Chapter 7

Oh, I have n't got long to live, for we all Die soon, e'en those who live longest; And the poorest and weakest are taking their chance Along with the richest and strongest. So it's heigho for a glass and a song, And a bright eye over the table, And a dog for the hunt when the game is flush, And the pick of a gentleman's stable.

There is Dimmock o' Dune, he was here yester-night, But he 's rotting to-day on Glen Arragh; 'Twas the hand o' MacPherson that gave him the blow, And the vultures shall feast on his marrow. But it's heigho for a brave old song And a glass while we are able; Here 's a health to death and another cup To the bright eye over the table.

I can show a broad back and a jolly deep chest, But who argues now on appearance? A blow or a thrust or a stumble at best May send me to-day to my clearance. Then it's heigho for the things I love, My mother 'll be soon wearing sable, But give me my horse and my dog and my glass, And a bright eye over the table.

AN EASY-GOIN' FELLER

Ther' ain't no use in all this strife, An' hurryin', pell-mell, right thro' life. I don't believe in goin' too fast To see what kind o' road you 've passed. It ain't no mortal kind o' good, 'N' I would n't hurry ef I could. I like to jest go joggin' 'long, To limber up my soul with song; To stop awhile 'n' chat the men, 'N' drink some cider now an' then. Do' want no boss a-standin' by To see me work; I allus try To do my dooty right straight up, An' earn what fills my plate an' cup. An' ez fur boss, I 'll be my own, I like to jest be let alone; To plough my strip an' tend my bees, An' do jest like I doggoned please. My head's all right, an' my heart's meller, But I 'm a easy-goin' feller.

A NEGRO LOVE SONG

Seen my lady home las' night, Jump back, honey, jump back. Hel' huh han' an' sque'z it tight, Jump back, honey, jump back. Hyeahd huh sigh a little sigh, Seen a light gleam f'om huh eye, An' a smile go flittin' by-- Jump back, honey, jump back.

Hyeahd de win' blow thoo de pine, Jump back, honey, jump back. Mockin'-bird was singin' fine, Jump back, honey, jump back. An' my hea't was beatin' so, When I reached my lady's do', Dat I could n't ba' to go-- Jump back, honey, jump back.

Put my ahm aroun' huh wais', Jump back, honey, jump back. Raised huh lips an' took a tase, Jump back, honey, jump back. Love me, honey, love me true? Love me well ez I love you? An' she answe'd, "'Cose I do"-- Jump back, honey, jump back.

THE DILETTANTE: A MODERN TYPE

He scribbles some in prose and verse, And now and then he prints it; He paints a little,--gathers some Of Nature's gold and mints it.

He plays a little, sings a song, Acts tragic roles, or funny; He does, because his love is strong, But not, oh, not for money!

He studies almost everything From social art to science; A thirsty mind, a flowing spring, Demand and swift compliance.

He looms above the sordid crowd-- At least through friendly lenses; While his mamma looks pleased and proud, And kindly pays expenses.

BY THE STREAM

By the stream I dream in calm delight, and watch as in a glass, How the clouds like crowds of snowy-hued and white-robed maidens pass, And the water into ripples breaks and sparkles as it spreads, Like a host of armored knights with silver helmets on their heads. And I deem the stream an emblem fit of human life may go, For I find a mind may sparkle much and yet but shallows show, And a soul may glow with myriad lights and wondrous mysteries, When it only lies a dormant thing and mirrors what it sees.

THE COLORED SOLDIERS

If the muse were mine to tempt it And my feeble voice were strong, If my tongue were trained to measures, I would sing a stirring song. I would sing a song heroic Of those noble sons of Ham, Of the gallant colored soldiers Who fought for Uncle Sam!

In the early days you scorned them, And with many a flip and flout Said "These battles are the white man's, And the whites will fight them out." Up the hills you fought and faltered, In the vales you strove and bled, While your ears still heard the thunder Of the foes' advancing tread.

Then distress fell on the nation, And the flag was drooping low; Should the dust pollute your banner? No! the nation shouted, No! So when War, in savage triumph, Spread abroad his funeral pall-- Then you called the colored soldiers, And they answered to your call.

And like hounds unleashed and eager For the life blood of the prey, Sprung they forth and bore them bravely In the thickest of the fray. And where'er the fight was hottest, Where the bullets fastest fell, There they pressed unblanched and fearless At the very mouth of hell.

