What could your wisdom
perceive
in me?
Warner - World's Best Literature - v28 - Songs, Hymns, Lyrics
CHAMBERS.
## p. 16655 (#355) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16655
THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA
'R
ISE up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,
And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpets' lordly
blowing;
And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere,
And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly
in the air:
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
(
"Arise, arise, Xarifa! I see Andalla's face;
He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace:
Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquivir
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely, never.
Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of purple mixed with white,
I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night.
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
“What aileth thee, Xarifa? what makes thine eyes look down?
Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town?
I've heard you say on many a day — and sure you said the
truth-
Andalla rides without a peer 'mong all Granada's youth;
Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go,
Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow.
Then rise - oh rise, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down:
Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town! »
The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down,
Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town;
But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove,
And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove:
One bonny rosebud she had traced before the noise drew nigh, —
That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow dropping from her eye.
“No— no,” she sighs: “bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town! ”.
«Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down?
Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing town?
Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry!
He stops at Zara's palace-gate; - why sit ye still — oh why? ” —
## p. 16656 (#356) ##########################################
16656
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
“At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate: in him shall I discover
The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was
my lover?
I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!
Spanish: Author Unknown.
Translation of John Gibson Lockhart.
RIVALS
GRY
RAY in the east,
Gray in the west, and a moon.
Dim gleam the lamps of the ended feast
Through the misty dawn of June;
And I turn to watch her go
Swift as the swallows flee,
Side by side with Joaquin Castro,
Heart by heart with me.
Jasmine star afloat
In her soft hair's dusky strands;
Jasmine white is her swelling throat,
And jasmine white her hands.
Ah, the plea of that clinging hand
Through the whirl of that wild waltz tune!
Lost — lost for a league of land,
Lying dark 'neath the sinking moon!
Over yon stream
The casa rests on its hard clay floor,
Its red tiles dim in the misty gleam;
Old Pedro Vidal at the door,
And his small eye ranges keen
Over vistas of goodly land –
Brown hills, with wild-oat sweeps between,
Bought with his daughter's hand.
Tangled and wreathed,
The wild boughs over the wild streams meet;
And over the swamp flowers musky-breathed,
And the cresses at their feet;
And over the dimpled springs,
Where the deep brown shadows flaunt,
## p. 16657 (#357) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16657
And the heron folds his ivory wings
And waits in his ferny haunt.
Side-scarred peaks
Where the gray sage hangs like a smoke,
And the vultures wipe their bloody beaks,
From the feast in the crotched oak,-
You are Castro's, hemming his acres in;
And I his vaquero, who o'er you rove,
Hold wealth he would barter you all to win,–
The wealth of her broad sweet love.
Joaquin Castro
Rides up from her home where the stream-mists hang,
And the cañon sides toss to and fro
The tread of his black mustang -
Half wild, a haughty beast,
Scarce held by the taut-drawn rein;
And a madness leaps into my breast,
And that wild waltz whirls in my brain.
By his mountain streams
We meet, and the waves glint through the shades;
And we light the morn with long thin gleams,
And wake it with clash of blades.
From some pale crag is borne
The owl's derisive laugh;
And the gray deer flies, like a shadow of dawn,
From the tide it fain would quaff.
A sudden wheel,
Then away, away, and the far hush rings
With hoof-beat, and chime of spurred heel;
And the blue air winds and sings
In the coils from each round gathering strength,
Ere I rise in my saddle for truer throw,
That the rope may spring its serpent length,
And drag from his seat my foe.
Was it an owl
Speedily fitting the trail across,
Or a twisted bough in its monk-like cowl
And robe of the long gray moss ?
Or the race has frenzied the black's wild brain ?
He rears, to the stout rein gives no heed,
XXVIII-1042
## p. 16658 (#358) ##########################################
16658
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Then backward, backward - curls and mane
Intermingled, necks broken, rider and steed.
Ah, señor,
She is mine. It was all long years ago:
And at eve, when we sit in our vine-hung door,
She speaks of Joaquin Castro,
How they found him there; and sweet drops start
From sweeter eyes. And who shall know
That the brand of Cain burns red on my heart,
Since the scar was spared my brow ?
VIRGINIA PEYTON FAUNTLEROY.
CARMEN
L
A GITANILLA! Tall dragoons,
In Andalusian afternoons,
With ogling eye and compliment
Smiled on you, as along you went
Some sleepy street of old Seville-
Twirled with military skill
Mustaches; buttoned uniforms
Of Spanish yellow bowed your charms.
Proud, wicked head, and hair blue-black!
Whence your mantilla, half thrown back,
Discovered shoulders and bold breast
Bohemian brown! And you were dressed
In some short skirt of gipsy red
Of smuggled stuff; thence stockings dead
White silk, exposed with many a hole,
Through which your plump legs roguish stole
A fleshly look; and tiny toes
In red morocco shoes with bows
Of scarlet ribbons. Daintily
You walked by me, and I did see
Your oblique eyes, your sensuous lip,
That gnawed the rose you once did flip
At bashful José's nose, while loud
Laughed the gaunt guards among the crowd.
And in your brazen chemise thrust,
Heaved with the swelling of your bust,
## p. 16659 (#359) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16659
The bunch of white acacia blooms
Whiffed past my nostrils hot perfumes.
As in a cool neveria
I ate an ice with Mérimée,
Dark Carmencita, you passed gay,
All holiday-bеdizened,
A new mantilla on your head;
A crimson dress bespangled fierce;
And crescent gold hung in your ears,
Shone, wrought morisco; and each shoe,
Cordovan leather spangled blue,
Glanced merriment; and from large arms
To well-turned ankles all your charms
Blew flutterings and glitterings
Of satin bands and beaded strings;
And round each arm's fair thigh one fold,
And graceful wrists, a twisted gold
Coiled serpents' tails fixed in each head,
Convulsive-jeweled glossy red.
In flowers and trimmings, to the jar
Of mandolin and low guitar,
You in the grated patio
Danced: the curled coxcombs' flirting row
Rang pleased applause. I saw you dance,
With wily motion and glad glance
Voluptuous, the wild romalis,
Where every movement was a kiss
Of elegance delicious, wound
In your Basque tambourine's dull sound;
Or as the ebon castanets
Clucked out dry time in unctuous jets,
Saw angry José through the grate
Glare on us a pale face of hate,
When some indecent colonel there
Presumed too lewdly for his ear.
Some still night in Seville, the street
Candilejo, two shadows meet -
Flash sabres crossed within the moon
Clash rapidly - a dead dragoon.
MADISON J. CAWEIN.
## p. 16660 (#360) ##########################################
16660
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
À OUTRANCE
(FRANCE, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY)
H
EIGHO! Why the plague did you wake me ?
It's barely a half after four;
My head, too, is - ah! I remember
That little affair at the shore.
Well, I had forgotten completely!
I must have been drinking last night. -
Rapiers, West Sands, and sunrise ;-
But whom, by the way, do I fight?
De Genlis! Ah, now I recall it! -
He started it all, did he not?
I drank to his wife — but, the devil!
He needn't have gotten so hot.
Just see what a ruffler that man is,
To give me a challenge to fight,
And only for pledging milady
A half-dozen times in a night.
Ah, well! it's a beautiful morning, --
The sun just beginning to rise, -
A glorious day for one's spirit
To pilgrimage off to the skies -
God keep mine from any such notion ;-
This dual's à outrance, you see. —
I haven't confessed for a month back,
And haven't had breakfast, tant pis!
Well, here we are, first at the West Sands!
The tide is well out; and how red
The sunrise is painting the ocean;-
Is that a sea-gull overhead ?
And here come De Genlis and Virron:
Messieurs, we were waiting for you
To complete, with the sea and the sunrise,
The charming effect of the view.
Are we ready? Indeed we were waiting
Your orders, Marigny and I.
On guard then it is, — we must hasten:
The sun is already quite high.
## p. 16661 (#361) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16661
Where now would you like me to pink you?
I've no choice at all, don't you see;
And any spot you may desire
Will be convenable for me.
From this hand-shake I judge I was drinking
Last night, with the thirst of a fish;
I've vigor enough though to kill you,
Mon ami, and that's all I wish.
Keep cool, keep your temper, I beg you,-
Don't fret yourself - Now by your leave
I'll finish you off — Help, Marigny!
His sword's in my heart, I believe.
God! God! What a mortification !
The Amontillado last night -
Was drinking, you know, and my hand shook;—
My head, too, was dizzy and light.
And I the best swordsman in Paris!
No priest, please, for such as I am --
I'm going - Good-by, my Marigny;
-
De Genlis, my love to Madame.
ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS.
A CONQUEST
I
FOUND him openly wearing her token;
I knew that her troth could never be broken:
I laid my hand on the hilt of my sword, —
He did the same, and he spoke no word.
I faced him with his villainy;
He laughed, and said, “She gave it me. ”
We searched for seconds, they soon were found:
They measured our swords; they measured the ground:
They held to the deadly work too fast —
They thought to gain our place at last.
We fought in the sheen of a wintry wood;
The fair white snow was red with his blood :
But his was the victory, for, as he died,
He swore by the rood that he had not lied.
WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK.
## p. 16662 (#362) ##########################################
16662
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
BALLAD OF A BRIDAL
“O
H, FILL me flagons full and fair
Of red wine and of white,
And, maidens mine, my bower prepare:
It is my wedding night!
“Braid up my hair with gem and flower,
And make me fair and fine:
The day has dawned that brings the hour
When my desire is mine! »
They decked her bower with roses blown,
With rushes strewed the floor;
And sewed more jewels on her gown
Than ever she wore before.
She wore two roses in her face,
Two jewels in her e'en;
Her hair was crowned with sunset rays,
Her brows shone white between.
