Chapter 6

The boughs about me spread a shade That shields me from the sun, but weaves With breezy shuttles through the leaves Blue rifts of skies, to gleam and fade Upon the eyes that only see Just of themselves, all drowsily.

III.

Above me drifts the fallen skein Of some tired spider, looped and blown, As fragile as a strand of rain, Across the air, and upward thrown By breaths of hayfields newly mown-- So glimmering it is and fine, I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine.

IV.

Far-off and faint as voices pent In mines, and heard from underground, Come murmurs as of discontent, And clamorings of sullen sound The city sends me, as, I guess, To vex me, though they do but bless Me in my drowsy fastnesses.

V.

I have no care. I only know My hammock hides and holds me here In lands of shade a prisoner: While lazily the breezes blow Light leaves of sunshine over me, And back and forth and to and fro I swing, enwrapped in some hushed glee, Smiling at all things drowsily.

A LOUNGER.

He leant against a lamp-post, lost In some mysterious reverie: His head was bowed; his arms were crossed; He yawned, and glanced evasively: Uncrossed his arms, and slowly put Them back again, and scratched his side-- Shifted his weight from foot to foot, And gazed out no-ward, idle-eyed.

Grotesque of form and face and dress, And picturesque in every way-- A figure that from day to day Drooped with a limper laziness; A figure such as artists lean, In pictures where distress is seen, Against low hovels where we guess No happiness has ever been.

A SONG OF LONG AGO.

A song of Long Ago: Sing it lightly--sing it low-- Sing it softly--like the lisping of the lips we used to know When our baby-laughter spilled From the glad hearts ever filled With music blithe as robin ever trilled!

Let the fragrant summer-breeze, And the leaves of locust-trees, And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the wings of honey-bees, All palpitate with glee, Till the happy harmony Brings back each childish joy to you and me.

Let the eyes of fancy turn Where the tumbled pippins burn Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled grass and fern,-- There let the old path wind In and out and on behind The cider-press that chuckles as we grind.

Blend in the song the moan Of the dove that grieves alone, And the wild whir of the locust, and the bumble's drowsy drone; And the low of cows that call Through the pasture-bars when all The landscape fades away at evenfall.

Then, far away and clear, Through the dusky atmosphere, Let the wailing of the kildee be the only sound we hear: O sad and sweet and low As the memory may know Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago!

THE CHANT OF THE CROSS-BEARING CHILD.

I bear dis cross dis many a mile. O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

I bear dis cross 'long many a road Wha' de pink ain't bloom' an' de grass done mowed. O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

Hits on my conscience all dese days Fo' ter bear de cross ut de good Lord lays On my po' soul, an' ter lif my praise. O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

I 's nigh-'bout weak ez I mos' kin be, Yit de Marstah call an' He say,--"You 's free Fo' ter 'cept dis cross, an' ter cringe yo' knee To no n'er man in de worl' but me!" O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

Says you guess wrong, ef I let you guess-- Says you 'spec' mo', an'-a you git less:-- Says you go eas', says you go wes', An' whense you fine de road ut you like bes' You betteh take ch'ice er any er de res'! O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

He build my feet, an' He fix de signs Dat de shoe hit pinch an' de shoe hit bines Ef I on'y w'ah eights an-a wanter w'ah nines; I hone fo' de rain, an' de sun hit shines, An' whilse I hunt de sun, hits de rain I fines.-- O-a trim my lamp, an-a gyrd my lines! O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

I wade de wet, an' I walk de dry: I done tromp long, an' I done clim high; An' I pilgrim on ter de jasper sky, An' I taken de resk fo' ter cas' my eye Wha' de Gate swing wide an' de Lord draw nigh, An' de Trump hit blow, an' I hear de cry,-- "You lay dat cross down by an' by!-- O de Cross-bearin' Chile-- Do Cross-bearin' Chile!"

THANKSGIVING.

Let us be thankful--not only because Since last our universal thanks were told We have grown greater in the world's applause, And fortune's newer smiles surpass the old--

But thankful for all things that come as alms From out the open hand of Providence:-- The winter clouds and storms---the summer calms-- The sleepless dread--the drowse of indolence.