Ah, they rallied to the standard To uphold it by their might; None were stronger in the labors, None were braver in the fight. From the blazing breach of Wagner To the plains of Olustee, They were foremost in the fight Of the battles of the free.

And at Pillow! God have mercy On the deeds committed there, And the souls of those poor victims Sent to Thee without a prayer. Let the fulness of Thy pity O'er the hot wrought spirits sway Of the gallant colored soldiers Who fell fighting on that day!

Yes, the Blacks enjoy their freedom, And they won it dearly, too; For the life blood of their thousands Did the southern fields bedew. In the darkness of their bondage, In the depths of slavery's night, Their muskets flashed the dawning, And they fought their way to light.

They were comrades then and brothers, Are they more or less to-day? They were good to stop a bullet And to front the fearful fray. They were citizens and soldiers, When rebellion raised its head; And the traits that made them worthy,-- Ah! those virtues are not dead.

They have shared your nightly vigils, They have shared your daily toil; And their blood with yours commingling Has enriched the Southern soil.

They have slept and marched and suffered 'Neath the same dark skies as you, They have met as fierce a foeman, And have been as brave and true.

And their deeds shall find a record In the registry of Fame; For their blood has cleansed completely Every blot of Slavery's shame. So all honor and all glory To those noble sons of Ham-- The gallant colored soldiers Who fought for Uncle Sam!

NATURE AND ART

TO MY FRIEND CHARLES BOOTH NETTLETON

I

The young queen Nature, ever sweet and fair, Once on a time fell upon evil days. From hearing oft herself discussed with praise, There grew within her heart the longing rare To see herself; and every passing air The warm desire fanned into lusty blaze. Full oft she sought this end by devious ways, But sought in vain, so fell she in despair. For none within her train nor by her side Could solve the task or give the envied boon. So day and night, beneath the sun and moon, She wandered to and fro unsatisfied, Till Art came by, a blithe inventive elf, And made a glass wherein she saw herself.

II

Enrapt, the queen gazed on her glorious self, Then trembling with the thrill of sudden thought, Commanded that the skilful wight be brought That she might dower him with lands and pelf. Then out upon the silent sea-lapt shelf And up the hills and on the downs they sought Him who so well and wondrously had wrought; And with much search found and brought home the elf. But he put by all gifts with sad replies, And from his lips these words flowed forth like wine: "O queen, I want no gift but thee," he said. She heard and looked on him with love-lit eyes, Gave him her hand, low murmuring, "I am thine," And at the morrow's dawning they were wed.

AFTER WHILE

A POEM OF FAITH

I think that though the clouds be dark, That though the waves dash o'er the bark, Yet after while the light will come, And in calm waters safe at home The bark will anchor. Weep not, my sad-eyed, gray-robed maid, Because your fairest blossoms fade, That sorrow still o'erruns your cup, And even though you root them up, The weeds grow ranker.

For after while your tears shall cease, And sorrow shall give way to peace; The flowers shall bloom, the weeds shall die, And in that faith seen, by and by Thy woes shall perish. Smile at old Fortune's adverse tide, Smile when the scoffers sneer and chide. Oh, not for you the gems that pale, And not for you the flowers that fail; Let this thought cherish:

That after while the clouds will part, And then with joy the waiting heart Shall feel the light come stealing in, That drives away the cloud of sin And breaks its power. And you shall burst your chrysalis, And wing away to realms of bliss, Untrammelled, pure, divinely free, Above all earth's anxiety From that same hour.

THE OL' TUNES

You kin talk about yer anthems An' yer arias an' sich, An' yer modern choir-singin' That you think so awful rich; But you orter heerd us youngsters In the times now far away, A-singin' o' the ol' tunes In the ol'-fashioned way.

There was some of us sung treble An' a few of us growled bass, An' the tide o' song flowed smoothly With its 'comp'niment o' grace; There was spirit in that music, An' a kind o' solemn sway, A-singin' o' the ol' tunes In the ol'-fashioned way.

I remember oft o' standin' In my homespun pantaloons-- On my face the bronze an' freckles O' the suns o' youthful Junes-- Thinkin' that no mortal minstrel Ever chanted sich a lay As the ol' tunes we was singin' In the ol'-fashioned way.

