Chapter 8

Whut's dat un'neaf yo' coat? Looks des lak a little shoat. 'T ain't no possum! Bless de Lamb! Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam!

Gin it to me; whut you say? Ain't you sma't now! Oh, go 'way! Possum do look mighty nice, But you ax too big a price.

Tell me, is you talkin' true, Dat 's de gal's whut ma'ies you? Come back, Sam; now whah 's you gwine? Co'se you knows dat possum's mine!

NORA: A SERENADE

Ah, Nora, my Nora, the light fades away, While Night like a spirit steals up o'er the hills; The thrush from his tree where he chanted all day, No longer his music in ecstasy trills. Then, Nora, be near me; thy presence doth cheer me, Thine eye hath a gleam that is truer than gold.

I cannot but love thee; so do not reprove me, If the strength of my passion should make me too bold. Nora, pride of my heart-- Rosy cheeks, cherry lips, sparkling with glee,-- Wake from thy slumbers, wherever thou art; Wake from thy slumbers to me.

Ah, Nora, my Nora, there 's love in the air,-- It stirs in the numbers that thrill in my brain; Oh, sweet, sweet is love with its mingling of care, Though joy travels only a step before pain. Be roused from thy slumbers and list to my numbers; My heart is poured out in this song unto thee. Oh, be thou not cruel, thou treasure, thou jewel; Turn thine ear to my pleading and hearken to me.

OCTOBER

October is the treasurer of the year, And all the months pay bounty to her store; The fields and orchards still their tribute bear, And fill her brimming coffers more and more. But she, with youthful lavishness, Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress, And decks herself in garments bold Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold.

She heedeth not how swift the hours fly, But smiles and sings her happy life along; She only sees above a shining sky; She only hears the breezes' voice in song. Her garments trail the woodlands through, And gather pearls of early dew That sparkle, till the roguish Sun Creeps up and steals them every one.

But what cares she that jewels should be lost, When all of Nature's bounteous wealth is hers? Though princely fortunes may have been their cost, Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs. Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free, She lives her life out joyously, Nor cares when Frost stalks o'er her way And turns her auburn locks to gray.

A SUMMER'S NIGHT

The night is dewy as a maiden's mouth, The skies are bright as are a maiden's eyes, Soft as a maiden's breath the wind that flies Up from the perfumed bosom of the South. Like sentinels, the pines stand in the park; And hither hastening, like rakes that roam, With lamps to light their wayward footsteps home, The fireflies come stagg'ring down the dark.

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT

Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; I look far out into the pregnant night, Where I can hear a solemn booming gun And catch the gleaming of a random light, That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.

My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are glassing; For I would hail and check that ship of ships. I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud, My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips, And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.

O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing, O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark! Is there no hope for me? Is there no way That I may sight and check that speeding bark Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?

THE DELINQUENT

Goo'-by, Jinks, I got to hump, Got to mek dis pony jump; See dat sun a-goin' down 'N' me a-foolin' hyeah in town! Git up, Suke--go long!

Guess Mirandy'll think I's tight, Me not home an' comin' on night. What 's dat stan'in' by de fence? Pshaw! why don't I lu'n some sense? Git up, Suke--go long!

Guess I spent down dah at Jinks' Mos' a dollah fur de drinks. Bless yo'r soul, you see dat star? Lawd, but won't Mirandy rar? Git up, Suke--go long!

Went dis mo'nin', hyeah it 's night, Dah 's de cabin dah in sight. Who's dat stan'in' in de do'? Dat must be Mirandy, sho', Git up, Suke--go long!

Got de close-stick in huh han', Dat look funny, goodness lan', Sakes alibe, but she look glum! Hyeah, Mirandy, hyeah I come! Git up, Suke--go long!

Ef 't had n't a' b'en fur you, you slow ole fool, I 'd a' be'n home long fo' now!

DAWN

An angel, robed in spotless white, Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night. Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone. Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.

A DROWSY DAY

The air is dark, the sky is gray, The misty shadows come and go, And here within my dusky room Each chair looks ghostly in the gloom. Outside the rain falls cold and slow-- Half-stinging drops, half-blinding spray.