Let us be thankful--thankful for the prayers Whose gracious answers were long, long delayed, That they might fall upon us unawares, And bless us, as in greater need, we prayed.

Let us be thankful for the loyal hand That love held out in welcome to our own, When love and only love could understand The need of touches we had never known.

Let us be thankful for the longing eyes That gave their secret to us as they wept, Yet in return found, with a sweet surprise, Love's touch upon their lids, and, smiling, slept.

And let us, too, be thankful that the tears Of sorrow have not all been drained away, That through them still, for all the coming years, We may look on the dead face of To-day.

AUTUMN.

As a harvester, at dusk, Faring down some woody trail Leading homeward through the musk Of may-apple and pawpaw, Hazel-bush, and spice and haw,-- So comes Autumn, swart and hale, Drooped of frame and slow of stride. But withal an air of pride Looming up in stature far Higher than his shoulders are; Weary both in arm and limb, Yet the wholesome heart of him Sheer at rest and satisfied.

Greet him as with glee of drums And glad cymbals, as he comes! Robe him fair, O Rain and Shine. He the Emperor--the King-- Royal lord of everything Sagging Plenty's granary floors And out-bulging all her doors; He the god of corn and wine, Honey, milk, and fruit and oil-- Lord of feast, as lord of toil-- Jocund host of yours and mine!

Ho! the revel of his laugh!-- Half is sound of winds, and half Roar of ruddy blazes drawn Up the throats of chimneys wide, Circling which, from side to side, Faces--lit as by the Dawn, With her highest tintings on Tip of nose, and cheek, and chin-- Smile at some old fairy-tale Of enchanted lovers, in Silken gown and coat of mail, With a retinue of elves Merry as their very selves, Trooping ever, hand in hand, Down the dales of Wonderland.

Then the glory of his song!-- Lifting up his dreamy eyes-- Singing haze across the skies; Singing clouds that trail along Towering tops of trees that seize Tufts of them to stanch the breeze; Singing slanted strands of rain In between the sky and earth, For the lyre to mate the mirth And the might of his refrain: Singing southward-flying birds Down to us, and afterwards Singing them to flight again; Singing blushes to the cheeks Of the leaves upon the trees-- Singing on and changing these Into pallor, slowly wrought, Till the little, moaning creeks Bear them to their last farewell, As Elaine, the lovable, Was borne down to Lancelot.-- Singing drip of tears, and then Drying them with smiles again.

Singing apple, peach and grape, Into roundest, plumpest shape, Rosy ripeness to the face Of the pippin; and the grace Of the dainty stamin-tip To the huge bulk of the pear, Pendant in the green caress Of the leaves, and glowing through With the tawny laziness Of the gold that Ophir knew,-- Haply, too, within its rind Such a cleft as bees may find, Bungling on it half aware. And wherein to see them sip Fancy lifts an oozy lip, And the singer's falter there.

Sweet as swallows swimming through Eddyings of dusk and dew, Singing happy scenes of home Back to sight of eager eyes That have longed for them to come, Till their coming is surprise Uttered only by the rush Of quick tears and prayerful hush; Singing on, in clearer key, Hearty palms of you and me Into grasps that tingle still Rapturous, and ever will! Singing twank and twang of strings-- Trill of flute and clarinet In a melody that rings Like the tunes we used to play, And our dreams are playing yet! Singing lovers, long astray, Each to each, and, sweeter things-- Singing in their marriage-day, And a banquet holding all These delights for festival.

THE TWINS.

One 's the pictur' of his Pa, And the _other_ of her Ma-- Jes the bossest pair o' babies 'at a mortal ever saw! And we love 'em as the bees Loves the blossoms of the trees, A-ridin' and a-rompin' in the breeze!

One's got her Mammy's eyes-- Soft and blue as Apurl-skies-- With the same sort of a smile, like--Yes, and mouth about her size,-- Dimples, too, in cheek and chin, 'At my lips jes _wallers_ in, A-goin' to work, er gittin' home agin.

And the _other_--Well, they say That he's got his Daddy's way O' bein' ruther soberfied, er ruther extry gay,-- That he either cries his best, Er he laughs his howlin'est-- Like all he lacked was buttons and a vest!

