Chapter 12

Poor Love looked in my face and cried: "No thief were ever yet so bold To rob my quiver at my side. But Time, who rules, gave ear to Gold, And all my goodly shafts are sold."

THE LAPSE

This poem must be done to-day; Then, I 'll e'en to it. I must not dream my time away,-- I 'm sure to rue it. The day is rather bright, I know The Muse will pardon My half-defection, if I go Into the garden. It must be better working there,-- I 'm sure it's sweeter: And something in the balmy air May clear my metre.

[_In the Garden._]

Ah this is noble, what a sky! What breezes blowing! The very clouds, I know not why, Call one to rowing. The stream will be a paradise To-day, I 'll warrant. I know the tide that's on the rise Will seem a torrent; I know just how the leafy boughs Are all a-quiver; I know how many skiffs and scows Are on the river. I think I 'll just go out awhile Before I write it; When Nature shows us such a smile, We should n't slight it. For Nature always makes desire By giving pleasure; And so 't will help me put more fire Into my measure.

[_On the River._]

The river's fine, I 'm glad I came, That poem 's teasing; But health is better far than fame, Though cheques are pleasing. I don't know what I did it for,-- This air 's a poppy. I 'm sorry for my editor,-- He 'll get no copy!

THE WARRIOR'S PRAYER

Long since, in sore distress, I heard one pray, "Lord, who prevailest with resistless might, Ever from war and strife keep me away, My battles fight!"

I know not if I play the Pharisee, And if my brother after all be right; But mine shall be the warrior's plea to thee-- Strength for the fight.

I do not ask that thou shalt front the fray, And drive the warring foeman from my sight; I only ask, O Lord, by night, by day, Strength for the fight!

When foes upon me press, let me not quail Nor think to turn me into coward flight. I only ask, to make mine arms prevail, Strength for the fight!

Still let mine eyes look ever on the foe, Still let mine armor case me strong and bright; And grant me, as I deal each righteous blow, Strength for the fight!

And when, at eventide, the fray is done, My soul to Death's bedchamber do thou light, And give me, be the field or lost or won, Rest from the fight!

FAREWELL TO ARCADY

With sombre mien, the Evening gray Comes nagging at the heels of Day, And driven faster and still faster Before the dusky-mantled Master, The light fades from her fearful eyes, She hastens, stumbles, falls, and dies.

Beside me Amaryllis weeps; The swelling tears obscure the deeps Of her dark eyes, as, mistily, The rushing rain conceals the sea. Here, lay my tuneless reed away,-- I have no heart to tempt a lay.

I scent the perfume of the rose Which by my crystal fountain grows. In this sad time, are roses blowing? And thou, my fountain, art thou flowing,

While I who watched thy waters spring Am all too sad to smile or sing? Nay, give me back my pipe again, It yet shall breathe this single strain: Farewell to Arcady!

THE VOICE OF THE BANJO

In a small and lonely cabin out of noisy traffic's way, Sat an old man, bent and feeble, dusk of face, and hair of gray, And beside him on the table, battered, old, and worn as he, Lay a banjo, droning forth this reminiscent melody:

"Night is closing in upon us, friend of mine, but don't be sad; Let us think of all the pleasures and the joys that we have had. Let us keep a merry visage, and be happy till the last, Let the future still be sweetened with the honey of the past.

"For I speak to you of summer nights upon the yellow sand, When the Southern moon was sailing high and silvering all the land; And if love tales were not sacred, there's a tale that I could tell Of your many nightly wanderings with a dusk and lovely belle.

"And I speak to you of care-free songs when labour's hour was o'er, And a woman waiting for your step outside the cabin door, And of something roly-poly that you took upon your lap, While you listened for the stumbling, hesitating words, 'Pap, pap.'

"I could tell you of a 'possum hunt across the wooded grounds, I could call to mind the sweetness of the baying of the hounds, You could lift me up and smelling of the timber that 's in me, Build again a whole green forest with the mem'ry of a tree.

"So the future cannot hurt us while we keep the past in mind, What care I for trembling fingers,--what care you that you are blind? Time may leave us poor and stranded, circumstance may make us bend; But they 'll only find us mellower, won't they, comrade?--in the end."

THE STIRRUP CUP

Come, drink a stirrup cup with me, Before we close our rouse. You 're all aglow with wine, I know: The master of the house, Unmindful of our revelry, Has drowned the carking devil care, And slumbers in his chair.

Come, drink a cup before we start; We 've far to ride to-night. And Death may take the race we make, And check our gallant flight: But even he must play his part, And tho' the look he wears be grim, We 'll drink a toast to him!