(
« Tapers at the bed's foot,” she saith,
« Two tapers at the head! ”
(It seemed more like the bed of death
Than like a bridal bed. )
He came. He took her hands in his;
He kissed her on the face:
“There is more heaven in thy kiss
Than in Our Lady's grace! ”
He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,
He kissed her three times o'er,
He kissed her brow, he kissed her eyes,
He kissed her mouth's red flower.
“O love! What is it ails thy knight?
I sicken and I pine:
Is it the red wine or the white,
Or that sweet kiss of thine ? »
«No kiss, no wine or white or red
Can make such sickness be:
Lie down and die on thy bride-bed,
For I have poisoned thee!
## p. 16663 (#363) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16663
«And though the curse of saints and men
Be for the deed on me,
I would it were to do again,
Since thou wert false to me!
« Thou shouldst have loved or one or none,
Nor she nor I loved twain;
But we are twain thou hast undone
And therefore art thou slain.
“And when before my God I stand,
With no base flesh between,
I shall hold up my guilty hand,
And he shall judge it clean!
>>
He fell across the bridal bed,
Between the tapers pale.
“I first shall see our God,” he said,
“And I will tell thy tale:
«And if God judge thee as I do,
Then art thou justified;
I love thee, and I was not true,
And that was why I died.
“If I might judge thee, thou shouldst be
First of the saints on high;
But ah, I fear God loveth thee
Not half so dear as I! »
EDITH (NESBIT) BLAND.
HER CREED
le stood before a chosen few,
With modest air and eyes of blue;
A gentle creature, in whose face
Were mingled tenderness and grace.
S"
« You wish to join our fold,” they said:
“Do you believe in all that's read
From ritual and written creed,
Essential to our human need ? »
## p. 16664 (#364) ##########################################
16664
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
A troubled look was in her eyes;
She answered, as in vague surprise,
As though the sense to her were dim,
“I only strive to follow Him. ”
They knew her life; how, oft she stood,
Sweet in her guileless maidenhood,
By dying bed, in hovel lone,
Whose sorrow she had made her own.
Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,
Sweet as the voice of singing bird;
Her hand been open in distress;
Her joy to brighten and to bless.
Yet still she answered, when they sought
To know her inmost earnest thought,
With look as of the seraphim,
"I only strive to follow Him. "
Creeds change as ages come and go;
We see by faith, but little know:
Perchance the sense was not so dim
To her who <strove to follow Him. ”
SARAH KNOWLES Bolton.
A SAINT OF YORE
IN MEM. , E. V.
W**
ho brings it, now, her sweet accord
To every precept of her Lord ?
In quaintly fashioned bonnet
With simplest ribbons on it,
The older folk remember well
How prompt she was at Sabbath bell.
I see her yet; her decent shawl,
Her sober gown, silk mitts, and all.
The deacons courtly meet her,
The pastor turns to greet her,
And maid and matron quit their place
To find her fan or smooth her lace.
## p. 16665 (#365) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16665
I see her yet, with saintly smile,
Pass slowly up the quiet aisle:
Her mien, her every motion,
Is melody, devotion;
Contagious grace spreads round her way,
The prayer that words can never pray.
Old Groveland Church! the good folk fill
It yet, up on the windy hill:
The grass is round it growing
For nearest neighbors' mowing;
The weathered, battered sheds, behind,
Still rattle, rattle, with the wind.
All is the same; but in yon ground.
Have thickened fast the slab and mound.
Hark! Shall I join the praises ?
Rather, among the daisies,
Let me, in peaceful thought, once more
Be silent with the saint of yore.
JOHN VANCE CHENEY.
WITHIN
T°
O Fail in finding gifts, and still to give;
To count all trouble ease, all loss as gain;
To learn in dying as a self to live --
This dost thou do, and seek thy joy in pain ?
Rejoice that not unworthy thou art found
For Love to touch thee with his hand divine.
Put off thy shoes, - thou art on holy ground;
Thou standest on the threshold of his shrine.
But canst thou wait in patience, make no sign,
And where in power thou fail'st, - oh, not in will! -
See sore need served by other hands than thine,
And other hands the dear desires fulfill,
Hear others gain the thanks that thou wouldst win,
Yet be all joy? Then hast thou entered in.
ANNA CALLENDER BRACKETT.
## p. 16666 (#366) ##########################################
16666
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
DORIS: A PASTORAL
I
sat with Doris, the shepherd-maiden -
Her crook was laden with wreathèd flowers;
I sat and wooed her, through sunlight wheeling
And shadows stealing, for hours and hours.
And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses
Wild summer-roses of sweet perfume,
The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened,
Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.
She touched my shoulder with fearful finger;
She said, “We linger,- we must not stay:
My fock's in danger, my sheep will wander;
Behold them yonder, how far they stray! ”
I answered bolder, “Nay, let me hear you,
And still be near you, and still adore !
No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling:
Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more ! »
She whispered, sighing, “There will be sorrow
Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day:
My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded,
I shall be scolded and sent away. ”
Said I, denying, “If they do miss you,
They ought to kiss you when you get home;
And well rewarded by friend and neighbor
Should be the labor from which you come. ”
»
« They might remember,” she answered meekly,
“That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild;
But if they love me, it's none so fervent, –
I am a servant, and not a child. ”
Then each hot ember glowed within me,
And love did win me to swift reply:
"Ah! do but prove me; and none shall bind you,
Nor fray nor find you, until I die. ”
She blushed and started, and stood awaiting,
As if debating in dreams divine:
But I did brave them; I told her plainly
She doubted vainly,- she must be mine.
## p. 16667 (#367) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16667
So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley
Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes;
And homeward drave them, we two together,
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.
That simple duty fresh grace did lend her,
My Doris tender, my Doris true;
That I, her warder, did always bless her,
And often press her to take her due.
And now in beauty she fills my dwelling
With love excelling and undefiled;
And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,-
No more a servant, nor yet a child.
ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY.
A TRAGEDY
AHON
MONG his books he sits all day
To think and read and write;
He does not smell the new-mown hay,
The roses red and white.
I walk among them all alone,
His silly, stupid wife;
The world seems tasteless, dead and done -
An empty thing is life.
At night his window casts a square
Of light upon the lawn;
I sometimes walk and watch it there
Until the chill of dawn.
I have no brain to understand
The books he loves to read;
I only have a heart and hand
He does not seem to need.
He calls me “Child” – lays on my hair
Thin fingers, cold and mild;
O God of love, who answers prayer,
I wish I were a child!
And no one sees and no one knows
(He least would know or see)
## p. 16668 (#368) ##########################################
16668
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
That ere love gathers next year's rose,
Death will have gathered me;
And on my grave will bindweed pink
And round-faced daisies grow:
He still will read and write and think,
And never, never know!
II
It's lonely in my study here alone,
Now you are gone:
I loved to see your white gown 'mid the flowers,
While hours on hours
I studied toiled to weave a crown of fame
About your name.
I liked to hear your sweet, low laughter ring;
To hear you sing
About the house while I sat reading here,
My child, my dear;
To know you glad with all the life-joys fair
I dared not share.
I thought there would be time enough to show
My love, you know,
When I could lay with laurels at your feet
Love's roses sweet;
I thought I could taste love when fame was won
Now both are done!
Thank God, your child-heart knew not how to miss
The passionate kiss
Which I dared never give, lest love should rise
Mighty, unwise,
And bind me, with my life-work incomplete,
Beside your feet.
You never knew, you lived and were content:
My one chance went;
You died, my little one, and are at rest
And I, unblest,
Look at these broken fragments of my life,
My child, my wife.
EDITH (NESBIT) BLAND.
## p. 16669 (#369) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16669
HERMIONE
W*
"HEREVER I wander, up and about,
This is the puzzle I can't inake out -
Because I care little for books, no doubt:
I have a wife, and she is wise,
Deep in philosophy, strong in Greek;
Spectacles shadow her pretty eyes,
Coteries rustle to hear her speak;
She writes a little — for love, not fame;
Has published a book with a dreary name:
And yet (God bless her! ) is mild and meek.
And how I happened to woo and wed
A wife so pretty and wise withal,
Is part of the puzzle that fills my head
Plagues me at daytime, racks me in bed,
Haunts me, and makes me appear so small.
The only answer that I can see
Is — I could not have married Hermione
(That is her fine wise name), but she
Stooped in her wisdom and married me.
For I am a fellow of no degree,
Given to romping and jollity;
The Latin they thrashed into me at school
The world and its fights have thrashed away:
At figures alone I am no fool,
And in city circles I say my say.
But I am a dunce at twenty-nine,
And the kind of study that I think fine
Is a chapter of Dickens, a sheet of the Times,
When I lounge, after work, in my easy-chair;
Punch for humor, and Praed for rhymes,
And the butterfly mots blown here and there
By the idle breath of the social air.
A little French is my only gift,
Wherewith at times I can make a shift,
Guessing at meanings, to flutter over
A filigree tale in a paper cover.
Hermione, my Hermione!
What could your wisdom perceive in me?
And Hermione, my Hermione!
How does it happen at all that we
Love one another so utterly?
## p. 16670 (#370) ##########################################
16670
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Well, I have a bright-eyed boy of two,
A darling who cries with lung and tongue about;
As fine a fellow, I swear to you,
As ever poet of sentiment sung about!
And my lady-wife with the serious eyes
Brightens and lightens when he is nigh,
And looks, although she is deep and wise,
As foolish and happy as he or I!
And I have the courage just then, you see,
To kiss the lips of Hermione -
Those learned lips that the learned praise –
And to clasp her close as in sillier days;
To talk and joke in a frolic vein,
To tell her my stories of things and men:
And it never strikes me that I'm profane,
For she laughs and blushes, and kisses again;
And presto! Aly! goes her wisdom then!
