Chapter 4

The blue skies are far o'er me--- The bleak fields near below: Where the mother that bore me?-- Where her grave in the snow?-- Glad in her trough of a coffin-- The sad eyes frozen shut That wept so often, often, The curse of the wandering foot!

Here in your marts I care not Whatsoever ye think. Good folk many who dare not Give me to eat and drink: Give me to sup of your pity-- Feast me on prayers!--O ye, Met I your Christ in the city He would fare forth with me--

Forward and onward and thither, And hither again and yon, With milk for our drink together And honey to feed upon-- Nor hope of rest withdrawn us, Since the one Father put The blesséd curse upon us-- The curse of the wandering foot.

A MONUMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS.

A monument for the Soldiers! And what will ye build it of? Can ye build it of marble, or brass, or bronze, Outlasting the Soldiers' love? Can ye glorify it with legends As grand as their blood hath writ From the inmost shrine of this land of thine To the outermost verge of it?

And the answer came: We would build it Out of our hopes made sure, And out of our purest prayers and tears, And out of our faith secure: We would build it out of the great white truths Their death hath sanctified, And the sculptured forms of the men in arms, And their faces ere they died.

And what heroic figures Can the sculptor carve in stone? Can the marble breast be made to bleed, And the marble lips to moan? Can the marble brow be fevered? And the marble eyes be graved To look their last, as the flag floats past, On the country they have saved?

And the answer came: The figures Shall all be fair and brave, And, as befitting, as pure and white As the stars above their grave! The marble lips, and breast and brow Whereon the laurel lies, Bequeath us right to guard the flight Of the old flag in the skies!

A monument for the Soldiers! Built of a people's love, And blazoned and decked and panoplied With the hearts ye build it oft And see that ye build it stately, In pillar and niche and gate, And high in pose as the souls of those It would commemorate!

THE RIVAL.

I so loved once, when Death came by I hid Away my face, And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid To make my hiding-place.

The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and I turned me then To calm my love--kiss down her shielding hand And comfort her again.

And lo! she answered not: And she did sit All fixedly, With her fair face and the sweet smile of it, In love with Death, not me.

IRY AND BILLY AND JO.

Iry an' Billy an' Jo!-- Iry an' Billy's _the boys_, An' _Jo's_ their _dog_, you know,-- Their pictures took all in a row. Bet they kin kick up a noise-- Iry and Billy, the boys, And that-air little dog Jo!

_Iry's_ the one 'at stands Up there a-lookin' so mild An' meek--with his hat in his hands, Like such a 'bediant child-- (_Sakes-alive_!)--An' _Billy_ he sets In the cheer an' holds onto Jo an' _sweats_ Hisse'f, a-lookin' so good! Ho-ho! Iry an' Billy an' Jo!

Yit the way them boys, you know, Usen to jes turn in An' fight over that dog Jo Wuz a burnin'-shame-an'-a-sin !-- Iry _he'd_ argy 'at, by gee-whizz! That-air little Jo-dog wuz _his_!-- An' Billy _he'd_ claim it wuzn't so-- 'Cause the dog wuz _his'n_!--An' at it they'd go, Nip-an'-tugg, tooth-an'-toenail, you know-- Iry an' Billy an' Jo!

But their Pa--(He wuz the marshal then) He 'tended-like 'at he _jerked 'em up_; An' got a jury o' Brickyard men An' helt a _trial_ about the pup: An' _he_ says _he_ jes like to a-died When the rest o' us town-boys _testified_-- Regardin', you know, Iry an' Billy an' Jo.--

'Cause we all knowed, when _the Gypsies_ they Camped down here by the crick last Fall, They brung Jo with 'em, an' give him away To Iry an' Billy fer nothin' at all!-- So the jury fetched in the _verdick_ so Jo he ain't _neether_ o' theirn fer _shore_-- He's _both_ their dog, an' jes no more! An' so They've quit quarrelin' long ago, Iry an' Billy an' Jo.

A WRAITH OF SUMMERTIME.

In its color, shade and shine, 'T was a summer warm as wine, With an effervescent flavoring of flowered bough and vine, And a fragrance and a taste Of ripe roses gone to waste, And a dreamy sense of sun- and moon- and star-light interlaced.

'Twas a summer such as broods O'er enchanted solitudes, Where the hand of Fancy leads us through voluptuary moods, And with lavish love out-pours All the wealth of out-of-doors, And woos our feet o'er velvet paths and honeysuckle floors.