For Death,--a swift old chap is he, And swift the steed He rides. He needs no chart o'er main or mart, For no direction bides. So, come, a final, cup with me, And let the soldiers' chorus swell,-- To hell with care, to hell!

A CHOICE

They please me not--these solemn songs That hint of sermons covered up. 'Tis true the world should heed its wrongs, But in a poem let me sup, Not simples brewed to cure or ease Humanity's confessed disease, But the spirit-wine of a singing line, Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!

HUMOUR AND DIALECT

THEN AND NOW

THEN

He loved her, and through many years, Had paid his fair devoted court, Until she wearied, and with sneers Turned all his ardent love to sport.

That night within his chamber lone, He long sat writing by his bed A note in which his heart made moan For love; the morning found him dead.

NOW

Like him, a man of later day Was jilted by the maid he sought, And from her presence turned away, Consumed by burning, bitter thought.

He sought his room to write--a curse Like him before and die, I ween. Ah no, he put his woes in verse, And sold them to a magazine.

AT CHESHIRE CHEESE

When first of wise old Johnson taught, My youthful mind its homage brought, And made the pond'rous crusty sage The object of a noble rage.

Nor did I think (How dense we are!) That any day, however far, Would find me holding, unrepelled, The place that Doctor Johnson held!

But change has come and time has moved, And now, applauded, unreproved, I hold, with pardonable pride, The place that Johnson occupied.

Conceit! Presumption! What is this? You surely read my words amiss; Like Johnson I,--a man of mind! How could you ever be so blind?

No. At the ancient "Cheshire Cheese," Blown hither by some vagrant breeze, To dignify my shallow wit, In Doctor Johnson's seat I sit!

MY CORN-COB PIPE

Men may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the stars The real or fancied virtues of their foreign-made cigars; But I worship Nicotina at a different sort of shrine, And she sits enthroned in glory in this corn-cob pipe of mine.

It 's as fragrant as the meadows when the clover is in bloom; It 's as dainty as the essence of the daintiest perfume; It 's as sweet as are the orchards when the fruit is hanging ripe, With the sun's warm kiss upon them--is this corn-cob pipe.

Thro' the smoke about it clinging, I delight its form to trace, Like an oriental beauty with a veil upon her face; And my room is dim with vapour as a church when censers sway, As I clasp it to my bosom--in a figurative way.

It consoles me in misfortune and it cheers me in distress, And it proves a warm partaker of my pleasures in success; So I hail it as a symbol, friendship's true and worthy type, And I press my lips devoutly to my corn-cob pipe.

IN AUGUST

When August days are hot an' dry, When burning copper is the sky, I 'd rather fish than feast or fly In airy realms serene and high.

I 'd take a suit not made for looks, Some easily digested books, Some flies, some lines, some bait, some hooks, Then would I seek the bays and brooks.

I would eschew mine every task, In Nature's smiles my soul should bask, And I methinks no more could ask, Except--perhaps--one little flask.

In case of accident, you know, Or should the wind come on to blow, Or I be chilled or capsized, so, A flask would be the only go.

Then could I spend a happy time,-- A bit of sport, a bit of rhyme (A bit of lemon, or of lime, To make my bottle's contents prime).

When August days are hot an' dry, I won't sit by an' sigh or die, I 'll get my bottle (on the sly) And go ahead, and fish, and lie!

THE DISTURBER

Oh, what shall I do? I am wholly upset; I am sure I 'll be jailed for a lunatic yet. I 'll be out of a job--it's the thing to expect When I 'm letting my duty go by with neglect. You may judge the extent and degree of my plight When I 'm thinking all day and a-dreaming all night, And a-trying my hand at a rhyme on the sly, All on account of a sparkling eye.

There are those who say men should be strong, well-a-day! But what constitutes strength in a man? Who shall say? I am strong as the most when it comes to the arm. I have aye held my own on the playground or farm. And when I 've been tempted, I haven't been weak; But now--why, I tremble to hear a maid speak. I used to be bold, but now I 've grown shy, And all on account of a sparkling eye.

There once was a time when my heart was devout, But now my religion is open to doubt. When parson is earnestly preaching of grace, My fancy is busy with drawing a face, Thro' the back of a bonnet most piously plain; 'I draw it, redraw it, and draw it again.' While the songs and the sermon unheeded go by,-- All on account of a sparkling eye.