Look at _her_!--and look at _him_!-- Talk about yer "Cheru-_bim_!" Roll 'em up in dreams together, rosy arm and chubby limb! O we love 'em as the bees Loves the blossoms of the trees, A-ridin' and a-rompin' in the breeze!

BEDOUIN.

O love is like an untamed steed!-- So hot of heart and wild of speed, And with fierce freedom so in love, The desert is not vast enough, With all its leagues of glimmering sands, To pasture it! Ah, that my hands Were more than human in their strength, That my deft lariat at length Might safely noose this splendid thing That so defies all conquering! Ho! but to see it whirl and reel-- The sands spurt forward--and to feel The quivering tension of the thong That throned me high, with shriek and song! To grapple tufts of tossing mane-- To spurn it to its feet again, And then, sans saddle, rein or bit, To lash the mad life out of it!

TUGG MARTIN.

I.

Tugg Martin's tough.--No doubt o' that! And down there at The town he come from word's bin sent Advisin' this-here Settle-ment To kindo' _humor_ Tugg, and not To git him hot-- Jest pass his imperfections by, And he's as good as pie!

II.

They claim he's _wanted_ back there.--Yit The officers they mostly quit _Insistin'_ when They notice Tugg's so _back'ard_, and Sorto' gives 'em to understand He druther not!--A Deputy (The slickest one you ever see!) Tackled him _last_--"disguisin' then," As Tugg says, "as a gentlemen!"-- You 'd ort o' hear _Tugg_ tell it!--_My_! I thought I'd _die_!

III.

The way it wuz;--Tugg and the rest The boys wuz jest A-kindo' gittin' thawed out, down At "Guss's Place," fur-end o' town, One night, when, first we knowed, Some feller rode Up in a buggy at the door, And hollered fer some one to come And fetch him some Red-licker out--And whirped and swore That colt he drove wuz "_Thompson's_" shore!

IV.

Guss went out, and come in agin And filled a pint and tuck it out-- Stayed quite a spell--then peeked back in, Half-hid-like where the light wuz dim, And jieuked his head At Tugg and said,-- "Come out a minute--here's a gent Wants you to take a drink with him."

V.

Well--Tugg laid down his cards and went-- In fact, _we all_ Got up, you know, _Startin'_ to go-- When in reels Guss aginst the wall, As white as snow, Gaspin',--"_He's tuck Tugg!--wher's my gun_?" And-sir, outside we heerd The hoss snort and kick up his heels Like he wuz skeerd, And then the buggy-wheels Scrape--and then Tugg's voice hollerun',-- "I'm bested!--Good-bye, fellers!" . . . 'Peared S' all-fired suddent, Nobody couldn't Jest git it fixed,--tel hoss and man, Buggy and Tugg, off through the dark Went like the devil beatin' tan- Bark!

VI.

What _could_ we do? . . . We filed back to The bar: And Guss jest _looked_ at us, And we looked back "The same as you," Still sayin' nothin'--And the sap It stood in every eye, And every hat and cap Went off, as we teched glasses solemnly, And Guss says-he: "Ef it's 'good-bye' with Tugg, fer _shore_,--I say God bless him!--Er ef they Aint railly no _need_ to pray, I'm not reniggin!--board's the play, And here's God bless him, anyway!"

VII.

It must a-bin an hour er so We all set there, Talkin o' pore Old Tugg, you know, 'At never, wuz ketched up before-- When--all slow-like--the door- Knob turned--and Tugg come shamblin' in, Hand-cuffed'--'at's what he wuz, I swear!-- Yit smilin,' like he hadn't bin Away at all! And when we ast him where The _Deputy_ wuz at,--"I don't know where," Tugg said,-- "All _I_ know is--he's dead."

LET US FORGET.

Let us forget. What matters it that we Once reigned o'er happy realms of long-ago, And talked of love, and let our voices low, And ruled for some brief sessions royally? What if we sung, or laughed, or wept maybe? It has availed not anything, and so Let it go by that we may better know How poor a thing is lost to you and me. But yesterday I kissed your lips, and yet Did thrill you not enough to shake the dew From your drenched lids--and missed, with no regret, Your kiss shot back, with sharp breaths failing you; And so, to-day, while our worn eyes are wet With all this waste of tears, let us forget!