For boy claps hands, and is up on her breast,
Roaring to see er so bright with mirth,
And I know she deems me (oh the jest! )
The cleverest fellow on all the earth!
And Hermione, my Hermione,
Nurses her boy and defers to me;
Does not seem to see I'm small
Even to think me a dunce at all!
And wherever I wander, up and about,
Here is the puzzle I can't make out:
That Hermione, my Hermione,
In spite of her Greek and philosophy,
When sporting at night with her boy and me,
Seems sweeter and wiser, I assever -
Sweeter and wiser and far more clever,
And makes me feel more foolish than ever,
Through her childish, girlish, joyous grace,
And the silly pride in her learned face!
This is the puzzle I can't make out
Because I care little for books, no doubt;
But the puzzle is pleasant, I know not why,
For whenever I think of it, night or morn,
I thank my God she is wise, and I
The happiest fool that was ever born!
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
## p. 16671 (#371) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16671
BETSEY AND I ARE OUT
From (Farm Ballads. Copyright 1882, by Harper & Brothers
D.
RAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout;
For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are
out.
We, who have worked together so long as man and wife,
Must pull in single harness for the rest of our nat’ral life.
«What is the matter? ” say you. I swan, it's hard to tell!
Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well;
I have no other woman, she has no other man
Only we've lived together as long as we ever can.
So I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,
And so we've agreed together that we can't never agree;.
Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime:
We've been a-gathering this for years, a little at a time.
There was a stock of temper we both had for a start,
Although we never suspected 'twould take us two apart:
I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone;
And Betsey, like all good women, had a temper of her own.
The first thing I remember whereon we disagreed
Was something concerning heaven - a difference in our creed:
We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'ed the thing at tea;
And the more we arg'ed the question the more we didn't agree.
And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow:
She had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was only -
How ?
I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had;
And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad.
And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;
But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.
And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl,
And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.
And so that bowl kept pourin' dissensions in our cup;
And so that blamed cow-critter was always a-comin' up;
And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got,
But it gave us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot.
## p. 16672 (#372) ##########################################
16672
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And so the thing kept workin', and all the selfsame way;
Always somethin' to arg'e, and somethin' sharp to say:
And down on us came the neighbors, a couple dozen strong,
And lent their kindest sarvice for to help the thing along.
-
And there has been days together – and many a weary week —
We was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to
speak;
And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the winter
and fall,
If I can't live kind with a woman, why then I won't live at all.
And so I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,
And we have agreed together that we can't never agree:
And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;
And I'll put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign.
Write on the paper, lawyer, — the very first paragraph, -
Of all the farm and live-stock that she shall have her half;
For she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day,
And it's nothing more than justice that Betsey has her pay.
Give her the house and homestead;- a man can thrive and roam,
But women are skeery critters unless they have a home;'
And I have always determined, and never failed to say,
That Betsey never should want a home if I was taken away.
There is a little hard money that's drawin' tol'rable pay –
A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day-
Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at:
Put in another clause there, and give her half of that.
Yes, I see you smile, sir, at my givin' her so much;
Yes, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such!
True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young;
And Betsey was al'ays good to me, exceptin' with her tongue.
Once, when I was young as you, and not so smart, perhaps,
For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps;
And all of them was flustered, and fairly taken down,
And I for a time was counted the luckiest man in town.
Once when I had a fever - I won't forget it soon-
I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon:
## p. 16673 (#373) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16673
Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight;
She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and night.
And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,
Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen;
And I don't complain of Betsey, or any of her acts,
Exceptin' when we've quarreled and told each other facts.
So draw up the paper, lawyer, and I'll go home to-night,
And read the agreement to her, and see if it's all right;
And then in the mornin' I'll sell to a tradin' man I know,
And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go.
And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur:
That when I'm dead at last she'll bring me back to her,
And lay me under the maples I planted years ago,
When she and I was happy before we quarreled so.
And when she dies I wish that she would be laid by me,
And, lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree;
And if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer
If we loved each other the better because we quarreled here.
WILL CARLETON.
HOW BETSEY AND I MADE UP
From (Farm Ballads. Copyright 1892, by Harper & Brothers
IVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer: how do you do to-day?
You drew up that paper-I s'pose you want your pay:
Don't cut down your figures, — make it an X or a V;
For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.
G
Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,
Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;
And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,
They'd have tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to
drive.
No—for I was laborin' under a heavy load;
No-for I was travelin' an entirely different road:
For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,
And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have
been.
XXVIII-1043
## p. 16674 (#374) ##########################################
16674
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And many a corner we'd turned that just to a quarrel led,
When I ought to have held my temper, and driven straight ahead;
And the more I thought it over the more these memories came,
And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.
And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,
Of little matters betwixt us where Betsey was good and kind;
And these things flashed all through me, as you know things some-
times will
When a feller's alone in the darkness, and everything is still.
“But,” says I, “we're too far along to take another track;
And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn back;
And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in
two:)
And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I'd see it through.
When I come in sight o' the house 'twas some'at in the night,
And just as I turned a hilltop I see the kitchen light;
Which often a han’some pictur' to a hungry person makes,
But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes.
And when I went in the house the table was set for me
As good a supper 's I ever saw, or ever want to see;
And I crammed the agreement down in my pocket as well as I
could,
And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.
And Betsey she pretended to look about the house,
But she watched my side coat pocket like a cat would watch a
mouse;
And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup,
And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.
And when I'd done my supper I drawed the agreement out,
And give it to her without a word, for she knowed what 'twas
about;
And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note
Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat.
Then Betsey she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf,
And read the article over quite softly to herself;
Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,
And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's cold.
## p. 16675 (#375) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16675
And after she'd read a little she give my arm a touch,
And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much;
But when she was through she went for me, her face a-streamin'
with tears,
And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years!
I don't know what you'll think, sir,—I didn't come to inquire,-
But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire;
And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow;
And we struck an agreement never to have another row.
And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash
If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash;
And she said, in regards to heaven, we'd try and learn its worth
By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth.
And so we sat a-talkin' three quarters of the night,
And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light;
And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many men
Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again.
Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,
Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss;
But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,
My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out of doors.
Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two;
But we've ot our eyes wide open, and know just what to do:
When one speaks cross, the other just meets it with a laugh,
And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than half.
Maybe you'll think me soft, sir, a-talkin' in this style,
But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while;
And I do it for a compliment — 'tis so that you can see
That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin'
of me.
So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer: don't stop short of an X;
Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks.
I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,
For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in gold.
Will CARLETON.
## p. 16676 (#376) ##########################################
16676
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
WHEN MY COUSIN COMES TO TOWN
CHF
HERRY VALLEY's finest raiment
Quaint, yet beautiful
to see —
Rightly decks its fairest claimant
To sweet femininity.
Miss New York, au fait in fashion,
Smiles at Cherry Valley's gown
Smile half envy, half compassion -
When my cousin comes to town.
Miles on miles of streets of shopping:
How she revels in the sights!
Every window finds her stopping
To examine its delights.
And I join in her inspection,
For two sparkling eyes of brown
Show in the plate-glass reflection
When my cousin comes to town.
If she warms about the city
In her healthy, happy way,
Miss New York politely witty
Is about her naïveté.
But to men, such girlish rapture
Is a far from common noun,
And each day shows some fresh capture
When my cousin comes to town.
Goes the maid to Seidl's, Sousa's,
Horse Show, Metropolitan -
Over each one she enthuses
As but Cherry Valley can.
Is it strange when breezes waft her
Homeward, sorrow weighs me down?
I am « broke » for six weeks after,
When my cousin comes to town.
W. P. BOURKE.
## p. 16677 (#377) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16677
MISS FLORA M'FLIMSEY
From Nothing to Wear)
M"
iss FLORA M'FLIMSEY, of Madison Square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris;
And her father assures me, each time she was there,
That she and her friend Mrs. Harris
(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,
But plain Mrs. H. , without romance or mystery)
Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping,
In one continuous round of shopping ;-
Shopping alone, and shopping together,
At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather:
For all manner of things that a woman can put
On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot,
Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist,
Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,
Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,
In front or behind, above or below;
For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls;
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in;
Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in;
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall, -
All of them different in color and pattern,
Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin,
Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material
Quite as expensive and much more ethereal:
In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,
Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of,
From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous frills;
In all quarters of Paris, and to every store:
While M'Flimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore,
They footed the streets, and he footed the bills.
The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer Argo
Formed, M'Flimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo,-
Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest,
Sufficient to fill the largest-sized chest,
Which did not appear on the ship's manifest,
But for which the ladies themselves manifested
Such particular interest that they invested
## p. 16678 (#378) ##########################################
16678
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Their own proper persons in layers and rows
Of muslins, embroideries, worked underclothes,
Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as those;
Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian beauties,
Gave good-by to the ship, and go-by to the duties.
Her relations at home all marveled, no doubt,
Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout
For an actual belle and a possible bride;
But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out,
And the truth came to light, and the dry-goods beside,
Which, in spite of collector and custom-house sentry,
Had entered the port without any entry.
And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the
day
This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway,
This same Miss M'Flimsey of Madison Square,
The last time we met, was in utter despair,
Because she had nothing whatever to wear!
NOTHING TO WEAR! Now, as this is a true ditty,
I do not assert — this you know is between us —
That she's in a state of absolute nudity,
Like Powers's Greek Slave or the Medici Venus;
But I do mean to say I have heard her declare,
When at the same moment she had on a dress
Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less,
And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess,
That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear!
I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's
Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers,
I had just been selected as he who should throw all
The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal
On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections,
Of those fossil remains which she called her affections,”
And that rather decayed, but well-known work of art,
Which Miss Flora persisted in styling her heart. ”
So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted
Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove:
But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted,
Beneath the gas-fixtures we whispered our love -
Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs,
Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes,
Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions;
It was one of the quietest business transactions,
## p. 16679 (#379) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16679
With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any,
And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany.