Oh, dear little conjurer, give o'er your wiles, It is easy for you, you're all blushes and smiles: But, love of my heart, I am sorely perplexed; I am smiling one minute and sighing the next; And if it goes on, I 'll drop hackle and flail, And go to the parson and tell him my tale. I warrant he 'll find me a cure for the sigh That you 're aye bringing forth with the glance of your eye.

EXPECTATION

You 'll be wonderin' whut 's de reason I 's a grinnin' all de time, An' I guess you t'ink my sperits Mus' be feelin' mighty prime. Well, I 'fess up, I is tickled As a puppy at his paws. But you need n't think I's crazy, I ain' laffin' 'dout a cause.

You's a wonderin' too, I reckon, Why I does n't seem to eat, An' I notice you a lookin' Lak you felt completely beat When I 'fuse to tek de bacon, An' don' settle on de ham. Don' you feel no feah erbout me, Jes' keep eatin', an' be ca'm.

Fu' I's waitin' an' I's watchin' 'Bout a little t'ing I see-- D' othah night I's out a walkin' An' I passed a 'simmon tree. Now I's whettin' up my hongry, An' I's laffin' fit to kill, Fu' de fros' done turned de 'simmons, An' de possum 's eat his fill.

He done go'ged hisse'f owdacious, An' he stayin' by de tree! Don' you know, ol' Mistah Possum Dat you gittin' fat fu' me? 'T ain't no use to try to 'spute it, 'Case I knows you's gittin' sweet Wif dat 'simmon flavoh thoo you, So I's waitin' fu' yo' meat.

An' some ebenin' me an Towsah Gwine to come an' mek a call, We jes' drap in onexpected Fu' to shek yo' han', dat's all. Oh, I knows dat you 'll be tickled, Seems lak I kin see you smile, So pu'haps I mought pu'suade you Fu' to visit us a while.

LOVER'S LANE

Summah night an' sighin' breeze, 'Long de lovah's lane; Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees, 'Long de lovah's lane. White folks' wo'k all done up gran'-- Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han' Struttin' lak we owned de lan', 'Long de lovah's lane.

Owl a-settin' 'side de road, 'Long de lovah's lane, Lookin' at us lak he knowed Dis uz lovah's lane. Go on, hoot yo' mou'nful tune, You ain' nevah loved in June, An' come hidin' f'om de moon Down in lovah's lane.

Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway, Down in lovah's lane, Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say 'Long de lovah's lane. But I whispahs low lak dis, An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss-- Mistah Bush he shek his fis', Down in lovah's lane.

Whut I keer ef day is long, Down in lovah's lane. I kin allus sing a song 'Long de lovah's lane. An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' say Meks up fu' de weary day Wen I's strollin' by de way, Down in lovah's lane.

An' dis t'ought will allus rise Down in lovah's lane; Wondah whethah in de skies Dey 's a lovah's lane. Ef dey ain't, I tell you true, 'Ligion do look mighty blue, 'Cause I do' know whut I 'd do 'Dout a lovah's lane.

PROTEST

Who say my hea't ain't true to you? Dey bettah heish dey mouf. I knows I loves you thoo an' thoo In watah time er drouf. I wush dese people 'd stop dey talkin', Don't mean no mo' dan chicken's squawkin': I guess I knows which way I's walkin', I knows de norf f'om souf.

I does not love Elizy Brown, I guess I knows my min'. You allus try to tek me down Wid evaht'ing you fin'. Ef dese hyeah folks will keep on fillin' Yo' haid wid nonsense, an' you's willin' I bet some day dey 'll be a killin' Somewhaih along de line.

O' cose I buys de gal ice-cream, Whut else I gwine to do? I knows jes' how de t'ing 'u'd seem Ef I 'd be sho't wid you. On Sunday, you's at chu'ch a-shoutin', Den all de week you go 'roun' poutin'-- I's mighty tiahed o' all dis doubtin', I tell you cause I's true.

HYMN

O li'l' lamb out in de col', De Mastah call you to de fol', O li'l' lamb! He hyeah you bleatin' on de hill; Come hyeah an' keep yo' mou'nin' still, O li'l' lamb!

De Mastah sen' de Shepud fo'f; He wandah souf, he wandah no'f, O li'l' lamb! He wandah eas', he wandah wes'; De win' a-wrenchin' at his breas', O li'l' lamb!

Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide; He want you walkin' by his side, O li'l' lamb! He know you weak, he know you so'; But come, don' stay away no mo', O li'l' lamb!

An' af'ah while de lamb he hyeah De Shepud's voice a-callin' cleah-- Sweet li'l' lamb! He answah f'om de brambles thick, "O Shepud, I's a-comin' quick"-- O li'l' lamb!