'Twas a summertime long dead,-- And its roses, white and red, And its reeds and water-lilies down along the river-bed,-- O they all are ghostly things-- For the ripple never sings, And the rocking lily never even rustles as it rings!

HER BEAUTIFUL EYES.

O her beautiful eyes! they are as blue as the dew On the violet's bloom when the morning is new, And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun O'er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows run: As the morn shirts the mists and the clouds from the skies-- So I stand in the dawn of her beautiful eyes.

And her beautiful eyes are as midday to me, When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee, And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat, And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet And delirious breaths of the air's lullabies-- So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes.

O her beautiful eyes! they have smitten mine own As a glory glanced down from the glare of The Throne; And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star, And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise-- So I grope through the night of her beautiful eyes.

DOT LEEDLE BOY.

Ot's a leedle Christmas 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 monkeyshine', Ober I vas 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 saur kraut! 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!"

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 Christmas 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."

Veil.--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 top-knot Und yoost blow in behine-- Und dot make much _spectakel_-- For dot leedle boy of mine!

Und gandles, nuts and raizens-- Unt 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 fought 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-bye, Kriss Kringle_!" --Dot make me feel so veak I yoost kneel down und drimble, Und bur-sed out a-gryin' "_Mein Goit, mein Gott im 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 a-vaiting For dot leedle boy of mine.

DONN PIATT OF MAC-O-CHEE.

Donn Piatt--of Mac-o-chee,-- Not the one of History, Who, with flaming tongue and pen, Scathes the vanities of men; Not the one whose biting wit Cuts pretense and etches it On the brazen brow that dares Filch the laurel that it wears: Not the Donn Piatt whose praise Echoes in the noisy ways Of the faction, onward led By the statesman!--But, instead, Give the simple man to me,-- Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

II.

Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee! Branches of the old oak tree, Drape him royally in fine Purple shade and golden shine! Emerald plush of sloping lawn Be the throne he sits upon! And, O Summer sunset, thou Be his crown, and gild a brow Softly smoothed and soothed and calmed By the breezes, mellow-palmed As Erata's white hand agleam On the forehead of a dream.-- So forever rule o'er me, Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

III.

Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee: Through a lilied memory Plays the wayward little creek Round thy home at hide-and-seek-- As I see and hear it, still Romping round the wooded hill, Till its laugh-and-babble blends With the silence while it sends Glances back to kiss the sight, In its babyish delight, Ere it strays amid the gloom Of the glens that burst in bloom Of the rarest rhyme for thee, Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

IV.

Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee! What a darling destiny Has been mine--to meet him there-- Lolling in an easy chair On the terrace, while he told Reminiscences of old-- Letting my cigar die out, Hearing poems talked about; And entranced to hear him say Gentle things of Thackeray, Dickens, Hawthorne, and the rest, Known to him as host and guest-- Known to him as he to me-- Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

THEM FLOWERS.

Take a feller 'at's sick and laid up on the shelf, All shaky, and ga'nted, and pore-- Jes all so knocked out he can't handle hisself With a stiff upper-lip any more; Shet him up all alone in the gloom of a room As dark as the tomb, and as grim, And then take and send him some roses in bloom, And you can have fun out o' him!

You've ketched him 'fore now--when his liver was sound And his appetite notched like a saw-- A-mockin' you, mayby, fer romancin' round With a big posy-bunch in yer paw; But you ketch him, say, when his health is away, And he's flat on his back in distress, And _then_ you kin trot out yer little bokay And not be insulted, I guess!

You see, it's like this, what his weaknesses is,-- Them flowers makes him think of the days Of his innocent youth, and that mother o' his, And the roses that _she_ us't to raise:-- So here, all alone with the roses you send-- Bein' sick and all trimbly and faint,-- My eyes is--my eyes is--my eyes is--old friend-- Is a-leakin'--I'm blamed ef they ain't!

THE QUIET LODGER.

The man that rooms next door to me: Two weeks ago, this very night, He took possession quietly, As any other lodger might-- But why the room next mine should so Attract him I was vexed to know,-- Because his quietude, in fine, Was far superior to mine.

"Now, I like quiet, truth to tell, A tranquil life is sweet to me-- But _this_," I sneered, "suits me too well.-- He shuts his door so noiselessly, And glides about so very mute, In each mysterious pursuit, His silence is oppressive, and Too deep for me to understand."