Each slightest sound is magnified, For drowsy quiet holds her reign; The burnt stick in the fireplace breaks, The nodding cat with start awakes, And then to sleep drops off again, Unheeding Towser at her side.

I look far out across the lawn, Where huddled stand the silly sheep; My work lies idle at my hands, My thoughts fly out like scattered strands Of thread, and on the verge of sleep-- Still half awake--I dream and yawn.

What spirits rise before my eyes! How various of kind and form! Sweet memories of days long past, The dreams of youth that could not last, Each smiling calm, each raging storm, That swept across my early skies.

Half seen, the bare, gaunt-fingered boughs Before my window sweep and sway, And chafe in tortures of unrest. My chin sinks down upon my breast; I cannot work on such a day, But only sit and dream and drowse.

DIRGE

Place this bunch of mignonette In her cold, dead hand; When the golden sun is set, Where the poplars stand, Bury her from sun and day, Lay my little love away From my sight.

She was like a modest flower Blown in sunny June, Warm as sun at noon's high hour, Chaster than the moon. Ah, her day was brief and bright, Earth has lost a star of light; She is dead.

Softly breathe her name to me,-- Ah, I loved her so. Gentle let your tribute be; None may better know Her true worth than I who weep O'er her as she lies asleep-- Soft asleep.

Lay these lilies on her breast, They are not more white Than the soul of her, at rest 'Neath their petals bright. Chant your aves soft and low, Solemn be your tread and slow,-- She is dead.

Lay her here beneath the grass, Cool and green and sweet, Where the gentle brook may pass Crooning at her feet. Nature's bards shall come and sing, And the fairest flowers shall spring Where she lies.

Safe above the water's swirl, She has crossed the bar; Earth has lost a precious pearl, Heaven has gained a star, That shall ever sing and shine, Till it quells this grief of mine For my love.

HYMN

When storms arise And dark'ning skies About me threat'ning lower, To thee, O Lord, I raise mine eyes, To thee my tortured spirit flies For solace in that hour.

The mighty arm Will let no harm Come near me nor befall me; Thy voice shall quiet my alarm, When life's great battle waxeth warm-- No foeman shall appall me.

Upon thy breast Secure I rest, From sorrow and vexation; No more by sinful cares oppressed, But in thy presence ever blest, O God of my salvation.

PREPARATION

The little bird sits in the nest and sings A shy, soft song to the morning light; And it flutters a little and prunes its wings. The song is halting and poor and brief, And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf; But the note is a prelude to sweeter things, And the busy bill and the flutter slight Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!

THE DESERTED PLANTATION

Oh, de grubbin'-hoe 's a-rustin' in de co'nah, An' de plow 's a-tumblin' down in de fiel', While de whippo'will 's a-wailin' lak a mou'nah When his stubbo'n hea't is tryin' ha'd to yiel'.

In de furrers whah de co'n was allus wavin', Now de weeds is growin' green an' rank an' tall; An' de swallers roun' de whole place is a-bravin' Lak dey thought deir folks had allus owned it all.

An' de big house stan's all quiet lak an' solemn, Not a blessed soul in pa'lor, po'ch, er lawn; Not a guest, ner not a ca'iage lef' to haul 'em, Fu' de ones dat tu'ned de latch-string out air gone.

An' de banjo's voice is silent in de qua'ters, D' ain't a hymn ner co'n-song ringin' in de air; But de murmur of a branch's passin' waters Is de only soun' dat breks de stillness dere.

Whah 's de da'kies, dem dat used to be a-dancin' Evry night befo' de ole cabin do'? Whah 's de chillun, dem dat used to be a-prancin' Er a-rollin' in de san' er on de flo'?

Whah 's ole Uncle Mordecai an' Uncle Aaron? Whah 's Aunt Doshy, Sam, an' Kit, an' all de res'? Whah 's ole Tom de da'ky fiddlah, how 's he farin'? Whah 's de gals dat used to sing an' dance de bes'?

Gone! not one o' dem is lef' to tell de story; Dey have lef' de deah ole place to fall away. Could n't one o' dem dat seed it in its glory Stay to watch it in de hour of decay?