LITTLE BROWN BABY

Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee. What you been doin', suh--makin' san' pies? Look at dat bib--you's ez du'ty ez me. Look at dat mouf--dat's merlasses, I bet; Come hyeah, Maria, an' wipe off his han's. Bees gwine to ketch you an' eat you up yit, Bein' so sticky an sweet--goodness lan's!

Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, Who's pappy's darlin' an' who 's pappy's chile? Who is it all de day nevah once tries Fu' to be cross, er once loses dat smile? Whah did you git dem teef? My, you 's a scamp! Whah did dat dimple come f'om in yo' chin? Pappy do' know you--I b'lieves you 's a tramp; Mammy, dis hyeah's some ol' straggler got in!

Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san', We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah; Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man; I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah. Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do', Hyeah 's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat. Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo', Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet!

Dah, now, I t'ought dat you 'd hug me up close. Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy. He ain't no tramp, ner no straggler, of co'se; He's pappy's pa'dner an' play-mate an' joy. Come to you' pallet now--go to yo' res; Wisht you could allus know ease an' cleah skies; Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas'-- Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes!

TIME TO TINKER 'ROUN'!

Summah 's nice, wif sun a-shinin', Spring is good wif greens and grass, An' dey 's some t'ings nice 'bout wintah, Dough hit brings de freezin' blas; But de time dat is de fines', Whethah fiel's is green er brown, Is w'en de rain 's a-po'in' An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun.

Den you men's de mule's ol' ha'ness, An' you men's de broken chair. Hummin' all de time you 's wo'kin' Some ol' common kind o' air. Evah now an' then you looks out, Tryin' mighty ha'd to frown, But you cain't, you 's glad hit 's rainin', An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun'.

Oh, you 'ten's lak you so anxious Evah time it so't o' stops. W'en hit goes on, den you reckon Dat de wet 'll he'p de crops. But hit ain't de crops you 's aftah; You knows w'en de rain comes down Dat's hit's too wet out fu' wo'kin', An' dey 's time to tinker roun'.

Oh, dey 's fun inside de co'n-crib. An' dey 's laffin' at de ba'n; An' dey 's allus some one jokin', Er some one to tell a ya'n. Dah 's a quiet in yo' cabin, Only fu' de rain's sof soun'; So you 's mighty blessed happy W'en dey 's time to tinker 'roun'!

THE REAL QUESTION

Folks is talkin' 'bout de money, 'bout de silvah an' de gold; All de time de season 's changin' an' de days is gittin' cold. An' dey 's wond'rin' 'bout de metals, whethah we'll have one er two. While de price o' coal is risin' an' dey 's two months' rent dat 's due.

Some folks says dat gold 's de only money dat is wuff de name, Den de othahs rise an' tell 'em dat dey ought to be ashame, An' dat silvah is de only thing to save us f'om de powah Of de gold-bug ragin' 'roun' an' seekin' who he may devowah.

Well, you folks kin keep on shoutin' wif yo' gold er silvah cry, But I tell you people hams is sceerce an' fowls is roostin' high. An' hit ain't de so't o' money dat is pesterin' my min', But de question I want answehed 's how to get at any kin'!

JILTED

Lucy done gone back on me, Dat's de way wif life. Evaht'ing was movin' free, T'ought I had my wife. Den some dahky comes along, Sings my gal a little song, Since den, evaht'ing's gone wrong, Evah day dey 's strife.

Did n't answeh me to-day, Wen I called huh name, Would you t'ink she 'd ac' dat way Wen I ain't to blame? Dat 's de way dese women do, Wen dey fin's a fellow true, Den dey 'buse him thoo an' thoo; Well, hit 's all de same.

Somep'n's wrong erbout my lung, An' I 's glad hit 's so. Doctah says 'at I 'll die young, Well, I wants to go! Whut 's de use o' livin' hyeah, Wen de gal you loves so deah, Goes back on you clean an' cleah-- I sh'd like to know?

THE NEWS

Whut dat you whisperin' keepin' f'om me? Don't shut me out 'cause I 's ol' an' can't see. Somep'n's gone wrong dat 's a-causin' you dread,-- Don't be afeared to tell--Whut! mastah dead?

Somebody brung de news early to-day,-- One of de sojers he led, do you say? Did n't he foller whah ol' mastah lead? How kin he live w'en his leadah is dead?

Let me lay down awhile, dah by his bed; I wants to t'ink,--hit ain't cleah in my head:-- Killed while a-leadin' his men into fight,-- Dat 's whut you said, ain't it, did I hyeah right?