The boys 'ud always lead us, An' the girls 'ud all chime in Till the sweetness o' the singin' Robbed the list'nin' soul o' sin; An' I used to tell the parson 'T was as good to sing as pray, When the people sung the ol' tunes In the ol'-fashioned way.

How I long ag'in to hear 'em Pourin' forth from soul to soul, With the treble high an' meller, An' the bass's mighty roll; But the times is very diff'rent, An' the music heerd to-day Ain't the singin' o' the ol' tunes In the ol'-fashioned way.

Little screechin' by a woman, Little squawkin' by a man, Then the organ's twiddle-twaddle, Jest the empty space to span,-- An' ef you should even think it, 'T is n't proper fur to say That you want to hear the ol' tunes In the ol'-fashioned way.

But I think that some bright mornin', When the toils of life air o'er, An' the sun o' heaven arisin' Glads with light the happy shore, I shall hear the angel chorus, In the realms of endless day, A-singin' o' the ol' tunes In the ol'-fashioned way.

MELANCHOLIA

Silently without my window, Tapping gently at the pane, Falls the rain. Through the trees sighs the breeze Like a soul in pain. Here alone I sit and weep; Thought hath banished sleep.

Wearily I sit and listen To the water's ceaseless drip. To my lip Fate turns up the bitter cup, Forcing me to sip; 'T is a bitter, bitter drink, Thus I sit and think,--

Thinking things unknown and awful, Thoughts on wild, uncanny themes, Waking dreams. Spectres dark, corpses stark, Show the gaping seams Whence the cold and cruel knife Stole away their life.

Bloodshot eyes all strained and staring, Gazing ghastly into mine; Blood like wine On the brow--clotted now-- Shows death's dreadful sign. Lonely vigil still I keep; Would that I might sleep!

Still, oh, still, my brain is whirling! Still runs on my stream of thought; I am caught In the net fate hath set. Mind and soul are brought To destruction's very brink; Yet I can but think!

Eyes that look into the future,-- Peeping forth from out my mind, They will find Some new weight, soon or late, On my soul to bind, Crushing all its courage out,-- Heavier than doubt.

Dawn, the Eastern monarch's daughter, Rising from her dewy bed, Lays her head 'Gainst the clouds' sombre shrouds Now half fringed with red. O'er the land she 'gins to peep; Come, O gentle Sleep!

Hark! the morning cock is crowing; Dreams, like ghosts, must hie away; 'Tis the day. Rosy morn now is born; Dark thoughts may not stay. Day my brain from foes will keep; Now, my soul, I sleep.

THE WOOING

A youth went faring up and down, Alack and well-a-day. He fared him to the market town, Alack and well-a-day. And there he met a maiden fair, With hazel eyes and auburn hair; His heart went from him then and there, Alack and well-a-day.

She posies sold right merrily, Alack and well-a-day; But not a flower was fair as she, Alack and well-a-day. He bought a rose and sighed a sigh, "Ah, dearest maiden, would that I Might dare the seller too to buy!" Alack and well-a-day.

She tossed her head, the coy coquette, Alack and well-a-day. "I'm not, sir, in the market yet," Alack and well-a-day. "Your love must cool upon a shelf; Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf, I 'm yet too young to sell myself," Alack and well-a-day.

The youth was filled with sorrow sore, Alack and well-a-day. And looked he at the maid once more, Alack and well-a-day. Then loud he cried, "Fair maiden, if Too young to sell, now as I live, You're not too young yourself to give," Alack and well-a-day.

The little maid cast down her eyes, Alack and well-a-day. And many a flush began to rise, Alack and well-a-day. "Why, since you are so bold," she said, "I doubt not you are highly bred, So take me!" and the twain were wed, Alack and well-a-day.

MERRY AUTUMN

It's all a farce,--these tales they tell About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o'er field and dell, Because the year is dying.

Such principles are most absurd,-- I care not who first taught 'em; There's nothing known to beast or bird To make a solemn autumn.

In solemn times, when grief holds sway With countenance distressing, You'll note the more of black and gray Will then be used in dressing.

Now purple tints are all around; The sky is blue and mellow; And e'en the grasses turn the ground From modest green to yellow.