Dey have lef' de ole plantation to de swallers, But it hol's in me a lover till de las'; Fu' I fin' hyeah in de memory dat follers All dat loved me an' dat I loved in de pas'.

So I'll stay an' watch de deah ole place an' tend it Ez I used to in de happy days gone by. 'Twell de othah Mastah thinks it's time to end it, An' calls me to my qua'ters in de sky.

THE SECRET

What says the wind to the waving trees? What says the wave to the river? What means the sigh in the passing breeze? Why do the rushes quiver? Have you not heard the fainting cry Of the flowers that said "Good-bye, good-bye"?

List how the gray dove moans and grieves Under the woodland cover; List to the drift of the falling leaves, List to the wail of the lover. Have you not caught the message heard Already by wave and breeze and bird?

Come, come away to the river's bank, Come in the early morning; Come when the grass with dew is dank, There you will find the warning-- A hint in the kiss of the quickening air Of the secret that birds and breezes bear.

THE WIND AND THE SEA

I stood by the shore at the death of day, As the sun sank flaming red; And the face of the waters that spread away Was as gray as the face of the dead.

And I heard the cry of the wanton sea And the moan of the wailing wind; For love's sweet pain in his heart had he, But the gray old sea had sinned.

The wind was young and the sea was old, But their cries went up together; The wind was warm and the sea was cold, For age makes wintry weather.

So they cried aloud and they wept amain, Till the sky grew dark to hear it; And out of its folds crept the misty rain, In its shroud, like a troubled spirit.

For the wind was wild with a hopeless love, And the sea was sad at heart At many a crime that he wot of, Wherein he had played his part.

He thought of the gallant ships gone down By the will of his wicked waves; And he thought how the church-yard in the town Held the sea-made widows' graves.

The wild wind thought of the love he had left Afar in an Eastern land, And he longed, as long the much bereft, For the touch of her perfumed hand.

In his winding wail and his deep-heaved sigh His aching grief found vent; While the sea looked up at the bending sky And murmured: "I repent."

But e'en as he spoke, a ship came by That bravely ploughed the main, And a light came into the sea's green eye, And his heart grew hard again.

Then he spoke to the wind: "Friend, seest thou not Yon vessel is eastward bound? Pray speed with it to the happy spot Where thy loved one may be found."

And the wind rose up in a dear delight, And after the good ship sped; But the crafty sea by his wicked might Kept the vessel ever ahead.

Till the wind grew fierce in his despair, And white on the brow and lip. He tore his garments and tore his hair, And fell on the flying ship.

And the ship went down, for a rock was there, And the sailless sea loomed black; While burdened again with dole and care, The wind came moaning back.

And still he moans from his bosom hot Where his raging grief lies pent, And ever when the ships come not, The sea says: "I repent."

RIDING TO TOWN

When labor is light and the morning is fair, I find it a pleasure beyond all compare To hitch up my nag and go hurrying down And take Katie May for a ride into town; For bumpety-bump goes the wagon, But tra-la-la-la our lay. There's joy in a song as we rattle along In the light of the glorious day.

A coach would be fine, but a spring wagon's good; My jeans are a match for Kate's gingham and hood; The hills take us up and the vales take us down, But what matters that? we are riding to town, And bumpety-bump goes the wagon, But tra-la-la-la sing we. There's never a care may live in the air That is filled with the breath of our glee.

And after we've started, there's naught can repress The thrill of our hearts in their wild happiness; The heavens may smile or the heavens may frown, And it's all one to us when we're riding to town. For bumpety-bump goes the wagon, But tra-la-la-la we shout, For our hearts they are clear and there 's nothing to fear, And we've never a pain nor a doubt.

The wagon is weak and the roadway is rough, And tho' it is long it is not long enough, For mid all my ecstasies this is the crown To sit beside Katie and ride into town, When bumpety-bump goes the wagon, But tra-la-la-la our song; And if I had my way, I 'd be willing to pay If the road could be made twice as long.

WE WEAR THE MASK

We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,-- This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!