On her virginal lips while I printed a kiss,
She exclaimed, as a sort of parenthesis,
And by way of putting me quite at my ease, -
“You know, I'm to polka as much as I please,
And Airt when I like,– now stop, don't you speak,-
And you must not come here more than twice in a week,
Or talk to me either at party or ball;
But always be ready to come when I call:
So don't prose to me about duty and stuff,—
If we don't break this off, there will be time enough
For that sort of thing; but the bargain must be,
That as long as I choose I am perfectly free:
For this is a sort of engagement, you see,
Which is binding on you, but not binding on me. ”
Well, having thus wooed Miss M'Flimsey, and gained her,
With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her,
I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder
At least in the property, and the best right
To appear as its escort by day and by night;
And it being the week of the Stuckups' grand ball, -
Their cards had been out for a fortnight or so,
And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe, -
I considered it only my duty to call
And see if Miss Flora intended to go.
I found her - as ladies are apt to be found
When the time intervening between the first sound
Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter
Than usual — I found — I won't say I caught - her
Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning
To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning.
She turned as I entered — “Why, Harry, you sinner,
I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner! »
“So I did," I replied: "but the dinner is swallowed,
And digested, I trust; for 'tis now nine and more:
So being relieved from that duty, I followed
Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door.
And now will your Ladyship so condescend
As just to inform me if you intend
Your beauty and graces and presence to lend
(All which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow)
To the Stuckups', whose party, you know, is to-morrow ? »
-
(
## p. 16680 (#380) ##########################################
16680
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air,
And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, mon cher,
I should like above all things to go with you there;
But really and truly - I've nothing to wear. ”
“Nothing to wear ? Go just as you are:
Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far,
I engage, the most bright and particular star
On the Stuckup horizon – ” I stopped, for her eye,
Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery,
Opened on me at once a most terrible battery
Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply,
But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose
(That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say,
«How absurd that any sane man should suppose
That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes,
No matter how fine, that she wears every day! ”
So I ventured again — “Wear your crimson brocade. ”
(Second turn-up of nose) “That's too dark by a shade. ” —
«Your blue silk -» «That's too heavy. ” – “Your pink
«– »
(That's too light. ”
« Wear tulle over satin. " "I can't endure white. ”
«Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch
“I haven't a thread of point-lace to match. ”
«Your brown moire-antique –» ( Yes, and look like
Quaker. ”
“The pearl-colored » "I would, but that plaguy dressmaker
Has had it a week. ” — «Then that exquisite lilac,
In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock. ”
(Here the nose took again the same elevation) –
"I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation. ” —
«Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it
As more comme il faut – ” “Yes, but, dear me, that lean
Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it;
And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen. ” -
« Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarine,
That superb point d'aiguille, that imperial green,
That zephyr-like tarlatan, that rich grenadine_»
“Not one of all which is fit to be seen,”
Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.
“Then wear,” I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed
Opposition, “that gorgeous toilette which you sported
In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation,
When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation;
And by all the grand court were so very much courted. ”
a
-
## p. 16681 (#381) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16681
The end of the nose was portentously tipped up,
And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,
As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,
“I have worn it three times at the least calculation,
And that and the most of my dresses are ripped up!
Here I ripped out something, perhaps rather rash
Quite innocent, though; but to use an expression
More striking than classic, it “settled my hash,”
And proved very soon the last act of our session.
“Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling
Doesn't fall down and crush you! -oh, you men have no
feeling,
You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures,
Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers.
Your silly pretense- - why, what a mere guess it is!
Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities?
I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,
And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,
But you do not believe me ” (here the nose went still
higher):
"I suppose if you dared you would call me a liar.
Our engagement is ended, sir — yes, on the spot;
You're a brute, and a monster, and I don't know what. ”
I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,
Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief,
As gentle expletives which might give relief:
But this only proved as spark to the powder,
And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;
It blew, and it rained, thundered, lightened, and hailed
Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite failed
To express the abusive, and then its arrears
Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears;
And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs-
Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs.
(
Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat too,
Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo,
In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay
Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say:
Then, without going through the form of a bow,
Found myself in the entry,- I hardly knew how,-
On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square,
At home and up-stairs, in my own easy-chair;
Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
## p. 16682 (#382) ##########################################
16682
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And said to myself, as I lit my cigar, -
Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar
Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,
On the whole do you think he would have much to spare
If he married a woman with nothing to wear ?
WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.
A THRENODY
« The Ahkoond of Swat is dead. ” — London Papers of January 22d, 187
W***
HAT, what, what,
What's the news from Swat?
Sad news,
Bad news,
Comes by the cable led
Through the Indian Ocean's bed,
Through the Persian Gulf, the Red
Sea and the Med-
Iterranean – he's dead;
The Ankoond is dead!
For the Ahkoond I mourn, -
Who wouldn't?
He strove to disregard the message stern,
But he Ahkoodn't.
Dead, dead, dead:
Sorrow, Swats!
Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled,
Swats wham he hath often led
Onward to a gory bed,
Or to victory,
As the case might be,
Sorrow, Swats!
Tears shed,
Shed tears like water:
Your great Ahkoond is dead!
That Swats the matter!
Mourn, city of Swat!
Your great Ahkoond is not,
## p. 16683 (#383) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16683
But laid 'mid worms to rot, -
His mortal part alone; his soul was caught
(Because he was a good Ahkoond)
Up to the bosom of Mahound.
Though earthy walls his frine surround,
(Forever hallowed be the ground ! )
And skeptics mock the lowly mound
And say "He's now of no Ahkoond ! »
His soul is in the skies –
The azure skies that bend above his loved
Metropolis of Swat.
He sees with larger, other eyes
Athwart all earthly mysteries -
He knows what's Swat.
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation!
Fallen is at length
Its tower of strength;
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned:
Dead lies the great Ahkoond,
The great Ahkoond of Swat
Is not!
GEORGE THOMAS LANIGAN.
OLD GRIMES -
O"
LD GRIMES is dead! that good old man
We never shall see more:
He used to wear a long black coat,
All buttoned down before.
His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true:
His hair was some inclined to gray –
He wore it in a queue.
Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned:
The large round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.
## p. 16684 (#384) ##########################################
16684
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Kind words he ever had for all,
He knew no base design:
His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.
He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true:
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.
Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes
He passed securely o'er:
And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.
But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown:
He wore a double-breasted vest -
The stripes ran up and down.
He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert:
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.
His neighbors he did not abuse,
Was sociable and gay:
He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.
His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view:
Nor make a noise town-meeting days,
As many people do.
His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances:
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.
Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran:
And everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.
ALBERT GORTON GREENE.
## p. 16685 (#385) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16685
-
NARCISSUS IN CAMDEN (1882)
(“In the course of his lecture, Mr. remarked that the most impressive
room he had yet entered in America was the one in Camden town where he
met
It contained plenty of fresh air and sunlight.
On the
table was a simple cruse of water. ”]
W*, ,
PAUMANOKIDES
Ho may this be?
This young man clad unusually, with loose locks, languorous,
glidingly toward me advancing,
Toward the ceiling of my chamber his orbic and expressive eyeballs
uprolling,
As I have seen the green-necked wild-fowl, the mallard, in the thun-
dering of the storm,
By the weedy shore of Paumanok my fish-shaped island.
Sit down, young man!
I do not know you, but I love you with burning intensity,
I am he that loves the young men, whosoever and wheresoever they
are or may be hereafter, or may have been any time in
the past,
Loves the eye-glassed literat, loves also and probably more the vender
of clams, raucous-throated, monotonous-chanting,
Loves the Elevated Railroad employé of Mannahatta, my city;
I suppress the rest of the list of the persons I love, solely because I
love you,
Sit down élève, I receive you!
NARCISSUS
O clarion, from whose brazen throat
Strange sounds across the sea are blown,
Where England, girt as with a moat,
A strong sea-lion, sits alone!
A pilgrim from that white-cliffed shore,
What joy, large flower of Western land!
To seek thy democratic door,
With eager hand to clasp thy hand!
PAUMANOKIDES
Right you are!
Take then the electric pressure of these fingers, O my comrade!
I do not doubt you are the one I was waiting for, as I loafed here
enjoying my soul,
Let us two under all and any circumstances stick together from this
out!
## p. 16686 (#386) ##########################################
16686
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
NARCISSUS
Seeing that isle of which I spake but late
By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,
The grand Greek limbs of young Democracy
Beckoned me thence to this ideal State,
Where maiden fields of life Hellenic wait
For one who in clear culture walks apart
(Avoiding all rude clamors of the mart
That mar his calm) to sow the seeds of great
Growths yet to be — the love of sacred Art,
And Beauty, of this breast queen consecrate,
Whose throne mean Science seeks to violate;
The flawless artist's lunacy serene,
His purely passionate and perfect hate
And noble scorn of all things Philistine.
PAUMANOKIDES
Hold up there, Camerado!
Beauty is all very good as far as it goes, and Art, the perpetuator of
Beauty, is all very good as far as it goes, but you can
tell your folks,
Your folks in London, or in Dublin, or in Rome, or where the Arno
flows, or where Seine flows,
Your folks in the picture-galleries, admiring the Raphaels, the Tinto-
rettos, the Rubenses, Vandykes, Correggios, Murillos, An-
gelicos of the world,
(I know them all, they have effused to me, I have wrung them out,
I have abandoned them, I have got beyond them) –
NARCISSUS
[aside, with tenderness]
Ah, Burne-Jones!
PAUMANOKIDES
Tell them that I am considerably more than Beauty!
I, representing the bone and muscle and cartilage and adipose tissue
and pluck of the Sierras, of California, of the double Car-
olinas, of the Granite State, and the Narragansett Bay
State, and the Wooden Nutmeg State!
