xt7h18342511 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7h18342511/data/mets.xml Stanton, Henry Thompson, 1834-1898. 1875  books b92-251-31802608 English R. Clarke, : Cincinnati : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Jacob Brown  : and other poems / by Henry T. Stanton. text Jacob Brown  : and other poems / by Henry T. Stanton. 1875 2002 true xt7h18342511 section xt7h18342511 





JACOB BROGAN








      AND OTHER POEMS








    By HENRY T. STANTON
  AUTHOR OF " THE HONEYLESS MAN, AND OTiER tPOEMS "











          CINCl N NATI
      ROBERT CLARKE & CO
             1875

 





























Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year iS75, by
            HENRY T STANTON,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

Stcreotyped by OGDEN, CA1PnFBLL. & Co., Cincinnati.

 












PREFACE.



IF any apology is necessary for the gathering together of these
articles in verse, it should come from another source than the
author. Those who have honored me by reading my first vol-
ume will discover a marked difference in the character of the two
books. and it may be to my prejudice with some of them; but
a close observation has taught me that humor is more graciously
received by the general reader than mere fine sentiment. If any-
thing, in these pages shall leave an impression that I have in-
dulged a less worthy spirit, it must be regarded as growing out
of an inability to make myself clearly understood. I have con-
ceived no satire. I have given no individuality or special direc-
tion to any line in the book, and those who know me best will
readily acquit me .f any desi On to be other than amiable and
delicate in every allusion.
My inclination has been, and still is to a far different accom-
plishment, but like most persons who love music, some songs
I sing for myself and some for the audience. These are for
those who like them.
                                  HENRY T. STANTON.

                                                  (iii)

 































Js T ENDERLY JN SCRIBED

         TO

  HIS SWEETHEART

         BY

     HER HUSBAND.

 

















CONTENTS.



JACOB BROWN,

OUT OF THE OLD YEAR

DOWS THE ROAD,

WEEDS,

GOING TO SCHOOL,

A MENSSA ET THORO,

MY MOTHER AND 1,

THE SPRING,

TRUE VERSION,

DRAWING IT FINE,

MURDER,   .

METEMPSYCHOSIS,

1HE RED CROSS,

A SPECIAL PLEA,

THE MIDNIGHT ROSE,



INTO TiHE NEW



(v)



7

23

29

32

34

:36

37

44

46

49

57

C0



67

67

 



vi                   CONTENTS.


SELF-SACRIFICE,                                    68

THE LOST CURL, .     .     .    .     .     .      78

CULEX IN CARMINE,.                                 80

THE COURT OF BERLIN, .     ,    .     .     '      88

TIlE LAST LEAF,         .    .     .     .     .   90

MAY I MASON,      .     .    .     .        .      91

PYTHIAN LI-ES,            .     .     .        .   9x

THE CROWN ON GUARD, .      .     .    .     .     100

OCR DEAD,      .        .    .     .     .     -  101

PARtSON- GILES,.     .     .    .     .     .     105

OMNIPOTENS VERITAS,             .        .     .  121

FROM ME TO YOU,      .     .     .    .     .     1:1

GAMBRINUS,        .    .     .     .           .  133

Tim GROVE AT ST. ELMO,     .     .    .     .     148

THE PHOTOGRAPff,  .    .     .     .     .     .  150

   NOTES,           .     .        .     .       153

 










JACOB BROWN


     AND OTHER POEMS




         JACOB BROWN.

       ITH a nmost unhappy thinking,
       Forward bent, and deeper sinking
   In the cushions of his chair,
 Jacob Brown sits in his study,
 Silent, gloomy-browed, and moody-
   Quite a picture of despair.

 Out beyond him stand the steeples,
 O'er the sected, casted peoples,
   Of a slumb'rous, shadowed town,
 Reaching upward till their slimness
 Loses outline in the dimness
   Of a night-sky, clouded down.
              (vii)

 



JACOB BROWN.