THE MEADOW LARK

Though the winds be dank, And the sky be sober, And the grieving Day In a mantle gray Hath let her waiting maiden robe her,-- All the fields along I can hear the song Of the meadow lark, As she flits and flutters, And laughs at the thunder when it mutters. O happy bird, of heart most gay To sing when skies are gray!

When the clouds are full, And the tempest master Lets the loud winds sweep From his bosom deep Like heralds of some dire disaster, Then the heart alone To itself makes moan; And the songs come slow, While the tears fall fleeter, And silence than song by far seems sweeter. Oh, few are they along the way Who sing when skies are gray!

ONE LIFE

Oh, I am hurt to death, my Love; The shafts of Fate have pierced my striving heart, And I am sick and weary of The endless pain and smart. My soul is weary of the strife, And chafes at life, and chafes at life.

Time mocks me with fair promises; A blooming future grows a barren past, Like rain my fair full-blossomed trees Unburden in the blast. The harvest fails on grain and tree, Nor comes to me, nor comes to me.

The stream that bears my hopes abreast Turns ever from my way its pregnant tide. My laden boat, torn from its rest, Drifts to the other side. So all my hopes are set astray, And drift away, and drift away.

The lark sings to me at the morn, And near me wings her skyward-soaring flight; But pleasure dies as soon as born, The owl takes up the night, And night seems long and doubly dark; I miss the lark, I miss the lark.

Let others labor as they may, I'll sing and sigh alone, and write my line. Their fate is theirs, or grave or gay, And mine shall still be mine. I know the world holds joy and glee, But not for me,--'t is not for me.

CHANGING TIME

The cloud looked in at the window, And said to the day, "Be dark!" And the roguish rain tapped hard on the pane, To stifle the song of the lark.

The wind sprang up in the tree tops And shrieked with a voice of death, But the rough-voiced breeze, that shook the trees, Was touched with a violet's breath.

DEAD

A knock is at her door, but she is weak; Strange dews have washed the paint streaks from her cheek; She does not rise, but, ah, this friend is known, And knows that he will find her all alone. So opens he the door, and with soft tread Goes straightway to the richly curtained bed. His soft hand on her dewy head he lays. A strange white light she gives him for his gaze. Then, looking on the glory of her charms, He crushes her resistless in his arms.

Stand back! look not upon this bold embrace, Nor view the calmness of the wanton's face; With joy unspeakable and 'bated breath, She keeps her last, long liaison with death!

A CONFIDENCE

Uncle John, he makes me tired; Thinks 'at he's jest so all-fired Smart, 'at he kin pick up, so, Ever'thing he wants to know. Tried to ketch me up last night, But you bet I would n't bite. I jest kep' the smoothes' face, But I led him sich a chase, Could n't corner me, you bet-- I skipped all the traps he set. Makin' out he wan'ed to know Who was this an' that girl's beau; So 's he 'd find out, don't you see, Who was goin' 'long with me. But I answers jest ez sly, An' I never winks my eye, Tell he hollers with a whirl, "Look here, ain't you got a girl?" Y' ought 'o seen me spread my eyes, Like he 'd took me by surprise, An' I said, "Oh, Uncle John, Never thought o' havin' one." An' somehow that seemed to tickle Him an' he shelled out a nickel. Then you ought to seen me leave Jest a-laffin' in my sleeve. Fool him--well, I guess I did; He ain't on to this here kid. Got a girl! well, I guess yes, Got a dozen more or less, But I got one reely one, Not no foolin' ner no fun; Fur I 'm sweet on her, you see, An' I ruther guess 'at she Must be kinder sweet on me, So we 're keepin' company. Honest Injun! this is true, Ever' word I 'm tellin' you! But you won't be sich a scab Ez to run aroun' an' blab. Mebbe 't ain't the way with you, But you know some fellers do. Spoils a girl to let her know 'At you talk about her so. Don't you know her? her name 's Liz, Nicest girl in town she is. Purty? ah, git out, you gilly-- Liz 'ud purt 'nigh knock you silly. Y' ought 'o see her when she 's dressed All up in her Sunday best, All the fellers nudgin' me, An' a-whisperin', gemunee! Betcher life 'at I feel proud When she passes by the crowd. 'T 's kinder nice to be a-goin' With a girl 'at makes some showin'-- One you know 'at hain't no snide, Makes you feel so satisfied. An' I 'll tell you she 's a trump, Never even seen her jump Like some silly girls 'ud do, When I 'd hide and holler "Boo!" She 'd jest laff an' say "Git out! What you hollerin' about?" When some girls 'ud have a fit That 'un don't git skeered a bit, Never makes a bit o' row When she sees a worm er cow. Them kind 's few an' far between; Bravest girl I ever seen. Tell you 'nuther thing she 'll do, Mebbe you won't think it 's true, But if she 's jest got a dime She 'll go halvers ever' time. Ah, you goose, you need n't laff; That's the kinder girl to have. If you knowed her like I do, Guess you 'd kinder like her too. Tell you somep'n' if you 'll swear You won't tell it anywhere. Oh, you got to cross yer heart Earnest, truly, 'fore I start. Well, one day I kissed her cheek; Gee, but I felt cheap an' weak, 'Cause at first she kinder flared, 'N', gracious goodness! I was scared. But I need n't been, fer la! Why, she never told her ma. That's what I call grit, don't you? Sich a girl's worth stickin' to.