## p. 16655 (#355) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16655
THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA
'R
ISE up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,
And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpets' lordly
blowing;
And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere,
And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly
in the air:
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
(
"Arise, arise, Xarifa! I see Andalla's face;
He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace:
Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquivir
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely, never.
Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of purple mixed with white,
I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night.
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
“What aileth thee, Xarifa? what makes thine eyes look down?
Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town?
I've heard you say on many a day — and sure you said the
truth-
Andalla rides without a peer 'mong all Granada's youth;
Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go,
Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow.
Then rise - oh rise, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down:
Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town! »
The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down,
Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town;
But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove,
And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove:
One bonny rosebud she had traced before the noise drew nigh, —
That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow dropping from her eye.
“No— no,” she sighs: “bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town! ”.
«Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down?
Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing town?
Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry!
He stops at Zara's palace-gate; - why sit ye still — oh why? ” —
## p. 16656 (#356) ##########################################
16656
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
“At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate: in him shall I discover
The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was
my lover?
I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!
Spanish: Author Unknown.
Translation of John Gibson Lockhart.
RIVALS
GRY
RAY in the east,
Gray in the west, and a moon.
Dim gleam the lamps of the ended feast
Through the misty dawn of June;
And I turn to watch her go
Swift as the swallows flee,
Side by side with Joaquin Castro,
Heart by heart with me.
Jasmine star afloat
In her soft hair's dusky strands;
Jasmine white is her swelling throat,
And jasmine white her hands.
Ah, the plea of that clinging hand
Through the whirl of that wild waltz tune!
Lost — lost for a league of land,
Lying dark 'neath the sinking moon!
Over yon stream
The casa rests on its hard clay floor,
Its red tiles dim in the misty gleam;
Old Pedro Vidal at the door,
And his small eye ranges keen
Over vistas of goodly land –
Brown hills, with wild-oat sweeps between,
Bought with his daughter's hand.
Tangled and wreathed,
The wild boughs over the wild streams meet;
And over the swamp flowers musky-breathed,
And the cresses at their feet;
And over the dimpled springs,
Where the deep brown shadows flaunt,
## p. 16657 (#357) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16657
And the heron folds his ivory wings
And waits in his ferny haunt.
Side-scarred peaks
Where the gray sage hangs like a smoke,
And the vultures wipe their bloody beaks,
From the feast in the crotched oak,-
You are Castro's, hemming his acres in;
And I his vaquero, who o'er you rove,
Hold wealth he would barter you all to win,–
The wealth of her broad sweet love.
Joaquin Castro
Rides up from her home where the stream-mists hang,
And the cañon sides toss to and fro
The tread of his black mustang -
Half wild, a haughty beast,
Scarce held by the taut-drawn rein;
And a madness leaps into my breast,
And that wild waltz whirls in my brain.
By his mountain streams
We meet, and the waves glint through the shades;
And we light the morn with long thin gleams,
And wake it with clash of blades.
From some pale crag is borne
The owl's derisive laugh;
And the gray deer flies, like a shadow of dawn,
From the tide it fain would quaff.
A sudden wheel,
Then away, away, and the far hush rings
With hoof-beat, and chime of spurred heel;
And the blue air winds and sings
In the coils from each round gathering strength,
Ere I rise in my saddle for truer throw,
That the rope may spring its serpent length,
And drag from his seat my foe.
Was it an owl
Speedily fitting the trail across,
Or a twisted bough in its monk-like cowl
And robe of the long gray moss ?
Or the race has frenzied the black's wild brain ?
He rears, to the stout rein gives no heed,
XXVIII-1042
## p. 16658 (#358) ##########################################
16658
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Then backward, backward - curls and mane
Intermingled, necks broken, rider and steed.
Ah, señor,
She is mine. It was all long years ago:
And at eve, when we sit in our vine-hung door,
She speaks of Joaquin Castro,
How they found him there; and sweet drops start
From sweeter eyes. And who shall know
That the brand of Cain burns red on my heart,
Since the scar was spared my brow ?
VIRGINIA PEYTON FAUNTLEROY.
CARMEN
L
A GITANILLA! Tall dragoons,
In Andalusian afternoons,
With ogling eye and compliment
Smiled on you, as along you went
Some sleepy street of old Seville-
Twirled with military skill
Mustaches; buttoned uniforms
Of Spanish yellow bowed your charms.
Proud, wicked head, and hair blue-black!
Whence your mantilla, half thrown back,
Discovered shoulders and bold breast
Bohemian brown! And you were dressed
In some short skirt of gipsy red
Of smuggled stuff; thence stockings dead
White silk, exposed with many a hole,
Through which your plump legs roguish stole
A fleshly look; and tiny toes
In red morocco shoes with bows
Of scarlet ribbons. Daintily
You walked by me, and I did see
Your oblique eyes, your sensuous lip,
That gnawed the rose you once did flip
At bashful José's nose, while loud
Laughed the gaunt guards among the crowd.
And in your brazen chemise thrust,
Heaved with the swelling of your bust,
## p. 16659 (#359) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16659
The bunch of white acacia blooms
Whiffed past my nostrils hot perfumes.
As in a cool neveria
I ate an ice with Mérimée,
Dark Carmencita, you passed gay,
All holiday-bеdizened,
A new mantilla on your head;
A crimson dress bespangled fierce;
And crescent gold hung in your ears,
Shone, wrought morisco; and each shoe,
Cordovan leather spangled blue,
Glanced merriment; and from large arms
To well-turned ankles all your charms
Blew flutterings and glitterings
Of satin bands and beaded strings;
And round each arm's fair thigh one fold,
And graceful wrists, a twisted gold
Coiled serpents' tails fixed in each head,
Convulsive-jeweled glossy red.
In flowers and trimmings, to the jar
Of mandolin and low guitar,
You in the grated patio
Danced: the curled coxcombs' flirting row
Rang pleased applause. I saw you dance,
With wily motion and glad glance
Voluptuous, the wild romalis,
Where every movement was a kiss
Of elegance delicious, wound
In your Basque tambourine's dull sound;
Or as the ebon castanets
Clucked out dry time in unctuous jets,
Saw angry José through the grate
Glare on us a pale face of hate,
When some indecent colonel there
Presumed too lewdly for his ear.
Some still night in Seville, the street
Candilejo, two shadows meet -
Flash sabres crossed within the moon
Clash rapidly - a dead dragoon.
MADISON J. CAWEIN.
## p. 16660 (#360) ##########################################
16660
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
À OUTRANCE
(FRANCE, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY)
H
EIGHO! Why the plague did you wake me ?
It's barely a half after four;
My head, too, is - ah! I remember
That little affair at the shore.
Well, I had forgotten completely!
I must have been drinking last night. -
Rapiers, West Sands, and sunrise ;-
But whom, by the way, do I fight?
De Genlis! Ah, now I recall it! -
He started it all, did he not?
I drank to his wife — but, the devil!
He needn't have gotten so hot.
Just see what a ruffler that man is,
To give me a challenge to fight,
And only for pledging milady
A half-dozen times in a night.
Ah, well! it's a beautiful morning, --
The sun just beginning to rise, -
A glorious day for one's spirit
To pilgrimage off to the skies -
God keep mine from any such notion ;-
This dual's à outrance, you see. —
I haven't confessed for a month back,
And haven't had breakfast, tant pis!
Well, here we are, first at the West Sands!
The tide is well out; and how red
The sunrise is painting the ocean;-
Is that a sea-gull overhead ?
And here come De Genlis and Virron:
Messieurs, we were waiting for you
To complete, with the sea and the sunrise,
The charming effect of the view.
Are we ready? Indeed we were waiting
Your orders, Marigny and I.
On guard then it is, — we must hasten:
The sun is already quite high.
## p. 16661 (#361) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16661
Where now would you like me to pink you?
I've no choice at all, don't you see;
And any spot you may desire
Will be convenable for me.
From this hand-shake I judge I was drinking
Last night, with the thirst of a fish;
I've vigor enough though to kill you,
Mon ami, and that's all I wish.
Keep cool, keep your temper, I beg you,-
Don't fret yourself - Now by your leave
I'll finish you off — Help, Marigny!
His sword's in my heart, I believe.
God! God! What a mortification !
The Amontillado last night -
Was drinking, you know, and my hand shook;—
My head, too, was dizzy and light.
And I the best swordsman in Paris!
No priest, please, for such as I am --
I'm going - Good-by, my Marigny;
-
De Genlis, my love to Madame.
ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS.
A CONQUEST
I
FOUND him openly wearing her token;
I knew that her troth could never be broken:
I laid my hand on the hilt of my sword, —
He did the same, and he spoke no word.
I faced him with his villainy;
He laughed, and said, “She gave it me. ”
We searched for seconds, they soon were found:
They measured our swords; they measured the ground:
They held to the deadly work too fast —
They thought to gain our place at last.
We fought in the sheen of a wintry wood;
The fair white snow was red with his blood :
But his was the victory, for, as he died,
He swore by the rood that he had not lied.
WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK.
## p. 16662 (#362) ##########################################
16662
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
BALLAD OF A BRIDAL
“O
H, FILL me flagons full and fair
Of red wine and of white,
And, maidens mine, my bower prepare:
It is my wedding night!
“Braid up my hair with gem and flower,
And make me fair and fine:
The day has dawned that brings the hour
When my desire is mine! »
They decked her bower with roses blown,
With rushes strewed the floor;
And sewed more jewels on her gown
Than ever she wore before.
She wore two roses in her face,
Two jewels in her e'en;
Her hair was crowned with sunset rays,
Her brows shone white between.
