-bird—is awaiting
For dot leedle boy of mine.
I SMOKE MY PIPE
I can't extend to every friend
In need a helping hand—
No matter though I wish it so,
'Tis not as Fortune planned;
But haply may I fancy they
Are men of different stripe
Than others think who hint and wink,—
And so—I smoke my pipe!
A golden coal to crown the bowl—
My pipe and I alone,—
I sit and muse with idler views
Perchance than I should own:—
It might be worse to own the purse
Whose glutted bowels gripe
In little qualms of stinted alms;
And so I smoke my pipe.
And if inclined to moor my mind
And cast the anchor Hope,
A puff of breath will put to death
The morbid misanthrope
That lurks inside—as errors hide
In standing forms of type
To mar at birth some line of worth;
And so I smoke my pipe.
The subtle stings misfortune flings
Can give me little pain
When my narcotic spell has wrought
This quiet in my brain:
When I can waste the past in taste
So luscious and so ripe
That like an elf I hug myself;
And so I smoke my pipe.
And wrapped in shrouds of drifting clouds,
I watch the phantom's flight,
Till alien eyes from Paradise
Smile on me as I write:
And I forgive the wrongs that live,
As lightly as I wipe
Away the tear that rises here;
And so I smoke my pipe.