Sometimes, forgetting book or pen, I've found my head in breathless poise Lifted, and dropped in shame again, Hearing some alien ghost of noise-- Some smothered sound that seemed to be A trunk-lid dropped unguardedly, Or the crisp writhings of some quire Of manuscript thrust in the fire.

Then I have climbed, and closed in vain My transom, opening in the hall; Or close against the window-pane Have pressed my fevered face,--but all The day or night without held not A sight or sound or counter-thought To set my mind one instant free Of this man's silent mastery.

And often I have paced the floor With muttering anger, far at night, Hearing, and cursing, o'er and o'er, The muffled noises, and the light And tireless movements of this guest Whose silence raged above my rest Hoarser than howling storms at sea-- The man that rooms next door to me.

But twice or thrice, upon the stair, I've seen his face--most strangely wan,-- Each time upon me unaware He came--smooth'd past me, and was gone. So like a whisper he went by, I listened after, ear and eye, Nor could my chafing fancy tell The meaning of one syllable.

Last night I caught him, face to face,-- He entering his room, and I Glaring from mine: He paused a space And met my scowl all shrinkingly, But with full gentleness: The key Turned in his door--and I could see It tremblingly withdrawn and put Inside, and then--the door was shut.

Then silence. _Silence_!--why, last night The silence was tumultuous, And thundered on till broad daylight;-- O never has it stunned me thus!-- It rolls, and moans, and mumbles yet.-- Ah, God! how loud may silence get When man mocks at a brother man Who answers but as silence can!

The silence grew, and grew, and grew, Till at high noon to-day 'twas heard Throughout the house; and men flocked through The echoing halls, with faces blurred With pallor, gloom, and fear, and awe, And shuddering at what they saw-- The quiet lodger, as he lay Stark of the life he cast away.

* * * * *

So strange to-night--those voices there, Where all so quiet was before; They say the face has not a care Nor sorrow in it any more-- His latest scrawl:--"Forgive me--You Who prayed, 'they know not what they do!'" My tears wilt never let me see This man that rooms next door to me!

THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

O the waiting in the watches of the night! In the darkness, desolation, and contrition and affright; The awful hush that holds us shut away from all delight: The ever weary memory that ever weary goes Recounting ever over every aching loss it knows-- The ever weary eyelids gasping ever for repose-- In the dreary, weary watches of the night!

Dark--stifling dark--the watches of the night! With tingling nerves at tension, how the blackness flashes white With spectral visitations smitten past the inner sight!-- What shuddering sense of wrongs we've wrought that may not be redressed-- Of tears we did not brush away--of lips we left unpressed, And hands that we let fall, with all their loyalty unguessed! Ah! the empty, empty watches of the night!

What solace in the watches of the night?-- What frailest staff of hope to stay--what faintest shaft of light? Do we _dream_ and dare _believe_ it, that by never weight of right Of our own poor weak deservings, we shall win the dawn at last-- Our famished souls find freedom from this penance for the past, In a faith that leaps and lightens from the gloom that flees aghast-- Shall we survive the watches of the night?

One leads us through the watches of the night-- By the ceaseless intercession of our loved ones lost to sight He is with us through all trials, in His mercy and His might;-- With our mothers there about Him, all our sorrow disappears, Till the silence of our sobbing is the prayer the Master hears, And His hand is laid upon us with the tenderness of tears In the waning of the watches of the night.

HIS VIGIL.

Close the book and dim the light, I shall read no more to-night. No--I am not sleepy, dear-- Do not go: sit by me here In the darkness and the deep Silence of the watch I keep. Something in your presence so Soothes me--as in long ago I first felt your hand--as now-- In the darkness touch my brow; I've no other wish than you Thus should fold mine eyelids to, Saying nought of sigh or tear-- Just as God were sitting here.

THE PLAINT HUMAN

Season of snows, and season of flowers, Seasons of loss and gain!-- Since grief and joy must alike be ours, Why do we still complain?

Ever our failing, from sun to sun, O my intolerent brother:-- We want just a little too little of one, And much too much of the other.

BY ANY OTHER NAME.

First the teacher called the roll, Clos't to the beginnin', "Addeliney Bowersox!" Set the school a-grinnin'. Wintertime, and stingin'-cold When the session took up-- Cold as _we_ all looked at _her_, Though _she_ couldn't look up!

Total stranger to us, too-- Country-folks ain't allus Nigh so shameful unpolite As some people call us!-- But the honest facts is, _then_, Addeliney Bower- Sox's feelin's was so hurt She cried half an hour!