Still beyond-a patch of river,
That the vista lcuds no quiver,
  Lieth like a leaden plate;
Whilst a straying, faint air dandies
With the distant clhamber-candles,
  And the street-lamps scintillate.

From their brawling in the beakers,
He has seen the pleasure-seekers
  Swaying homeward to their cells;
He has heard the startled hours,
From the sounding, hollow towers,
  Give their death-cry on the bells.

It is just the time for sinking
Under great excess of thinking,
  And the secret time for tears;
It is just the time for sorrow
To be yearning for the morrow,
  From the watch-place at her biers.

Oh, ye million quiet sleepers,
Who have closed your weary peepers
  On an evening's purple light I
Little reck ye of tho number
Of your kind that can not slumber
  Through the horrors of the night I



8

 


JACOB BROWNM



Little reck ye of the peoples
Staring outward on the steeples
  Of your dreamy city's wards;
Men wiho haunt the silent places,
With the shadow on their faces,
  Like an army's outer guards!

Jacob Brown had cast no missile
At the social law's epistle,
  Nor had ever harmed a dove;
He was simply in the illness
And the sleep-defying stillness
  Of a trying case of love.

.Many times had gone his distress
To the proud heart of his mistress.
  In expression, honest, plain;
Many times ho went appealing
To her tenderness of feeling,
  And as many times in vain.

Tho' the bee, in every hour,
May forsake a chosen flower,
  Where the sweets are yielded not;
Tho' it go and nearly smother
In the sweetness of another,
  With the chosen one forgot-



9

 


JACOB BROWN.



Jacob Brown's was not the nature
To possess this vapid feature,
  And to seek another dear;
He had set his altar burning,
And his sighs were ever turning
  All its incense out to her.

With his fingers interlacing,
There he sat the city facing,
  In a vacant staring o'er-
Brooding on the dead devices
He had brought to break her ices
  In the bitter days before.

Whilst a heavy gloom invaded
Every crevice there, and shaded
  From the world his deep despair,
With a bitterness of thinking,
He was slowly, deeper sinking
  In the cushions of his chair,

When from out the chamber silent
Of his prisoned heart, servilent,
  Came a most unhappy tone;
Something spoken to the inner:
"I would give my soul to win her,"
  'Twixt a whisper and a groan.



10

 



JACOB BROWN.



It is said the King of Evil
Is exceeding free and civil
  To the heart that utters this,
And His Majesty Infernal,
To possess a soul eternal,
  Offers anything that 's his.

Whilst it can not be that ladies
Give their angel selves to Hades.
  For the wic ked devil's sake,
Yet, the fact we can not smother,
That our pretty, primal mother
  Had a fancy for the " snake."

Jacob Brown was somewhat flurried,
When he found that Satan hurried
  There to close a trade with him;
For he could not be mistaken,
When hie felt his shoulder shaken
  By a person rather dim.

It was scarcely worth his turning,
When there came a sort of burning
  From the presence at his back;
And it needed not the vision
To perfect a quick decision:
  " It 's the Gentleman in Black !"



11

 



JACOB BROWN.



You can have the lady, Jacob-
I am come the trade to make up
  By a very fair device;
I have thought of something better,
Since you want a wife, to get her
  At a less expensive price.

If you give me daily labor,
For yourself, or for your neighbor-
  Keep me constantly at work-
I will run the sooty legions
Of my underlying regions
  With a deputy or clerk.

Just agree to keep me busy,
Or to make me faint and dizzv
  With a task I can not do,
And I'll never hope in Hades-
Though you take a score of ladies,
  For an after-time with you.

But be sure you keep me going,
Like a flood of water flowing
  In and out a fountain's bowl-
Never pause a single minute-
Give me work and keep me in it,
  Or I take and keep your soul."



12

 



JACOB BROWN.