PHYLLIS

Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day, Few are my years, but my griefs are not few, Ever to youth should each day be a May-day, Warm wind and rose-breath and diamonded dew-- Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day.

Oh for the sunlight that shines on a May-day! Only the cloud hangeth over my life. Love that should bring me youth's happiest heyday Brings me but seasons of sorrow and strife; Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day.

Sunshine or shadow, or gold day or gray day, Life must be lived as our destinies rule; Leisure or labor or work day or play day-- Feasts for the famous and fun for the fool; Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day.

RIGHT'S SECURITY

What if the wind do howl without, And turn the creaking weather-vane; What if the arrows of the rain Do beat against the window-pane? Art thou not armored strong and fast Against the sallies of the blast? Art thou not sheltered safe and well Against the flood's insistent swell?

What boots it, that thou stand'st alone, And laughest in the battle's face When all the weak have fled the place And let their feet and fears keep pace? Thou wavest still thine ensign, high, And shoutest thy loud battle-cry; Higher than e'er the tempest roared, It cleaves the silence like a sword.

Right arms and armors, too, that man Who will not compromise with wrong; Though single, he must front the throng, And wage the battle hard and long. Minorities, since time began, Have shown the better side of man; And often in the lists of Time One man has made a cause sublime!

IF

If life were but a dream, my Love, And death the waking time; If day had not a beam, my Love, And night had not a rhyme,-- A barren, barren world were this Without one saving gleam; I 'd only ask that with a kiss You 'd wake me from the dream.

If dreaming were the sum of days, And loving were the bane; If battling for a wreath of bays Could soothe a heart in pain,-- I 'd scorn the meed of battle's might, All other aims above I 'd choose the human's higher right, To suffer and to love!

THE SONG

My soul, lost in the music's mist, Roamed, rapt, 'neath skies of amethyst. The cheerless streets grew summer meads, The Son of Phoebus spurred his steeds, And, wand'ring down the mazy tune, December lost its way in June, While from a verdant vale I heard The piping of a love-lorn bird.

A something in the tender strain Revived an old, long-conquered pain, And as in depths of many seas, My heart was drowned in memories. The tears came welling to my eyes, Nor could I ask it otherwise; For, oh! a sweetness seems to last Amid the dregs of sorrows past.

It stirred a chord that here of late I 'd grown to think could not vibrate. It brought me back the trust of youth, The world again was joy and truth. And Avice, blooming like a bride, Once more stood trusting at my side. But still, with bosom desolate, The lorn bird sang to find his mate.

Then there are trees, and lights and stars, The silv'ry tinkle of guitars; And throbs again as throbbed that waltz, Before I knew that hearts were false. Then like a cold wave on a shore, Comes silence and she sings no more. I wake, I breathe, I think again, And walk the sordid ways of men.