JOHN ALDEN AND PERCILLY.

We got up a Christmas-doin's Last Christmas Eve-- Kindo' dimonstration 'At I railly believe Give more satisfaction-- Take it up and down-- Than ary intertainment Ever come to town!

Railly was a _theater_-- That's what it was,-- But, bein' in the church, you know, We had a "_Santy Clause_"-- So 's to git the _old folks_ To patternize, you see, And _back_ the institootion up Kindo' _morally_.

Schoolteacher writ the thing-- (Was a friend o' mine), Got it out o' Longfeller's Pome "Evangeline"-- Er some'rs--'bout the _Purituns_--. _Anyway_, the part "_John Alden_" fell to _me_-- And learnt it all by heart!

Claircy was "_Percilly_"-- (Schoolteacher 'lowed Me and her could act them two Best of all the crowd)-- Then--blame ef he didn't Git her Pap, i jing!-- To take the part o' "_Santy Clause_," To wind up the thing.

Law! the fun o' practisun!-- Was a week er two Me and Claircy didn't have Nothin' else to do!-- Kep' us jes a-meetin' round, Kindo' here and there, Ever' night rehearsin'-like, And gaddin' ever'where!

Game was wo'th the candle, though!-- Christmas Eve at last Rolled around.--And 'tendance jes Couldn't been surpassed!-- Neighbors from the country Come from Clay and Rush-- Yes, and 'crost the county-line Clean from Puckerbrush!

Meetin'-house jes trimbled As "Old Santy" went Round amongst the childern, With their pepperment And sassafrac and wintergreen Candy, and "a ball O' popcorn," the preacher 'nounced, "Free fer each and all!"

Schoolteacher suddently Whispered in my ear,-- "Guess I got you:--_Christmas-gift_!-- _Christmas is here_!" I give _him_ a gold pen, And case to hold the thing,-- And _Claircy_ whispered "_Christmas-gift_!" And I give her a _ring_.

"And now," says I, "jes watch _me_-- Christmas-gift," says I, "_I'm_ a-goin' to git one-- '_Santy's_' comin' by!"-- Then I rech and grabbed him: And, as you'll infer, 'Course I got the old man's, And _he_ gimme _her_!

REACH YOUR HAND TO ME.

Reach your hand to me, my friend, With its heartiest caress-- Sometime there will come an end To its present faithfulness-- Sometime I may ask in vain For the touch of it again, When between us land or sea Holds it ever back from me.

Sometime I may need it so, Groping somewhere in the night, It will seem to me as though Just a touch, however light, Would make all the darkness day, And along some sunny way Lead me through an April-shower Of my tears to this fair hour.

O the present is too sweet To go on forever thus! Round the corner of the street Who can say what waits for us?-- Meeting--greeting, night and day, Faring each the self-same way-- Still somewhere the path must end.-- Reach your hand to me, my friend!

THE ROSE.

It tossed its head at the wooing breeze; And the sun, like a bashful swain, Beamed on it through the waving frees With a passion all in vain,-- For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

The honey-bee came there to sing His love through the languid hours, And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king Might boast of his palace-towers: But my rose bowed in a mockery, And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

The humming-bird, like a courtier gay, Dipped down with a dalliant song, And twanged his wings through the roundelay Of love the whole day long: Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

The firefly came in the twilight dim My red, red rose to woo-- Till quenched was the flame of love in him, And the light of his lantern too, As my rose wept with dew-drops three And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

And I said: I will cult my own sweet rose-- Some day I will claim as mine The priceless worth of the flower that knows No change, but a bloom divine-- The bloom of a fadeless constancy That hides in the leaves in wait for me!

But time passed by in a strange disguise, And I marked it not, but lay In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes, Till the summer slipped away, And a chill wind sang in a minor key: "Where is the rose that waits for thee?"

* * * * *

I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain Of bloom on a withered stalk, Pelted down by the autumn rain In the dust of the garden-walk, That an Angel-rose in the world to be Will hide in the leaves in wait for me.

