That was jest at first-an', gee!
I don't blame her, 'cause, you see,
All the girls laughed, an' the boys
Groaned and made a kissin' noise
With their mouth. But after while
Lizzie she begin ter smile,
'Nen she give a little quick
Shove to her er-rith-ma-tic
To'rds me. An' there was about
All th' 'xamples, all worked out
With the answers right! Well, I
Copied 'em off just like pie!
Girls, y'know, can always do
Lessons-an' they like 'em, too!
Lizzie had a apple there;
An' when she had made me swear
Not to tell, she give me some
'N' showed me where she kep' her gum.
Say, I'll bet I know what's meant
By "cap-pit-tul pun-ish-ment !"
THE CRY OF THE DREAMER.
I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men;
Heart-weary of building and spoiling,
And spoiling and building again.
And I long for the dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away,
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.
I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts' endeavor,
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.
I can feel no pride, but pity,
For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
And the child mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart grown willful,
And the father's heart that bleeds!
No, no! from the street's rude bustle,
From trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the woods' low rustle
And the meadow's kindly page.
Let me dream as of yore by the river,
And be loved for the dream alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.
John Boyle O'Reilly, 1844-1890.
ON THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM.
In "pastures green"? Not always; sometimes he
Who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me
In weary ways, where heavy shadows be.
And by "still waters"? No, not always so;
Oft-times the heavy tempests round me blow,
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go.
But when the storms beat loudest, and I cry
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by,
And whispers to my soul, "Lo, it is I!"
So, where he leads me, I can safely go,
And in the blest hereafter I shall know
Why, in his wisdom, he hath led me so.
Quoted by Henry H. Barry. Author not given.
THE FRIGATE CONSTITUTION.
Sung before the corporation of the City of New York, the Fourth of July, 1815.
Argo of Greece, that brought the fleece
To the Thessalian city,
As we are told, by bards of old,
Was sung in many a ditty;
But Yankees claim a prouder name
To spur their resolution,
Than Greece could boast and do her most
The frigate Constitution.
When first she press'd the stream's cool breast,
Hope hail'd her pride of story;
Now she o'erpays hope's flatt'ring praise,
By matchless deeds of glory;
Of all that roam the salt sea's foam,
None floats to Neptune dearer,
Or fairer shines in fame's bright lines,
Or more makes Britain fear her.
'Neath Hull's command, with a tough band And nought beside to back her, Upon a day, as log-books say,
A fleet bore down to thwack her;
A fleet, you know, is odds or so,
Against a single ship sirs;
So cross the tide, her legs she tried,
And gave the rogues the slip sirs.
But time flies round, and soon she found,
While ploughing ocean's acres,
An even chance to join the dance,
And turn keel up, poor Dacres;
Dacres, 'tis clear, despises fear,
Quite full of fun and prank is,
Hoists his ship's name, in playful game,
Aloft to scare the Yankees.
On Brazil's coast, she rul'd the roast,
When Bainbridge was her captain;
Neat hammocks gave, made of the wave,
Dear Britons to be wrapp'd in;
For there, in ire, 'midst smoke and fire,
Her boys the Java met sirs,
And in the fray, her Yankee play,
Tipp'd Bull a somerset sirs.
Next on her deck, at Fortune's beck,
The dauntless Stewart landed;
A better tar ne'er shone in war,
Or daring souls commanded;
Old Ironsides, now once more rides,
In search of English cruisers;
And Neptune grins, to see her twins
Got in an hour or two, sirs.
Then raise amain, the joyful strain,
For well she has deserv'd it,
Who brought the foe so often low,
Cheer'd freedom's heart and nerv'd it;
Long may she ride, our navy's pride,
And spur to resolution;
And seamen boast, and landsmen toast,
The Frigate Constitution.
THE STIRRUP CUP.
My short and happy day is done;
The long and lonely night comes on,
And at my door the pale horse stands
To carry me to distant lands.
His whinny shrill, his pawing hoof,
Sound dreadful as a gathering storm;
And I must leave this sheltering roof
And joys of life so soft and warm.
Tender and warm the joys of life—
Good friends, the faithful and the true
My rosy children and my wife,
So sweet to kiss, so fair to view.
So sweet to kiss, so fair to view,
The night comes on, the lights burn blue;
And at my door the pale horse stands
To bear me forth to unknown lands.
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