Brown reflected just a little
On the questionable title
   Under which he'd hold his wife-
 Just a little-then responded:
"Sir, consider that we're bonded-
   It's a bargain, made for life."
       OF                  
 It miay smack a bit of treason
 To the monarch Human Reason,
   When we undertake to say
 Of the lesser things that burrow
 For their livings in the furrow:
   " They are truly better clay."

 That the very mole who scratches
 Underncath the paths and patches,
   Having neither point nor plan,
 Born, denied the eyes Elysian,
 In his perfect lack of vision,
   Is a greater thing than man I

 It may smiack, I say, of treason
 To this reigning thing, called Reason,
   Thus to ruffle up its pride;
 Thus to bear its courtly ermine,
 To the shoulders of the vermin,
   And to put its rule aside;



13

 



JACOB BROWN.



But the human mind that reaches
Over cultivated stretches,
  To the very far-away.
Often dedicates to sorrow
All its glorified to-morrow,
  For an aureate to-day;

And this heritor of treasure,
For a momentary pleasure,
  Barters off its sacred right,
Sinks a joyous sunny after,
For a single day of laughter,
  In an unremitting night:

Men are truly born immortal,
But they struggle to the portal
  With the blindness of the moles-
They partake of all the features
Of the under-going creatures,
  That have neither sight nor souls.

Having attributes of power
Far beyond the common hour
  Of their probatory time,
They prefer the baser level
Of a passage to the devil,
  To the path they ought to climb.
  OF 4   r      .         



14

 


JACOB BROWN.



Now an early day came, bringing
That peculiar, pleasant ringing,
  From the sanctuary bells,
And the Ganvmedes of Autumn
Gathered up her wines and brought 'em
  From the outer-lying dells.

And the very streets, in bustle,
Kept a silken under-rustle
  In their red leaves bedded down-
It was sighing Nature shedding
All her splendor for the wedding
  Of the happy Jacob Brown.

Now the priest is in the chancel,
Ready robed to blot and cancel
  All of Jacob's sadder life;
And the twain come at the altar,
There to stammer and to falter
  ('er the vows of man and wife.

Who does give him here the woman"
This was cruel and inhuman
  To the happy, guilty man;
For, he thought if any mortal
Only knewr-the fact would startle,
  And the world forbid the ban.



15

 



JACOB BROWN.



He alone could tell the giver,
But a sudden rush of fever
  Made his tongue exceeding dry,
And the blood came up to blind him,
Whilst a hollow voice behind him
  Uttered indistinctly-" I! "

It was answered rather lowly,
With an interval, and slowly,
  Like a whisper at his back;
Though the bride herself was rather
Of opinion 't was her father-
  'T was the " Gentleman in Black."

But it came at last to marriage,
And the bride went to her carriage,
  Down a smiling line of friends;
Here and there a little blissing,
In the way of squeezing, kissing,
  As the common wedding ends.

Brown had quite ignored the devil.
Whilst his joyous wedding revel
  Yet was only partly through;
It was scarcely in the vesper.
When he heard a hollow whisper:
  "' Give me something now to do."



16

 



JACOB BROWN.



They were laughing then, and wining,
In the pleasantry of dining,
   And the bride began to sing;
 Brown responded from his chalice:
 "Go and build me now a palace
   Fit to entertain a king."

 Ah ! we seldom note a fleeting
 Of the moments at our eating,
   Though the dial shadow 's true-
 They were sitting still at dinner,
 When he came again-the sinner-
   " Give me something else to do."

 Brown was startled, but responded:
 "Are we not together bonded 
   This is jesting now and fun.
 You must go and do my bidding-
 Build the palace for my weddinr."
   Quoth the devil: " It is done !"

"What !" said Brown, his pulse diminished,
  Is it buiilded  Is it finished 
  Wall and roof, and ceil and floor "
  Said the devil: " Jacob, truly,
  I have done your labor duly,
  And am -waiting here for more."



17

 



JACOB BROWN.



Brown was object then of pity.
"Go," said he, " and build a city
  Full of palaces and piles-
Build me columns, build me arehes,
Plant me cedars, lindens, larches,
  On a hundred thousand miles !"