The seed burrs all with laughter crack On featherweed and jimson; And leaves that should be dressed in black Are all decked out in crimson.

A butterfly goes winging by; A singing bird comes after; And Nature, all from earth to sky, Is bubbling o'er with laughter.

The ripples wimple on the rills, Like sparkling little lasses; The sunlight runs along the hills, And laughs among the grasses.

The earth is just so full of fun It really can't contain it; And streams of mirth so freely run The heavens seem to rain it.

Don't talk to me of solemn days In autumn's time of splendor, Because the sun shows fewer rays, And these grow slant and slender.

Why, it's the climax of the year,-- The highest time of living!-- Till naturally its bursting cheer Just melts into thanksgiving.

WHEN DE CO'N PONE'S HOT

Dey is times in life when Nature Seems to slip a cog an' go, Jes' a-rattlin' down creation, Lak an ocean's overflow; When de worl' jes' stahts a-spinnin' Lak a picaninny's top, An' yo' cup o' joy is brimmin' 'Twell it seems about to slop, An' you feel jes' lak a racah, Dat is trainin' fu' to trot-- When yo' mammy says de blessin' An' de co'n pone 's hot.

When you set down at de table, Kin' o' weary lak an' sad, An' you 'se jes' a little tiahed An' purhaps a little mad; How yo' gloom tu'ns into gladness, How yo' joy drives out de doubt When de oven do' is opened, An' de smell comes po'in' out; Why, de 'lectric light o' Heaven Seems to settle on de spot, When yo' mammy says de blessin' An' de co'n pone 's hot.

When de cabbage pot is steamin' An' de bacon good an' fat, When de chittlins is a-sputter'n' So 's to show you whah dey's at; Tek away yo' sody biscuit, Tek away yo' cake an' pie, Fu' de glory time is comin', An' it's 'proachin' mighty nigh, An' you want to jump an' hollah, Dough you know you 'd bettah not, When yo' mammy says de blessin' An' de co'n pone 's hot.

I have hyeahd o' lots o' sermons, An' I 've hyeahd o' lots o' prayers, An' I 've listened to some singin' Dat has tuck me up de stairs Of de Glory-Lan' an' set me Jes' below de Mastah's th'one, An' have lef my hea't a-singin' In a happy aftah tone; But dem wu'ds so sweetly murmured Seem to tech de softes' spot, When my mammy says de blessin', An' de co'n pone's hot.

BALLAD

I know my love is true, And oh the day is fair. The sky is clear and blue, The flowers are rich of hue, The air I breathe is rare, I have no grief or care; For my own love is true, And oh 'the day is fair.

My love is false I find, And oh the day is dark. Blows sadly down the wind, While sorrow holds my mind; I do not hear the lark, For quenched is life's dear spark,-- My love is false I find, And oh the day is dark!

For love doth make the day Or dark or doubly bright; Her beams along the way Dispel the gloom and gray. She lives and all is bright, She dies and life is night. For love doth make the day, Or dark or doubly bright.

THE CHANGE HAS COME

The change has come, and Helen sleeps-- Not sleeps; but wakes to greater deeps Of wisdom, glory, truth, and light, Than ever blessed her seeking sight, In this low, long, lethargic night, Worn out with strife Which men call life.

The change has come, and who would say "I would it were not come to-day"? What were the respite till to-morrow? Postponement of a certain sorrow, From which each passing day would borrow! Let grief be dumb, The change has come.

COMPARISON

The sky of brightest gray seems dark To one whose sky was ever white. To one who never knew a spark, Thro' all his life, of love or light, The grayest cloud seems over-bright.

The robin sounds a beggar's note Where one the nightingale has heard, But he for whom no silver throat Its liquid music ever stirred, Deems robin still the sweetest bird.

A CORN-SONG

On the wide veranda white, In the purple failing light, Sits the master while the sun is lowly burning; And his dreamy thoughts are drowned In the softly flowing sound Of the corn-songs of the field-hands slow returning.

Oh, we hoe de co'n Since de ehly mo'n; Now de sinkin' sun Says de day is done.

O'er the fields with heavy tread, Light of heart and high of head, Though the halting steps be labored, slow, and weary; Still the spirits brave and strong Find a comforter in song, And their corn-song rises ever loud and cheery.