(
« Tapers at the bed's foot,” she saith,
« Two tapers at the head! ”
(It seemed more like the bed of death
Than like a bridal bed. )
He came. He took her hands in his;
He kissed her on the face:
“There is more heaven in thy kiss
Than in Our Lady's grace! ”
He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,
He kissed her three times o'er,
He kissed her brow, he kissed her eyes,
He kissed her mouth's red flower.
“O love! What is it ails thy knight?
I sicken and I pine:
Is it the red wine or the white,
Or that sweet kiss of thine ? »
«No kiss, no wine or white or red
Can make such sickness be:
Lie down and die on thy bride-bed,
For I have poisoned thee!
## p. 16663 (#363) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16663
«And though the curse of saints and men
Be for the deed on me,
I would it were to do again,
Since thou wert false to me!
« Thou shouldst have loved or one or none,
Nor she nor I loved twain;
But we are twain thou hast undone
And therefore art thou slain.
“And when before my God I stand,
With no base flesh between,
I shall hold up my guilty hand,
And he shall judge it clean!
>>
He fell across the bridal bed,
Between the tapers pale.
“I first shall see our God,” he said,
“And I will tell thy tale:
«And if God judge thee as I do,
Then art thou justified;
I love thee, and I was not true,
And that was why I died.
“If I might judge thee, thou shouldst be
First of the saints on high;
But ah, I fear God loveth thee
Not half so dear as I! »
EDITH (NESBIT) BLAND.
HER CREED
le stood before a chosen few,
With modest air and eyes of blue;
A gentle creature, in whose face
Were mingled tenderness and grace.
S"
« You wish to join our fold,” they said:
“Do you believe in all that's read
From ritual and written creed,
Essential to our human need ? »
## p. 16664 (#364) ##########################################
16664
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
A troubled look was in her eyes;
She answered, as in vague surprise,
As though the sense to her were dim,
“I only strive to follow Him. ”
They knew her life; how, oft she stood,
Sweet in her guileless maidenhood,
By dying bed, in hovel lone,
Whose sorrow she had made her own.
Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,
Sweet as the voice of singing bird;
Her hand been open in distress;
Her joy to brighten and to bless.
Yet still she answered, when they sought
To know her inmost earnest thought,
With look as of the seraphim,
"I only strive to follow Him. "
Creeds change as ages come and go;
We see by faith, but little know:
Perchance the sense was not so dim
To her who <strove to follow Him. ”
SARAH KNOWLES Bolton.
A SAINT OF YORE
IN MEM. , E. V.
W**
ho brings it, now, her sweet accord
To every precept of her Lord ?
In quaintly fashioned bonnet
With simplest ribbons on it,
The older folk remember well
How prompt she was at Sabbath bell.
I see her yet; her decent shawl,
Her sober gown, silk mitts, and all.
The deacons courtly meet her,
The pastor turns to greet her,
And maid and matron quit their place
To find her fan or smooth her lace.
## p. 16665 (#365) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16665
I see her yet, with saintly smile,
Pass slowly up the quiet aisle:
Her mien, her every motion,
Is melody, devotion;
Contagious grace spreads round her way,
The prayer that words can never pray.
Old Groveland Church! the good folk fill
It yet, up on the windy hill:
The grass is round it growing
For nearest neighbors' mowing;
The weathered, battered sheds, behind,
Still rattle, rattle, with the wind.
All is the same; but in yon ground.
Have thickened fast the slab and mound.
Hark! Shall I join the praises ?
Rather, among the daisies,
Let me, in peaceful thought, once more
Be silent with the saint of yore.
JOHN VANCE CHENEY.
WITHIN
T°
O Fail in finding gifts, and still to give;
To count all trouble ease, all loss as gain;
To learn in dying as a self to live --
This dost thou do, and seek thy joy in pain ?
Rejoice that not unworthy thou art found
For Love to touch thee with his hand divine.
Put off thy shoes, - thou art on holy ground;
Thou standest on the threshold of his shrine.
But canst thou wait in patience, make no sign,
And where in power thou fail'st, - oh, not in will! -
See sore need served by other hands than thine,
And other hands the dear desires fulfill,
Hear others gain the thanks that thou wouldst win,
Yet be all joy? Then hast thou entered in.
ANNA CALLENDER BRACKETT.
## p. 16666 (#366) ##########################################
16666
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
DORIS: A PASTORAL
I
sat with Doris, the shepherd-maiden -
Her crook was laden with wreathèd flowers;
I sat and wooed her, through sunlight wheeling
And shadows stealing, for hours and hours.
And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses
Wild summer-roses of sweet perfume,
The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened,
Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.
She touched my shoulder with fearful finger;
She said, “We linger,- we must not stay:
My fock's in danger, my sheep will wander;
Behold them yonder, how far they stray! ”
I answered bolder, “Nay, let me hear you,
And still be near you, and still adore !
No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling:
Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more ! »
She whispered, sighing, “There will be sorrow
Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day:
My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded,
I shall be scolded and sent away. ”
Said I, denying, “If they do miss you,
They ought to kiss you when you get home;
And well rewarded by friend and neighbor
Should be the labor from which you come. ”
»
« They might remember,” she answered meekly,
“That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild;
But if they love me, it's none so fervent, –
I am a servant, and not a child. ”
Then each hot ember glowed within me,
And love did win me to swift reply:
"Ah! do but prove me; and none shall bind you,
Nor fray nor find you, until I die. ”
She blushed and started, and stood awaiting,
As if debating in dreams divine:
But I did brave them; I told her plainly
She doubted vainly,- she must be mine.
## p. 16667 (#367) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16667
So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley
Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes;
And homeward drave them, we two together,
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.
That simple duty fresh grace did lend her,
My Doris tender, my Doris true;
That I, her warder, did always bless her,
And often press her to take her due.
And now in beauty she fills my dwelling
With love excelling and undefiled;
And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,-
No more a servant, nor yet a child.
ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY.
A TRAGEDY
AHON
MONG his books he sits all day
To think and read and write;
He does not smell the new-mown hay,
The roses red and white.
I walk among them all alone,
His silly, stupid wife;
The world seems tasteless, dead and done -
An empty thing is life.
At night his window casts a square
Of light upon the lawn;
I sometimes walk and watch it there
Until the chill of dawn.
I have no brain to understand
The books he loves to read;
I only have a heart and hand
He does not seem to need.
He calls me “Child” – lays on my hair
Thin fingers, cold and mild;
O God of love, who answers prayer,
I wish I were a child!
And no one sees and no one knows
(He least would know or see)
## p. 16668 (#368) ##########################################
16668
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
That ere love gathers next year's rose,
Death will have gathered me;
And on my grave will bindweed pink
And round-faced daisies grow:
He still will read and write and think,
And never, never know!
II
It's lonely in my study here alone,
Now you are gone:
I loved to see your white gown 'mid the flowers,
While hours on hours
I studied toiled to weave a crown of fame
About your name.
I liked to hear your sweet, low laughter ring;
To hear you sing
About the house while I sat reading here,
My child, my dear;
To know you glad with all the life-joys fair
I dared not share.
I thought there would be time enough to show
My love, you know,
When I could lay with laurels at your feet
Love's roses sweet;
I thought I could taste love when fame was won
Now both are done!
Thank God, your child-heart knew not how to miss
The passionate kiss
Which I dared never give, lest love should rise
Mighty, unwise,
And bind me, with my life-work incomplete,
Beside your feet.
You never knew, you lived and were content:
My one chance went;
You died, my little one, and are at rest
And I, unblest,
Look at these broken fragments of my life,
My child, my wife.
EDITH (NESBIT) BLAND.
## p. 16669 (#369) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16669
HERMIONE
W*
"HEREVER I wander, up and about,
This is the puzzle I can't inake out -
Because I care little for books, no doubt:
I have a wife, and she is wise,
Deep in philosophy, strong in Greek;
Spectacles shadow her pretty eyes,
Coteries rustle to hear her speak;
She writes a little — for love, not fame;
Has published a book with a dreary name:
And yet (God bless her! ) is mild and meek.
And how I happened to woo and wed
A wife so pretty and wise withal,
Is part of the puzzle that fills my head
Plagues me at daytime, racks me in bed,
Haunts me, and makes me appear so small.
The only answer that I can see
Is — I could not have married Hermione
(That is her fine wise name), but she
Stooped in her wisdom and married me.
For I am a fellow of no degree,
Given to romping and jollity;
The Latin they thrashed into me at school
The world and its fights have thrashed away:
At figures alone I am no fool,
And in city circles I say my say.
But I am a dunce at twenty-nine,
And the kind of study that I think fine
Is a chapter of Dickens, a sheet of the Times,
When I lounge, after work, in my easy-chair;
Punch for humor, and Praed for rhymes,
And the butterfly mots blown here and there
By the idle breath of the social air.
A little French is my only gift,
Wherewith at times I can make a shift,
Guessing at meanings, to flutter over
A filigree tale in a paper cover.
Hermione, my Hermione!
What could your wisdom perceive in me?
And Hermione, my Hermione!
How does it happen at all that we
Love one another so utterly?
## p. 16670 (#370) ##########################################
16670
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Well, I have a bright-eyed boy of two,
A darling who cries with lung and tongue about;
As fine a fellow, I swear to you,
As ever poet of sentiment sung about!
And my lady-wife with the serious eyes
Brightens and lightens when he is nigh,
And looks, although she is deep and wise,
As foolish and happy as he or I!
And I have the courage just then, you see,
To kiss the lips of Hermione -
Those learned lips that the learned praise –
And to clasp her close as in sillier days;
To talk and joke in a frolic vein,
To tell her my stories of things and men:
And it never strikes me that I'm profane,
For she laughs and blushes, and kisses again;
And presto! Aly! goes her wisdom then!
For boy claps hands, and is up on her breast,
Roaring to see er so bright with mirth,
And I know she deems me (oh the jest! )
The cleverest fellow on all the earth!