When the company was fle-ing,
And at twelve o'clock the tea-ing
  Found the party very slim;
When the timid bride, uncertain,
Sought the hiding of a curtain
  In her chamber's shadow dim,

Brown was sitting there and boasting
Of her beauty in the toasting
  With the still-remaining few,
Full of joy, and -Ill a flutter,
When hle heard the devil utter:
  "Give me something else to do."

This was torment dreadful, horrid,
And the atmosphere grew torrid
  Though the Autumn night was late.
"Am I waking Is it real'
Can he take a grand ideal
And so readily create"



TS

 



JACOB BRO                     197N.



At his elbow darkly standing,
Satan waited his commanding,
  And his shoulder leaning o'er,
Whispered: "Wasting time is pity;
I have built your splendid city-
  Done my duty-give me more!"

Demon! go and take the motion
From the pulses of the ocean-
  Go and make the billows still!
Go to all the whitened beaches,
Tell the sands in all their reaches-
  Count the leaves on every hill."

Thus the spirit kept him worried,
Always haunted, always hurried,
  Till a twelvemonth struggled by;
Finding work to give this sinner,
Kept him wearing thin and thinner-
  He was ready near to die.

Worst of all, unhappy er-ror!
Brown, too late, had found a terror
  In his costly lady's tongue;
In their little year of marriage
She had quite another carriaige,
  And another song she sung.



19

 



JACOB BRO W1N.



It was now the " old, old story,"
Of a woman in the glory
  Of her kingdom over man;
She had passed the time of wiling,
Of her sunlight and her smiling,
  And the reigning-day began.

With the woman always r.-ting,
Always scolding him and prating
  Of the gloomy life he led,
Was it strange the wretched fellow
Should be growing thin and sallow,
  And be longing to be dead

It was just about the coming
Of a mellow Autumn gloaming,
  With its dewy, fruity air;
Jacob Brown again was sinking,
With a bitterness of thinking,
  In the eushions of his chair.

Out before him rose the steeples
Over all the happy peoples
  Of the underlying town
He was gFlzing, gloomy, moody,
When within his si'ent studly
  Stalked the stately Lady Brown.

 



JACOXB BROWN.



Always moping, always sighing-
You are very slow at dying-
  Will it never, never be
I would joy to see you buried-
Every day that we are married
  Is a misery to me."

He had scarce attention centered,
When the devil slowly entered
  From a gloomy passage through,
And, with true politeness, waiting
For a pause about her prating-
  " Give my something else to do !

Jacob rather liked the civil,
Quiet nanler of the devil,
  When his wife about hiiiii hung,
So he answered rather slowvlv,
In a whisper, timid, lowly:
  "1 Please to stop the lady's tongue "

But, alas ! the spell was ended,
And the devil, shocked, offended,
  Out the open window flew;
He was fairly there defeated,
For he groaned as he retreated:
  II That is work I can not do 1'.'



21

 



22JACOB BROWF.YM



This is truly most surprising! "
Uttered Jacob, there uprising:
  - Pray, your majesty, come back I"
But the fatal word was spoken,
And the bond of union broken
  With the ' Gentleman in Black."


Down lie settled then, and sighing:
"I am ready now for dying-
  I have nothing left in life-
I have lost my friend-the dev-il,
And am in this world of evil
  At the mercy of my wife."

After that, within his study,
Silent, gloomy-browed, and moody,
  With his hands before his eyes,
Jacob muttered, as a muser:
I would give my soul to lose her!"
  -But the devil did not rise.



               .



22

 












OUT OF THE OLD YEAR INTO THE NEWV.



                      T.

 UT of his jacket and into his blouse,
      Out of the lanes where linger the cows,
 Up froin the stream where shy trout rise
 To the silent fall of the snaring flies;
 Squaring his shoulders, stroking his chin,
 Eying the boot with the breech-leg in,
 The bov-ehild pippeth the egg so well,
 fhat 31an comes out of the brok. a shell.

