A hand-to-hand fight, and the battle is done;
In the orchard the redskins lie dead, every one.
But, oh, woe is me! For all gory and red
Lies Barefoot, the scout, by the red men struck dead!
The Boyville Cadets lift him out of the dirt;
They wrap him about with the old woolen shirt;
And then, with drums muffled and heads sadly bowed,
They bear him back home, with the flag for a shroud.
Then General Red Hair, in orders, gives thanks
To all of his soldiers, and bids them break ranks.
For out of the distance he hears a shrill call:
“Tom! Joe! Bill! Jim! Children! Why, where are you all?”
Then Barefoot, the scout, to his life is restored,
And Captain Tom Jones hides his big wooden sword;
For there’s wood to be split and there’s water to get
In the dull private life of the Boyville Cadet.
A LITTLE BOY I KNOW
A LITTLE boy I used to know, from whom I’ve been away,
Oh, very many years, took me upon a trip today.
It seemed so ood to be with him, and he was glad to be
Companion, guide, and friend until the journey’s end with me.
I quite forgot my cares with him, nor could I well be sad,
As long as he was at my side, for he was blithe and glad,
And oh, the merry songs he sang, the tunes he whistled clear
That I had half forgotten till he sang and whistled here!
By many a winding stream we went, and many a limpid brook,
Where oft he bade me stop and cast a line and fishing hook
Until we drew a struggling fish from out some eddy deep,
And once upon the bank we lay and both fell fast asleep.
By clover meadows sweet we strayed, where cow bells tinkled far,
Deep in the woods where hollow logs and darting squirrels are,
And here and there he bade me stop till he would climb a tree
To shake a limb and rattle down some nuts for him and me.
Down many a shady lane we walked, through some familiar land,
Where dreams of faces long forgot arose on every hand;
We saw a cottage by the road, and in the kitchen door
A woman with the sweetest face—a glimpse and nothing more.
And as she vanished from our sight I saw the teardrops shine
In both his eyes, and I could feel the tears well up in mine;
He plucked his shabby sleeve to brush the teardrops from his eye
And whispered, “I saw Mother there!” and I said, “So did I!”
And there were spreading apple trees where oft he bade me lie
Upon the grass and watch the clouds that swept across the sky.
He lent me many a dream to dream—of fame and love and truth,
Such dreams as Fancy stores within the Treasureheart of Youth!
Ofttimes we found a sparkling spring and lay upon the brink
Our lips laved with its bubbling stream, to drink and drink and drink;
And oh, the joys we two renewed, and oh, the hum of bees,
The songs of birds, the violets and treasures such as these!
A little boy I used to know, a lad of nine or ten,
Took me a journey glad today—I hope he’ll come again
To take my hand and walk with me where golden sunshine gleams,
To lead me by familiar ways and lend me all his dreams!
To keep me near the hopes we had, to whistle merry tunes,
To find me dawns like those we knew and sunny afternoons;
A little boy his Mother loved!—a lad of nine or ten;
Perhaps you’ve known and walked with him—I hope he comes again!
ASLEEP AT THE CIRCUS
NOW the last roasted peanut is swallowed,
The last clown has gone on parade;
The last sugared popcorn been followed
By sips of the last lemonade.
His eyes, once so big, that shone brightly
Through all of the glad afternoon,
Are shut, and his fingers close tightly
And cling to his gaudy balloon.