The shorter poems may be conveniently classed as anacreontic, humorous, patriotic, descriptive, and personal. Many of them, as the author admits, especially those of his youth, are crude and imperfect, but he explains in a personally suggestive way that he could not cast out these poor children of his brain on account of their deformity, and craves indulgence where approval or applause must be withheld.
The poems of love and humor have little value except for the light they throw on the poet, who, though deprived of nearly all the heart holds dear in life, could yet fully sympathize with youth in its joys and smile genially even on its follies. A few stanzas from two or three poems in his lighter vein, of which there are quite a number, will be sufficient to indicate the sunny side of the poet's nature. First, a little rustic picture:
BETTIE BELL.
How sweet she looked in home spun frock,
With arms and shoulders bare,
And yellow flowers and scarlet leaves
Twined in her auburn hair;
With saucy lips and fingers plump
Stained by the berries wild;
And hazel eyes whose drooping lids
Half hid them when she smiled.
I could have kissed the little tracks
Her bare brown feet had made;
There was no huckleberry pond
Too deep for me to wade—
There was no rough persimmon tree
Too tall for me to scale—
If Bettie Bell was standing by
With the little wooden pail.
Another with a touch of humor will next be given:
MR. BROWN;
OR CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES.
"O tell me Mary have you seen
That ugly Mr. Brown
With pumpkin head and brimstone hair,
And manners like a clown!
What could have made young Charley Smith
Bring such a gawk to town?
He has no breeding, I am sure—
He stares at ladies so
With those great dumpling eyes of his—-
And I would like to know
How Bettie Jones can condescend
To take him for a beau!"
Quoth Mary, "What you say is true;
He's awkward and he's plain;
But then, you know, he's rich;
And wealth with some will gain."—
"Indeed, I never heard of that,"
Said pretty Martha Jane.
"I only got a glance at him
At Mrs. Jenkins' ball;
And on acquaintance he may not look
So ugly after all.
I wonder if young Charley Smith
Will ask his friend to call!"
Even in parody the isolated sufferer would at times seek self-forgetfulness or diversion. A short one is here inserted from the author's scrap-book. To a Southerner, the faithfulness and humor of the selection will be manifest:
A SKETCH.
The darkey sat on his stubborn mule,
Day through the west had fled,
And the silver light of the rising moon
Shone on his bare bald head.
Firm as an Alp the old mule stood—
An Alp with its crest of snow—
The darkey thumped, the darkey kicked,
And swore he'd make it go.
The night wore on, it would not budge
Till it had changed its mind;
And the darkey cursed, the darkey swore
Till he was hoarse and blind.
At last he saw its big ears twitch,
Its eyes cast back the while;
And felt the skin beneath him writhe
Like a serpent in its coil.
Then came a yell of wild despair;
The man—oh! where was he?—
When the clouds unveil the hidden moon
I think perhaps we'll see.