MY FRIEND.

"He is my friend," I said,-- "Be patient!" Overhead The skies were drear and dim; And lo! the thought of him Smited on my heart--and then The sun shone out again!

"He is my friend!" The words Brought summer and the birds; And all my winter-time Thawed into running rhyme And rippled into song, Warm, tender, brave, and strong.

And so it sings to-day.-- So may it sing alway! Though waving grasses grow Between, and lilies blow Their trills of perfume clear As laughter to the ear, Let each mute measure end With "Still he is thy friend."

SUSPENSE.

A woman's figure, on a ground of night Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there As in vague hope some alien lance of light Might pierce their woe. The tears that blind her sight-- The salt and bitter blood of her despair-- Her hands toss back through torrents of her hair And grip toward God with anguish infinite. And O the carven mouth, with all its great Intensity of longing frozen fast In such a smile as well may designate The slowly-murdered heart, that, to the last, Conceals each newer wound, and back at Fate Throbs Love's eternal lie--"Lo, I can wait!"

THE PASSING OF A HEART.

O touch me with your hands-- For pity's sake! My brow throbs ever on with such an ache As only your cool touch may take away; And so, I pray You, touch me with your hands!

Touch--touch me with your hands.-- Smooth back the hair You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair That I did dream its gold would wear alway, And lo, to-day-- O touch me with your hands!

Just touch me with your hands, And let them press My weary eyelids with the old caress, And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way, That Death may say: He touched her with his hands.

BY HER WHITE BED.

By her white bed I muse a little space: She fell asleep--not very long ago,-- And yet the grass was here and not the snow-- The leaf, the bud, the blossom, and--her face!-- Midsummer's heaven above us, and the grace Of Lovers own day, from dawn to afterglow; The fireflies' glimmering, and the sweet and low Plaint of the whip-poor-wills, and every place In thicker twilight for the roses' scent. Then _night_.--She slept--in such tranquility, I walk atiptoe still, nor _dare_ to weep, Feeling, in all this hush, she rests content-- That though God stood to wake her for me, she Would mutely plead: "Nay, Lord! Let _him_ so sleep."

WE TO SIGH INSTEAD OF SING.

"Rain and rain! and rain and rain!" Yesterday we muttered Grimly as the grim refrain That the thunders uttered: All the heavens under cloud-- All the sunshine sleeping; All the grasses limply bowed With their weight of weeping.

Sigh and sigh! and sigh and sigh! Never end of sighing; Rain and rain for our reply-- Hopes half-drowned and dying; Peering through the window-pane, Naught but endless raining-- Endless sighing, and, as vain, Endlessly complaining.

Shine and shine! and shine and shine! Ah! to-day the splendor!-- All this glory yours and mine-- God! but God is tender! We to sigh instead of sing, _Yesterday_, in sorrow, While the Lord was fashioning This for our To-morrow!

THE BLOSSOMS ON THE TREES.

Blossoms crimson, white, or blue, Purple, pink, and every hue, From sunny skies, to tintings drowned In dusky drops of dew, I praise you all, wherever found, And love you through and through;-- _But_, Blossoms On The Trees, With your breath upon the breeze, There's nothing all the world around As half as sweet as you!

Could the rhymer only wring All the sweetness to the lees Of all the kisses clustering In juicy Used-to-bes, To dip his rhymes therein and sing The blossoms on the trees,-- "O Blossoms on the Trees," He would twitter, trill and coo, "However sweet, such songs as these Are not as sweet as you:-- For you are _blooming_ melodies The _eyes_ may listen to!"

A DISCOURAGING MODEL.

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, And a knot of red roses sown in under there Where the shadows are lost in her hair.

Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound; And the gleam of a smile O as fair and as faint And as sweet as the masters of old used to paint Round the lips of their favorite saint!

And that lace at her throat--and the fluttering hands Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands, The flakes of their touches--first fluttering at The bow--then the roses--the hair--and then that Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.

O what artist on earth with a model like this, Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss, Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair, Nor the gold of her smile--O what artist could dare To expect a result half so fair?

LAST NIGHT--AND THIS.