Oh, we hoe de co'n Since de ehly mo'n; Now de sinkin' sun Says de day is done.

To the master in his seat, Comes the burden, full and sweet, Of the mellow minor music growing clearer, As the toilers raise the hymn, Thro' the silence dusk and dim, To the cabin's restful shelter drawing nearer.

Oh, we hoe de co'n Since de ehly mo'n; Now de sinkin' sun Says de day is done.

And a tear is in the eye Of the master sitting by, As he listens to the echoes low-replying To the music's fading calls As it faints away and falls Into silence, deep within the cabin dying.

Oh, we hoe de co'n Since de ehly mo'n; Now de sinkin' sun Says de day is done.

DISCOVERED

Seen you down at chu'ch las' night, Nevah min', Miss Lucy. What I mean? oh, dat 's all right, Nevah min', Miss Lucy. You was sma't ez sma't could be, But you could n't hide f'om me. Ain't I got two eyes to see! Nevah min', Miss Lucy.

Guess you thought you's awful keen; Nevah min', Miss Lucy. Evahthing you done, I seen; Nevah min', Miss Lucy. Seen him tek yo' ahm jes' so, When he got outside de do'-- Oh, I know dat man 's yo' beau! Nevah min', Miss Lucy.

Say now, honey, wha 'd he say?-- Nevah min', Miss Lucy! Keep yo' secrets--dat's yo' way-- Nevah min', Miss Lucy. Won't tell me an' I'm yo' pal-- I'm gwine tell his othah gal,-- Know huh, too, huh name is Sal; Nevah min', Miss Lucy!

DISAPPOINTED

An old man planted and dug and tended, Toiling in joy from dew to dew; The sun was kind, and the rain befriended; Fine grew his orchard and fair to view. Then he said: "I will quiet my thrifty fears, For here is fruit for my failing years."

But even then the storm-clouds gathered, Swallowing up the azure sky; The sweeping winds into white foam lathered The placid breast of the bay, hard by; Then the spirits that raged in the darkened air Swept o'er his orchard and left it bare.

The old man stood in the rain, uncaring, Viewing the place the storm had swept; And then with a cry from his soul despairing, He bowed him down to the earth and wept. But a voice cried aloud from the driving rain; "Arise, old man, and plant again!"

INVITATION TO LOVE

Come when the nights are bright with stars Or when the moon is mellow; Come when the sun his golden bars Drops on the hay-field yellow. Come in the twilight soft and gray, Come in the night or come in the day, Come, O love, whene'er you may, And you are welcome, welcome.

You are sweet, O Love, dear Love, You are soft as the nesting dove. Come to my heart and bring it rest As the bird flies home to its welcome nest.

Come when my heart is full of grief Or when my heart is merry; Come with the falling of the leaf Or with the redd'ning cherry. Come when the year's first blossom blows, Come when the summer gleams and glows, Come with the winter's drifting snows, And you are welcome, welcome.

HE HAD HIS DREAM

He had his dream, and all through life, Worked up to it through toil and strife. Afloat fore'er before his eyes, It colored for him all his skies: The storm-cloud dark Above his bark, The calm and listless vault of blue Took on its hopeful hue, It tinctured every passing beam-- He had his dream.

He labored hard and failed at last, His sails too weak to bear the blast, The raging tempests tore away And sent his beating bark astray. But what cared he For wind or sea! He said, "The tempest will be short, My bark will come to port." He saw through every cloud a gleam-- He had his dream.

GOOD-NIGHT

The lark is silent in his nest, The breeze is sighing in its flight, Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest. Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

Sweet dreams attend thee in thy sleep, To soothe thy rest till morning's light, And angels round thee vigil keep. Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

Sleep well, my love, on night's dark breast, And ease thy soul with slumber bright; Be joy but thine and I am blest. Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.

A COQUETTE CONQUERED

Yes, my ha't 's ez ha'd ez stone-- Go 'way, Sam, an' lemme 'lone. No; I ain't gwine change my min'-- Ain't gwine ma'y you--nuffin' de kin'.

Phiny loves you true an' deah? Go ma'y Phiny; whut I keer? Oh, you need n't mou'n an' cry-- I don't keer how soon you die.

Got a present! Whut you got? Somef'n fu' de pan er pot! Huh! yo' sass do sholy beat-- Think I don't git 'nough to eat?