 What shall he do in his life begun -
 Go to the bank where the brook-trout run 
 Go to the close and follow the cows
 The homeward way from the slopes they browse
 Snare in the thicket Trap in the field
 Ride on. the sweep at the cider yield 
"Lord of Creation! "  What shall lhe do
Out of his Old Year into his New
                     (23)

 


24  OUT OF THE OLD YEAR INTO THE ANEW.



Fuller the coveys than ever before-
Hare in the warren, fish at the shore-
The seed of the rag-weed falls full fast,
But trapping days of the boy are past.
The snows may come, but free is the hare
To hold his track in the hiding tare-
The hare-race now with the boy is done;
The hound-race hard with the nian begun.

Aye, square your shoulders and stroke your chin,
The days of labor are crowding in.
You play no hide-and-seck in the mOws;
You beat no way with the browsing cows-
IHo! f)r the siclkle and scythe and spade!
Into the sun-heat out of the shade-
Start in the furrow, travel it true
Out of the Old Year into the New.

                    II.
Out of her under-coat, red and small,
And out of her bib and her overall;
hliding the rise of her ankles fair
AWith trailing drape of a fuller wear;
Binding her breast to steadier place
In silken bonds of the corset-lace,
The girl-child endeth her days of bliss,
And Woman comes from the chrysalis.

 



OUT OF THE OLD YEAR INTO THE NEW.  25



What shall she do in her life begun -
Gather the buds that blow in the sun 
Fashion her garlands to quaint design
Under the glint of the fielder's tine
Loiter the meadows and romp and cry,
As the mower goes in the golden rye
Blossom of girlhood! What shall she do
Out of the Old Year into the New

Go to the brook for the yetreen girl,
With her sundown hat and leaf-brown curl
Go to the glass of the opal lymph
And widen your eyes, ohl, new-born nymph I
The meadow is sweet with fresh-cut hay,
The odor the same as yesterday,
But never you 'll tread, with singing blithe,
The scented bed of the mower's scythe.

You loosen your zone and turn your eye
To gleaning girls in the golden rye;
But tighten it now, and turn away,
It's only a glimpse of yesterday-
Tue distaff stands in the window-light,
There's weft to weave in the warp to-night;
The rye-field way is not for you,
Out of the Old Year into the New.

 



26   OUT OF THE OLD YEAR INTO THE INE TV.



                    III.
Woman and man, at the start of life,
A sunburnt spouse and a peach-cheeked wife,
Kneeling and swearing the words that bind
The twain in bonds of the archer blind
Plucking the flowers they nursed so true
In the gloaming walk where wild ones grew;
A man and woman with life begun,
Who were two but now, and now but one;-

What will they do at their life's outstart -
Meet ina the meadow and smile and part
Walk in the sundown aisles of the day,
Study the shades of the twilight gray 
Ramble the fields where the roses are
When the foot falls dry and sun shines fair
What will the twain in the blood-rite do
Out of' the Old Year into the New 

When flax is ripe for the spinning-wheel
There s nothing, left for the honey-meal
In other bloom where the dew food lies
Must loiter the bees with hadcn thighs-
Now gather the flax and break it bright,
The distaff's still in the window-light;
Gather and garner it under roof,
For still the wvarp is waiting the woof.

 



OUT OF THE OLD YEAR INTO THE NEWI.



Be true to your plow and sweep your scythe
With sinew strong and muscle lithe;
A cradle rocks on the homestead floor,
One stranger there, and a chance for more;
Go deep in the sod and turn full fair,
For youth is coming the yield to share.
Mother and father, there 's more to do
Out of your Old Year into your New.

                    IV.
Master and dame, at the close of life,
A toil-bent spouse and a child-worn wife;
Sitting at eve in their westward stoop,
Watching the sun to the westward droop;
Sitting alone, in their oaken chairs,
Waiting the twilight, gray as their hairs;
Olden and worn and ending the run
Of days like that of the dying sun.