And Hermione, my Hermione,
Nurses her boy and defers to me;
Does not seem to see I'm small
Even to think me a dunce at all!
And wherever I wander, up and about,
Here is the puzzle I can't make out:
That Hermione, my Hermione,
In spite of her Greek and philosophy,
When sporting at night with her boy and me,
Seems sweeter and wiser, I assever -
Sweeter and wiser and far more clever,
And makes me feel more foolish than ever,
Through her childish, girlish, joyous grace,
And the silly pride in her learned face!
This is the puzzle I can't make out
Because I care little for books, no doubt;
But the puzzle is pleasant, I know not why,
For whenever I think of it, night or morn,
I thank my God she is wise, and I
The happiest fool that was ever born!
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
## p. 16671 (#371) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16671
BETSEY AND I ARE OUT
From (Farm Ballads. Copyright 1882, by Harper & Brothers
D.
RAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout;
For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are
out.
We, who have worked together so long as man and wife,
Must pull in single harness for the rest of our nat’ral life.
«What is the matter? ” say you. I swan, it's hard to tell!
Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well;
I have no other woman, she has no other man
Only we've lived together as long as we ever can.
So I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,
And so we've agreed together that we can't never agree;.
Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime:
We've been a-gathering this for years, a little at a time.
There was a stock of temper we both had for a start,
Although we never suspected 'twould take us two apart:
I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone;
And Betsey, like all good women, had a temper of her own.
The first thing I remember whereon we disagreed
Was something concerning heaven - a difference in our creed:
We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'ed the thing at tea;
And the more we arg'ed the question the more we didn't agree.
And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow:
She had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was only -
How ?
I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had;
And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad.
And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;
But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.
And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl,
And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.
And so that bowl kept pourin' dissensions in our cup;
And so that blamed cow-critter was always a-comin' up;
And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got,
But it gave us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot.
## p. 16672 (#372) ##########################################
16672
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And so the thing kept workin', and all the selfsame way;
Always somethin' to arg'e, and somethin' sharp to say:
And down on us came the neighbors, a couple dozen strong,
And lent their kindest sarvice for to help the thing along.
-
And there has been days together – and many a weary week —
We was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to
speak;
And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the winter
and fall,
If I can't live kind with a woman, why then I won't live at all.
And so I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,
And we have agreed together that we can't never agree:
And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;
And I'll put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign.
Write on the paper, lawyer, — the very first paragraph, -
Of all the farm and live-stock that she shall have her half;
For she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day,
And it's nothing more than justice that Betsey has her pay.
Give her the house and homestead;- a man can thrive and roam,
But women are skeery critters unless they have a home;'
And I have always determined, and never failed to say,
That Betsey never should want a home if I was taken away.
There is a little hard money that's drawin' tol'rable pay –
A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day-
Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at:
Put in another clause there, and give her half of that.
Yes, I see you smile, sir, at my givin' her so much;
Yes, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such!
True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young;
And Betsey was al'ays good to me, exceptin' with her tongue.
Once, when I was young as you, and not so smart, perhaps,
For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps;
And all of them was flustered, and fairly taken down,
And I for a time was counted the luckiest man in town.
Once when I had a fever - I won't forget it soon-
I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon:
## p. 16673 (#373) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16673
Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight;
She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and night.
And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,
Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen;
And I don't complain of Betsey, or any of her acts,
Exceptin' when we've quarreled and told each other facts.
So draw up the paper, lawyer, and I'll go home to-night,
And read the agreement to her, and see if it's all right;
And then in the mornin' I'll sell to a tradin' man I know,
And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go.
And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur:
That when I'm dead at last she'll bring me back to her,
And lay me under the maples I planted years ago,
When she and I was happy before we quarreled so.
And when she dies I wish that she would be laid by me,
And, lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree;
And if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer
If we loved each other the better because we quarreled here.
WILL CARLETON.
HOW BETSEY AND I MADE UP
From (Farm Ballads. Copyright 1892, by Harper & Brothers
IVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer: how do you do to-day?
You drew up that paper-I s'pose you want your pay:
Don't cut down your figures, — make it an X or a V;
For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.
G
Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,
Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;
And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,
They'd have tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to
drive.
No—for I was laborin' under a heavy load;
No-for I was travelin' an entirely different road:
For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,
And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have
been.
XXVIII-1043
## p. 16674 (#374) ##########################################
16674
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And many a corner we'd turned that just to a quarrel led,
When I ought to have held my temper, and driven straight ahead;
And the more I thought it over the more these memories came,
And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.
And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,
Of little matters betwixt us where Betsey was good and kind;
And these things flashed all through me, as you know things some-
times will
When a feller's alone in the darkness, and everything is still.
“But,” says I, “we're too far along to take another track;
And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn back;
And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in
two:)
And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I'd see it through.
When I come in sight o' the house 'twas some'at in the night,
And just as I turned a hilltop I see the kitchen light;
Which often a han’some pictur' to a hungry person makes,
But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes.
And when I went in the house the table was set for me
As good a supper 's I ever saw, or ever want to see;
And I crammed the agreement down in my pocket as well as I
could,
And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.
And Betsey she pretended to look about the house,
But she watched my side coat pocket like a cat would watch a
mouse;
And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup,
And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.
And when I'd done my supper I drawed the agreement out,
And give it to her without a word, for she knowed what 'twas
about;
And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note
Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat.
Then Betsey she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf,
And read the article over quite softly to herself;
Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,
And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's cold.
## p. 16675 (#375) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16675
And after she'd read a little she give my arm a touch,
And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much;
But when she was through she went for me, her face a-streamin'
with tears,
And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years!
I don't know what you'll think, sir,—I didn't come to inquire,-
But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire;
And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow;
And we struck an agreement never to have another row.
And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash
If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash;
And she said, in regards to heaven, we'd try and learn its worth
By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth.
And so we sat a-talkin' three quarters of the night,
And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light;
And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many men
Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again.
Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,
Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss;
But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,
My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out of doors.
Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two;
But we've ot our eyes wide open, and know just what to do:
When one speaks cross, the other just meets it with a laugh,
And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than half.
Maybe you'll think me soft, sir, a-talkin' in this style,
But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while;
And I do it for a compliment — 'tis so that you can see
That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin'
of me.
So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer: don't stop short of an X;
Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks.
I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,
For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in gold.
Will CARLETON.
## p. 16676 (#376) ##########################################
16676
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
WHEN MY COUSIN COMES TO TOWN
CHF
HERRY VALLEY's finest raiment
Quaint, yet beautiful
to see —
Rightly decks its fairest claimant
To sweet femininity.
Miss New York, au fait in fashion,
Smiles at Cherry Valley's gown
Smile half envy, half compassion -
When my cousin comes to town.
Miles on miles of streets of shopping:
How she revels in the sights!
Every window finds her stopping
To examine its delights.
And I join in her inspection,
For two sparkling eyes of brown
Show in the plate-glass reflection
When my cousin comes to town.
If she warms about the city
In her healthy, happy way,
Miss New York politely witty
Is about her naïveté.
But to men, such girlish rapture
Is a far from common noun,
And each day shows some fresh capture
When my cousin comes to town.
Goes the maid to Seidl's, Sousa's,
Horse Show, Metropolitan -
Over each one she enthuses
As but Cherry Valley can.
Is it strange when breezes waft her
Homeward, sorrow weighs me down?
I am « broke » for six weeks after,
When my cousin comes to town.
W. P. BOURKE.
## p. 16677 (#377) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16677
MISS FLORA M'FLIMSEY
From Nothing to Wear)
M"
iss FLORA M'FLIMSEY, of Madison Square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris;
And her father assures me, each time she was there,
That she and her friend Mrs. Harris
(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,
But plain Mrs. H. , without romance or mystery)
Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping,
In one continuous round of shopping ;-
Shopping alone, and shopping together,
At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather:
For all manner of things that a woman can put
On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot,
Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist,
Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,
Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,
In front or behind, above or below;
For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls;
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in;
Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in;
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall, -
All of them different in color and pattern,
Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin,
Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material
Quite as expensive and much more ethereal:
In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,
Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of,
From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous frills;
In all quarters of Paris, and to every store:
While M'Flimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore,
They footed the streets, and he footed the bills.
The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer Argo
Formed, M'Flimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo,-
Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest,
Sufficient to fill the largest-sized chest,
Which did not appear on the ship's manifest,
But for which the ladies themselves manifested
Such particular interest that they invested
## p. 16678 (#378) ##########################################
16678
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Their own proper persons in layers and rows
Of muslins, embroideries, worked underclothes,
Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as those;
Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian beauties,
Gave good-by to the ship, and go-by to the duties.
Her relations at home all marveled, no doubt,
Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout
For an actual belle and a possible bride;
But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out,
And the truth came to light, and the dry-goods beside,
Which, in spite of collector and custom-house sentry,
Had entered the port without any entry.
And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the
day
This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway,
This same Miss M'Flimsey of Madison Square,
The last time we met, was in utter despair,
Because she had nothing whatever to wear!
NOTHING TO WEAR! Now, as this is a true ditty,
I do not assert — this you know is between us —
That she's in a state of absolute nudity,
Like Powers's Greek Slave or the Medici Venus;
But I do mean to say I have heard her declare,
When at the same moment she had on a dress
Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less,
And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess,
That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear!
I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's
Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers,
I had just been selected as he who should throw all
The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal
On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections,
Of those fossil remains which she called her affections,”
And that rather decayed, but well-known work of art,
Which Miss Flora persisted in styling her heart. ”
So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted
Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove:
But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted,
Beneath the gas-fixtures we whispered our love -
Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs,
Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes,
Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions;
It was one of the quietest business transactions,
## p. 16679 (#379) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16679
With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any,
And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany.