Mastah, my mastah, dead dah in de fiel'? Lif me up some,--dah, jes' so I kin kneel. I was too weak to go wid him, dey said, Well, now I 'll--fin' him--so--mastah is dead.

Yes, suh, I 's comin' ez fas' ez I kin,-- Twas kin' o' da'k, but hit 's lightah agin: P'omised yo' pappy I 'd allus tek keer Of you,--yes, mastah,--I 's follerin',--hyeah!

CHRISMUS ON THE PLANTATION

It was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit fu' a mighty gloomy day-- Bofe de weathah an' de people--not a one of us was gay; Cose you 'll t'ink dat 's mighty funny 'twell I try to mek hit cleah, Fu' a da'ky 's allus happy when de holidays is neah.

But we wasn't, fu' dat mo'nin' Mastah 'd tol' us we mus' go, He 'd been payin' us sence freedom, but he couldn't pay no mo';' He wa'n't nevah used to plannin' 'fo' he got so po' an' ol', So he gwine to give up tryin', an' de homestead mus' be sol'.

I kin see him stan'in' now erpon de step ez cleah ez day, Wid de win' a-kind o' fondlin' thoo his haih all thin an' gray; An' I 'membah how he trimbled when he said, "It's ha 'd fu' me, Not to mek yo' Chrismus brightah, but I 'low it wa'n't to be."

All de women was a-cryin', an' de men, too, on de sly, An' I noticed somep'n shinin' even in ol' Mastah's eye. But we all stood still to listen ez ol' Ben come f'om de crowd An' spoke up, a-try'n' to steady down his voice and mek it loud:--

"Look hyeah, Mastah, I 's been servin' you' fu' lo! dese many yeahs, An' now, sence we 's got freedom an' you 's kind o' po', hit 'pears Dat you want us all to leave you 'cause you don't t'ink you can pay. Ef my membry has n't fooled me, seem dat whut I hyead you say.

"Er in othah wo'ds, you wants us to fu'git dat you 's been kin', An' ez soon ez you is he'pless, we 's to leave you hyeah behin'. Well, ef dat 's de way dis freedom ac's on people, white er black, You kin jes' tell Mistah Lincum fu' to tek his freedom back.

"We gwine wo'k dis ol' plantation fu' whatevah we kin git, Fu' I know hit did suppo't us, an' de place kin do it yit. Now de land is yo's, de hands is ouahs, an' I reckon we 'll be brave, An' we 'll bah ez much ez you do w'en we has to scrape an' save."

Ol' Mastah stood dah trimblin', but a-smilin' thoo his teahs, An' den hit seemed jes' nachul-like, de place fah rung wid cheahs, An' soon ez dey was quiet, some one sta'ted sof an' low: "Praise God," an' den we all jined in, "from whom all blessin's flow!"

Well, dey was n't no use tryin', ouah min's was sot to stay, An' po' ol' Mastah could n't plead ner baig, ner drive us 'way, An' all at once, hit seemed to us, de day was bright agin, So evahone was gay dat night, an' watched de Chrismus in.

ANGELINA

When de fiddle gits to singin' out a ol' Vahginny reel, An' you 'mence to feel a ticklin' in yo' toe an' in yo' heel; Ef you t'ink you got 'uligion an' you wants to keep it, too, You jes' bettah tek a hint an' git yo'self clean out o' view. Case de time is mighty temptin' when de chune is in de swing, Fu' a darky, saint or sinner man, to cut de pigeon-wing. An' you could n't he'p f'om dancin' ef yo' feet was boun' wif twine, When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.

Don't you know Miss Angelina? She 's de da'lin' of de place. W'y, dey ain't no high-toned lady wif sich mannahs an' sich grace. She kin move across de cabin, wif its planks all rough an' wo'; Jes' de same 's ef she was dancin' on ol' mistus' ball-room flo'. Fact is, you do' see no cabin--evaht'ing you see look grand, An' dat one ol' squeaky fiddle soun' to you jes' lak a ban'; Cotton britches look lak broadclof an' a linsey dress look fine, When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.

Some folks say dat dancin 's sinful, an' de blessed Lawd, dey say, Gwine to punish us fu' steppin' w'en we hyeah de music play. But I tell you I don' b'lieve it, fu' de Lawd is wise and good, An' he made de banjo's metal an' he made de fiddle's wood, An' he made de music in dem, so I don' quite t'ink he 'll keer Ef our feet keeps time a little to de melodies we hyeah. W'y, dey's somep'n' downright holy in de way our faces shine, When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.