Ah, still, as the sun that leaves the plain,
They sink at the verge, to rise again;
Making the course from gold to gray,
They turn the arc of a single day,
And sink in the eve to rise again,
In world of beauty, or world of bane.
Mother and father, what world for you
Out of the Old Day into New



27

 


28   OUT OF THE OLD YEAR, INTO THE NEW.



Look to the life that is laid before.
In fields beyond on the faint-lined shore;
It's not a measure of labor now,
A question of bread, and beaded brow;
A question of fields, and buds, and bloom,
Of days of shining, arid days of gloom;
You'll answer the Maker's graver one,
Not what shall you do-W1HAT HAVE YOU DONE

Ah, woman and man, there lies the test
For human souls of their final rest-
What are your hopes and what arc your fears 
What have you done in the dry, dead years
What do you claim as a just reward
At the band of Him-the gracious Lord
Mercy and love be given to you,
Out of the Old Life into the New.

 














           DOWN TILE ROAD.

HE overhead blue of the summer is gone,
     The overhead canopy gray'd;
The damp and the chill of the winter is on,
  And the dust of the highway laid.
I sit in the glare of the simmering beech,
  At the hearth of the old abode,
And I look with a sigh at the comfortless reach
  Of the farm-lands down the road.

rThe wind is astir in the camp of the grain,
  The tents of the grenadier corn;
The sentinel stalk at the break of the lane
  Hathawearisome look and lorn;
Yet it has n't been long since into the blades
  The sap of the summer-time flowed,
When I and my ox-team loitered the shades
  Of the oak-trees down the road.
                 (29)

 



DO3IDIN TIHE ROAD.



There was n't a day that I did n't go by
  The house at the swell of the hill-
The cattle bad broken the close of the rye,
  Or something Was wanted at mill;
And Kitty-she stood in the porch at her wheel,
  And the gold to her sboulder flowed;
And what did I care for the " turn of the meal,"
  Or the rye-field down the road 


In the seeding-time, when I followed the plow
  And furrowed the mellow ground,
There was n't that labor-like sweat of the brow
  That honester husbandry crowned;
For the fairy was there at her wheel and spun
  As I plowed or planted or sowed,
And my labor was never right faithfully done
  In the grain-fields down the road.


And then in the heat of the harvesting-day,
  When the sickle and scythe went through,
It was only the veriest time for play
  That ever a harvester knew;
For there was the maid at the humnming wheel yet
  Just fronting the swath that I mowed,
And the scythe ran slow, for my eyes were set
  On the old porch down the road.



30

 



DOWN THE ROAD.



Then the autumn at last came into the year,
  And life took a mellower mood:
We gathered the grain, and the quail with a whirr
  Went out of the field to the wood.
And I tried to be steady and brisk; but Still
  It was hard to be plying the goad
When my indolent oxen balked at the hill
  By the farm-house down the road.

Now Kitty has eyes of the tenderest blue,
  And hair of the glossiest gold,
But never a word of my loving so true
  To Kitty have ever I told.
And the winter is here and the winter may go
  And still I can carry the load-
The green of the spring cometh after the snow
  In the grain-fields down the road.



31

 












               WEEDS.

C     ENT at the gate in her weeds,
     A trifle reduced and wniter--
Some say of her heart: "' It bleeds;"
  Some say of her heart: " It's lighter."

A woman of mind and soul,
  Arid strong to the utmost straining-
How should I know if her dole
  Be dole, or only a feigning 

Once I was weak to believe,
  And said: " God pity us madam!
You be a blossom of Eve,
  And I be a scion of Adam."

The tide in her cheek ran red-
  Red as the East in the morning
Sir, I be a wife," she said,
  In passion, and pride, and scorning.
                (32)

 



               WEEDS.                    33

Forbidden, the ripe, fair fruit-
  Forbidden, but near to reaching.
I stood in the garden mute,
  Abashed and stung with the teaching.