My dest was acrost from her 'n: Set and watched her tryin' To p'tend she didn't keer, And a kind o' dryin' Up her tears with smiles---tel I Thought, "Well, '_Addeliney Bowersox_' is plain, but _she's_ Purty as a piney!"

It's be'n many of a year Sence that most oncommon Cur'ous name o' _Bowersox_ Struck me so abomin- Nubble and outlandish-like!-- I changed it to Adde- Liney _Daubenspeck_--and _that_ Nearly killed her Daddy!

TO AN IMPORTUNATE GHOST.

Get gone, thou most uncomfortable ghost! Thou really dost annoy me with thy thin Impalpable transparency of grin; And the vague, shadowy shape of thee almost Hath vext me beyond boundary and coast Of my broad patience. Stay thy chattering chin, And reel the tauntings of thy vain tongue in, Nor tempt me further with thy vaporish boast That I am _helpless_ to combat thee! Well, Have at thee, then! Yet if a doom most dire Thou wouldst escape, flee whilst thou canst!--Revile Me not, Miasmic Mist!--Rank Air! _retire_! One instant longer an thou haunt'st me, I'll _Inhale_ thee, O thou wraith despicable!

THE QUARREL.

They faced each other: Topaz-brown And lambent burnt her eyes and shot Sharp flame at his of amethyst.-- "I hate you! Go, and be forgot As death forgets!" their glitter _hissed_ (So _seemed_ it) in their hatred. Ho! Dared any mortal front her so?-- Tempestuous eyebrows knitted down-- Tense nostril, mouth--no muscle slack,-- And black--the suffocating black-- The stifling blackness of her frown!

Ah! but the lifted face of her! And the twitched lip and tilted head! Yet he did neither wince nor stir,-- Only--his hands clenched; and, instead Of words, he answered with a stare That stammered not in aught it said, As might his voice if trusted there.

And what--what spake his steady gaze?-- Was there a look that harshly fell To scoff her?--or a syllable Of anger?--or the bitter phrase That myrrhs the honey of love's lips, Or curdles blood as poison drips? What made their breasts to heave and swell As billows under bows of ships In broken seas on stormy days? We may not know--nor _they_ indeed-- What mercy found them in their need.

A sudden sunlight smote the gloom; And round about them swept a breeze, With faint breaths as of clover-bloom; A bird was heard, through drone of bees,-- Then, far and clear and eerily, A child's voice from an orchard-tree-- Then laughter, sweet as the perfume Of lilacs, could the hearing see. And he--O Love! he fed thy name On bruiséd kisses, while her dim Deep eyes, with all their inner flame, Like drowning gems were turned on him.

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.

I.

As one in sorrow looks upon The dead face of a loyal friend, By the dim light of New Year's dawn I saw the Old Year end.

Upon the pallid features lay The dear old smile--so warm and bright Ere thus its cheer had died away In ashes of delight.

The hands that I had learned to love With strength of passion half divine, Were folded now, all heedless of The emptiness of mine.

The eyes that once had shed their bright Sweet looks like sunshine, now were dull, And ever lidded from the light That made them beautiful.

II.

The chimes of bells were in the air, And sounds of mirth in hall and street, With pealing laughter everywhere And throb of dancing feet:

The mirth and the convivial din Of revelers in wanton glee, With tunes of harp and violin In tangled harmony.

But with a sense of nameless dread, I turned me, from the merry face Of this newcomer, to my dead; And, kneeling there a space,

I sobbed aloud, all tearfully:-- By this dear face so fixed and cold, O Lord, let not this New Year be As happy as the old!

THE HEREAFTER.

Hereafter! O we need not waste Our smiles or tears, whatever befall: No happiness but holds a taste Of something sweeter, after all;-- No depth of agony but feels Some fragment of abiding trust,-- Whatever death unlocks or seals, The mute beyond is just.

JOHN BROWN.

Writ in between the lines of his life-deed We trace the sacred service of a heart Answering the Divine command, in every part Bearing on human weal: His love did feed The loveless; and his gentle hands did lead The blind, and lift the weak, and balm the smart Of other wounds than rankled at the dart In his own breast, that gloried thus to bleed. He served the lowliest first--nay, them alone-- The most despised that e'er wreaked vain breath In cries of suppliance in the reign whereat Red Guilt sate squat upon her spattered throne.-- For these doomed there it was he went to death. God! how the merest man loves one like that!

A CUP OF TEA.