On her virginal lips while I printed a kiss,
She exclaimed, as a sort of parenthesis,
And by way of putting me quite at my ease, -
“You know, I'm to polka as much as I please,
And Airt when I like,– now stop, don't you speak,-
And you must not come here more than twice in a week,
Or talk to me either at party or ball;
But always be ready to come when I call:
So don't prose to me about duty and stuff,—
If we don't break this off, there will be time enough
For that sort of thing; but the bargain must be,
That as long as I choose I am perfectly free:
For this is a sort of engagement, you see,
Which is binding on you, but not binding on me. ”
Well, having thus wooed Miss M'Flimsey, and gained her,
With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her,
I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder
At least in the property, and the best right
To appear as its escort by day and by night;
And it being the week of the Stuckups' grand ball, -
Their cards had been out for a fortnight or so,
And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe, -
I considered it only my duty to call
And see if Miss Flora intended to go.
I found her - as ladies are apt to be found
When the time intervening between the first sound
Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter
Than usual — I found — I won't say I caught - her
Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning
To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning.
She turned as I entered — “Why, Harry, you sinner,
I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner! »
“So I did," I replied: "but the dinner is swallowed,
And digested, I trust; for 'tis now nine and more:
So being relieved from that duty, I followed
Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door.
And now will your Ladyship so condescend
As just to inform me if you intend
Your beauty and graces and presence to lend
(All which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow)
To the Stuckups', whose party, you know, is to-morrow ? »
-
(
## p. 16680 (#380) ##########################################
16680
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air,
And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, mon cher,
I should like above all things to go with you there;
But really and truly - I've nothing to wear. ”
“Nothing to wear ? Go just as you are:
Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far,
I engage, the most bright and particular star
On the Stuckup horizon – ” I stopped, for her eye,
Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery,
Opened on me at once a most terrible battery
Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply,
But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose
(That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say,
«How absurd that any sane man should suppose
That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes,
No matter how fine, that she wears every day! ”
So I ventured again — “Wear your crimson brocade. ”
(Second turn-up of nose) “That's too dark by a shade. ” —
«Your blue silk -» «That's too heavy. ” – “Your pink
«– »
(That's too light. ”
« Wear tulle over satin. " "I can't endure white. ”
«Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch
“I haven't a thread of point-lace to match. ”
«Your brown moire-antique –» ( Yes, and look like
Quaker. ”
“The pearl-colored » "I would, but that plaguy dressmaker
Has had it a week. ” — «Then that exquisite lilac,
In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock. ”
(Here the nose took again the same elevation) –
"I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation. ” —
«Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it
As more comme il faut – ” “Yes, but, dear me, that lean
Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it;
And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen. ” -
« Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarine,
That superb point d'aiguille, that imperial green,
That zephyr-like tarlatan, that rich grenadine_»
“Not one of all which is fit to be seen,”
Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.
“Then wear,” I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed
Opposition, “that gorgeous toilette which you sported
In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation,
When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation;
And by all the grand court were so very much courted. ”
a
-
## p. 16681 (#381) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16681
The end of the nose was portentously tipped up,
And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,
As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,
“I have worn it three times at the least calculation,
And that and the most of my dresses are ripped up!
Here I ripped out something, perhaps rather rash
Quite innocent, though; but to use an expression
More striking than classic, it “settled my hash,”
And proved very soon the last act of our session.
“Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling
Doesn't fall down and crush you! -oh, you men have no
feeling,
You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures,
Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers.
Your silly pretense- - why, what a mere guess it is!
Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities?
I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,
And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,
But you do not believe me ” (here the nose went still
higher):
"I suppose if you dared you would call me a liar.
Our engagement is ended, sir — yes, on the spot;
You're a brute, and a monster, and I don't know what. ”
I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,
Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief,
As gentle expletives which might give relief:
But this only proved as spark to the powder,
And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;
It blew, and it rained, thundered, lightened, and hailed
Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite failed
To express the abusive, and then its arrears
Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears;
And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs-
Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs.
(
Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat too,
Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo,
In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay
Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say:
Then, without going through the form of a bow,
Found myself in the entry,- I hardly knew how,-
On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square,
At home and up-stairs, in my own easy-chair;
Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
## p. 16682 (#382) ##########################################
16682
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And said to myself, as I lit my cigar, -
Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar
Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,
On the whole do you think he would have much to spare
If he married a woman with nothing to wear ?
WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.
A THRENODY
« The Ahkoond of Swat is dead. ” — London Papers of January 22d, 187
W***
HAT, what, what,
What's the news from Swat?
Sad news,
Bad news,
Comes by the cable led
Through the Indian Ocean's bed,
Through the Persian Gulf, the Red
Sea and the Med-
Iterranean – he's dead;
The Ankoond is dead!
For the Ahkoond I mourn, -
Who wouldn't?
He strove to disregard the message stern,
But he Ahkoodn't.
Dead, dead, dead:
Sorrow, Swats!
Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled,
Swats wham he hath often led
Onward to a gory bed,
Or to victory,
As the case might be,
Sorrow, Swats!
Tears shed,
Shed tears like water:
Your great Ahkoond is dead!
That Swats the matter!
Mourn, city of Swat!
Your great Ahkoond is not,
## p. 16683 (#383) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16683
But laid 'mid worms to rot, -
His mortal part alone; his soul was caught
(Because he was a good Ahkoond)
Up to the bosom of Mahound.
Though earthy walls his frine surround,
(Forever hallowed be the ground ! )
And skeptics mock the lowly mound
And say "He's now of no Ahkoond ! »
His soul is in the skies –
The azure skies that bend above his loved
Metropolis of Swat.
He sees with larger, other eyes
Athwart all earthly mysteries -
He knows what's Swat.
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation!
Fallen is at length
Its tower of strength;
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned:
Dead lies the great Ahkoond,
The great Ahkoond of Swat
Is not!
GEORGE THOMAS LANIGAN.
OLD GRIMES -
O"
LD GRIMES is dead! that good old man
We never shall see more:
He used to wear a long black coat,
All buttoned down before.
His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true:
His hair was some inclined to gray –
He wore it in a queue.
Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned:
The large round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.
## p. 16684 (#384) ##########################################
16684
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Kind words he ever had for all,
He knew no base design:
His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.
He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true:
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.
Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes
He passed securely o'er:
And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.
But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown:
He wore a double-breasted vest -
The stripes ran up and down.
He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert:
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.
His neighbors he did not abuse,
Was sociable and gay:
He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.
His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view:
Nor make a noise town-meeting days,
As many people do.
His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances:
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.
Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran:
And everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.
ALBERT GORTON GREENE.
## p. 16685 (#385) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16685
-
NARCISSUS IN CAMDEN (1882)
(“In the course of his lecture, Mr. remarked that the most impressive
room he had yet entered in America was the one in Camden town where he
met
It contained plenty of fresh air and sunlight.
On the
table was a simple cruse of water. ”]
W*, ,
PAUMANOKIDES
Ho may this be?
This young man clad unusually, with loose locks, languorous,
glidingly toward me advancing,
Toward the ceiling of my chamber his orbic and expressive eyeballs
uprolling,
As I have seen the green-necked wild-fowl, the mallard, in the thun-
dering of the storm,
By the weedy shore of Paumanok my fish-shaped island.
Sit down, young man!
I do not know you, but I love you with burning intensity,
I am he that loves the young men, whosoever and wheresoever they
are or may be hereafter, or may have been any time in
the past,
Loves the eye-glassed literat, loves also and probably more the vender
of clams, raucous-throated, monotonous-chanting,
Loves the Elevated Railroad employé of Mannahatta, my city;
I suppress the rest of the list of the persons I love, solely because I
love you,
Sit down élève, I receive you!
NARCISSUS
O clarion, from whose brazen throat
Strange sounds across the sea are blown,
Where England, girt as with a moat,
A strong sea-lion, sits alone!
A pilgrim from that white-cliffed shore,
What joy, large flower of Western land!
To seek thy democratic door,
With eager hand to clasp thy hand!
PAUMANOKIDES
Right you are!
Take then the electric pressure of these fingers, O my comrade!
I do not doubt you are the one I was waiting for, as I loafed here
enjoying my soul,
Let us two under all and any circumstances stick together from this
out!
## p. 16686 (#386) ##########################################
16686
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
NARCISSUS
Seeing that isle of which I spake but late
By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,
The grand Greek limbs of young Democracy
Beckoned me thence to this ideal State,
Where maiden fields of life Hellenic wait
For one who in clear culture walks apart
(Avoiding all rude clamors of the mart
That mar his calm) to sow the seeds of great
Growths yet to be — the love of sacred Art,
And Beauty, of this breast queen consecrate,
Whose throne mean Science seeks to violate;
The flawless artist's lunacy serene,
His purely passionate and perfect hate
And noble scorn of all things Philistine.
PAUMANOKIDES
Hold up there, Camerado!
Beauty is all very good as far as it goes, and Art, the perpetuator of
Beauty, is all very good as far as it goes, but you can
tell your folks,
Your folks in London, or in Dublin, or in Rome, or where the Arno
flows, or where Seine flows,
Your folks in the picture-galleries, admiring the Raphaels, the Tinto-
rettos, the Rubenses, Vandykes, Correggios, Murillos, An-
gelicos of the world,
(I know them all, they have effused to me, I have wrung them out,
I have abandoned them, I have got beyond them) –
NARCISSUS
[aside, with tenderness]
Ah, Burne-Jones!
PAUMANOKIDES
Tell them that I am considerably more than Beauty!
I, representing the bone and muscle and cartilage and adipose tissue
and pluck of the Sierras, of California, of the double Car-
olinas, of the Granite State, and the Narragansett Bay
State, and the Wooden Nutmeg State!