A queen in her weeds is she,
  By the gate, in shadow leaning.
Now tell me if mask it be,
  Or grief in the real meaning

I pass on the other side,
  I make an obesiance to her-
I wonder if he who died
  Was wiser than I, and-knew her.

 












              GOING TO SCHOOL.

X  HIS knowledge we find in the flow of the street,
      From faces we see and from figures we. meet,
That men in their callow, their ripening and rime
Are under the rod of the pedagogue TIME;
And this we deduce, by a logical rule:
However we go, we are going to school.

Now. here is a brown little urchin of ten,
Half hidden from sight in the sea of the men
A steady-eyed, stout little lad in his looks,
Tied up like his burdensome bundle of books,
So mitted and buttoned that any poor fool
May see, at a glance, he is going to school.

Then here is a chap with a worrying stock
Of wonderful wrangles from Bacon and Locke,
Who, having been polished and plated and pearled,
Somewhere at a college, comes out in the world,
And, mixing with men in the slime of its pool,
Is forced to admit he is going to school.
                        (3o4)

 



GOING TO SCHOOL.



And here is a priest, with the saintliest face
A pauper in pocket, a Crcesus in grace;
He enters the pulpit, and opens the book,
As wise as an owl and as grave as a rook;
But spite of the penitents bent at his stool,
And though lie may teach, h1e is going to school

And there is a bridegroom with beautiful bride-
The fact of' her beauty is never denied;
He's proud of his purpose and promise in life,-
Is proud of his manhood, and proud of his wife:
How long will he be under petticoat rule
Till lie says to himself, "' I am going to school !"

And here is a chance to look into the glass
Of the wearisome eye of a woman you pass;
Her purpose is gone and her promise is dead,
Her life is a skein of the slenderest thread,
And sorrow is winding it fast on a spool-
Her husband 's a sot, and she 's going to school.

But here is a person-no longer a slave
To the pedagogue Time-at the brink of the grave.
His course in the school of the world lie has run,
His summer is over, his session is done;
And now, as he dies in the driftings at Yule,
His children may say, "' He is going to school 1'



35

 
















        "A MENSA ET THORO."

   ;OTH of us guilty and both of us sad-
      Anrd this is the end of passion!
And people are silly-people are mad,
  Who follow the lights of Fashion;
For she was a belle, and I was a beau,
  And both of us giddy-headed-
A priest and a rite-a glitter and show,
  And this is the way we weddcd.

There were wants we never had known before,
  And matters we could not smother;
And poverty came in an open door,
  And love went out at another:
For she had been humored-I bad been spoiled,
  And neither was sturdy-licarted-
Both in the ditches and both of us soiled,
  And this is the way we parted.
                   (36)

 










           MY MOTHER AND I.

 W      E were finishing tea-my mother and I-
        Exactly at half after eight;
 The noise in the kettle went down to a sigh,
   The muffin grew cold on the plate;
 I looked in the cup) as I toyed with a spoon,
   Attempting to balance it clear,
 And said to myself: "' It 's the last afternoon
   Of the very last day of the year;
 I '11 see if my fortune-for better, for worse-
   By drops of the tea will be told,"
 And then, like a boy, I began to rehearse
   What I tried when I was n't so old.

"Why, John," said my mother, a manifest smile
   Just lighting her lips and her eyes,
"You seem to be dropping a very long while,
   The handle is slow to arise."
 My arm gave a lurch and it flooded the bowl,
   And down to the bottom it fell;
 I 'm forty! but farther than that from the goal,
   If tea-drippings honestly tell.
                     (37)

 



MY MOTHER AND I.



"No use for such folly at my time of life."
   Then I quietly said in reply:
"It is n't for me to be taking a wife
   As long as it 's-mother and I."


 Then something got under my lid like a mote;
   I rose at recalling my sire,
 And parting the points of a pigeon-tailed coat,
   Extended my palms to the fire.
 Then one after one of the last forty years,
   I soberly mustered them up;
 A little of laughter, a little of tears,
   And the fortunes I tried in the cup.
 May mother, still dreamily keeping her seat,
   Was thinking, no doubt of the one
 Who left her, a stalk of the yellowing wheat,
   To ripen alone in the sun.


 The picture is clearly domestic, I know,
   And homely and common withal,
 A celibate, just in his midsummer glow,
   A -x'idow, somewhat in her fall;
 She is sixty and past, but having the air
   Of one whjo had reigned in her day-
 A trifle subdued, and the dusk of her hair
   Just br-oken witlh glintings of gray.



38

 



MY MOTHER AND I.



My mother's my sweetheart, my glory, my queen,
  My only true woman in life;
I wonder sometimes what an ass I have been
  To ever have dreamed of a wife.


I said it was half after eight, and the eve
  Of the very last day of the year;
The ghosts of my life at the time, I believe,
  I had soberly called to appear.
A fig for the past I L2t the closets of time
  Forever their skeletons hide;
There 's nothing to gain from the mold and the grime,
  And the ghosts of the things that have died.
So, breaking the chain of my mother's duress
  In the prison of days that were dead,
I gave her the query: " Pray, what is your guess
  Concerning the twelvemonth ahead "


It staggered her some, but she rallied at last,
  And the sweet of her smiling arose;
Well, John, if you 're wanting your horoscope cast,
  I 'm a proper old witch, I suppose "-
That's she, on the laugihing and bantering side,
  When she passes from winter to spring.
Do n't trouble yourself about me," I replied,
  " For my destiny's not in your ring;



39

 


MY MOTHER AND I.



I come to the brink of your beaker of age
  For a drop of its wine's overcharge,
'A cross on your palm' for an honest presage
  Of the world and the people at large."


In any event, you would have me a witch
  'Whilst. yet ill the flush of my prime.
Ah, well, we are both of ns knotti[ng a stich,
  To-night, in the stocking of time.
And John, let me say of the stitches just here,
  Their making's perfection of art;
'Unless there's a flaw in the yarn of the year
  We never can tell them apart.
I look on the stitch we are finishing now,
  By others as evenly laid,
And feel it's a trifle to estimate how
  The stitch of to-morrow'll be made.


"That's witchery, fair as the best you have known,
  And as true as the best you will see;
From nature to-day it is readily shown
  What nature to-morrow will be."
Then, leaving the table, she came to a seat
  In the cushioned old rocker of state,
And crossing her arms and extending her feet,
  Looked musingly into the grate.



40

 



MY MOTHER AND I.



She l)urnished a thought I refused to express,
  When I banished the past from my brain,
Tho' cleverly said, I am free to confess
  It was not what I hoped to obtain.


Continuing then: "It may do very well
  To be earnestly looking ahead
For the something to buy, or something to sell.
  In the matter of making our bread.
We 're not like the sparrows that gather the crumbs
  Sown over the snow in the street;
We put in our fingers to pull out the plums
  From the pie of the Earth-if we eat.
We may not foretell what the season will bring
  By a rule of the previous yield;
A chill may go down to the germ in the spring,
  Or summer may ashen the field.


'I do not refer to the physical world,
  With its bees, and its ants. and its moles;
But the surface of time that's blackened and pearled
  By a tireless passage of souls.
The age, to my mind, is no better, no worse,
  Than it was in the century gone;
Though we act in this year, 't is to simply rehearse
  For the play of a year coming on.



41

 



2MY MOTHER AND I.



The Father of All is abroad everywhere,
  But the bad ' little master' is free;
There 's evil and good in proportionate share,
  And long as we live it will be.


Now, mark it, my son, there are sections of Earth
  In excellence greatly advauced;
But equally, places much lessened in worth
  With ignorance sadly enhanced.
We fluctuate, some in the scale, it is true-
  How could we be mortal without it -
But taking the whole of our pilgrimage through,
  There 's always a sameness about it.
What guess could I make on the twelvemonth ahead
  Except on th