human
Can you write a poem for me in the style of Robert Louis Stevenson?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem in the style of Robert Louis Stevenson:
  We went to the show one night,
And it certainly was a great sight,
This tiger to see,
Fierce as he could be,
And roaring with all his might.
The Christmas chimes are pealing high
Beneath the solemn Christmas sky,
And blowing winds their notes prolong
Like echoes from an angel's song;
Good will and peace, peace and good will
Ring out the carols glad and gay,
Telling the heavenly message still
That Christ the Child was born to-day.
In lowly hut and palace hall
Peasant and king keep festival,
And childhood wears a fairer guise,
And tenderer shine all mother-eyes;
The aged man forgets his years,
The mirthful heart is doubly gay,
The sad are cheated of their tears,
For Christ the Lord was born to-day.
They sat on the curbing
In a crowded row--
Two little maids
And one little beau,--
By in the street parade;
But when it came past,
Of maids there were none,
For down a by-street
They cowardly run,
While one little beau
Made all manner of fun--
Of the Elephant he wasn't afraid.
"Whew! Mother Moulton, what are you doing?"
Meanwhile, Joe Devins had ears for all the sounds that penetrated
"Why didn't you tell me before, Joe? but now it is too late."
"Bless my heart!" she exclaimed, hurrying back over the stones.
"What's the matter with your heart?" questioned Joe.
"Nothing. I was thinking of Uncle John's money," she answered.
"Then the soldiers will carry it off," she said.
The box was under Uncle John's bed.
"'Cause she asked me to, and couldn't do it alone," returned Joe,
As she fastened back her gown and hurried away the signs of the
"Good morning, Mother," said Major Pitcairn, raising his hat.
reasoning powers in her own shapely head.
"Stand aside, old man, and we'll hold you harmless."
"He seems to know remarkably well," exclaimed an officer.
"A remnant of witchcraft!" remarked a soldier within hearing.
"Do I look like a witch?" she demanded.
During this time the cold, frosty morning spent itself into the
brilliant, shining noon.
Forgetting the dignified part she intended to play, forgetting
"The town-house is on fire!" she cried, laying her hand upon the
commander's arm.
She turned and glanced up at the court-house. Already flames were
Down in her heart, and as the very outcome of lip and brain she
Her words touched his heart.
"And if I do--?" he answered.
She made haste to meet him, basket in hand.
In time to intercept his return she was at the wood-pile.
Slipping off his shoes, heavy with spring-mud, he proceeded to
"Is the house afire?" was the response.
"House afire? No! The confounded red-coats up and put it out."
"You don't say so!"
"I wish you a pleasant journey back to Boston, sir."
"Will you not shake hands with me before I go?"
"And yet I put out the fire for you," he said.
Joe climbed down the well and rescued the blue stocking, with its
Sweep, sweep, sweep!  Up all this dirt and dust,
For Mamma is busy today and help her I surely must.
Everything now is spick and span; away to my play I will run.
It will be such a 'sprise to Mamma to find all this work is done.
There reigned a king in the land of Persia, mighty and
great was he grown,
On the necks of the kings of the conquered earth he builded up
his throne.
There sate a king on the throne of Persia; and he was grown so
proud
That all the life of the world was less to him than a passing
cloud.
He reigned in glory: joy and sorrow lying between his hands.
If he sighed a nation shook, his smile ripened the harvest of
lands.
He was the saddest man beneath the everlasting sky,
For all his glories had left him old, and the proudest king must
He who was even as God to all the nations of men,
Must die as the merest peasant dies, and turn into earth again.
And his life with the fear of death was bitter and sick and
accursed,
As brackish water to drink of which is to be forever athirst.
The hateful years rolled on and on, but once it chanced at noon
The drowsy court was thrilled to gladness, it echoed so sweet a
tune.
Low as the lapping of tile sea, as the song of the lark is
clear,  Wild as the moaning of pine branches; the king was fain
to hear.
"What is the song, and who is the singer?" he said; "before
the throne
Let him come, for the songs of the world are mine, and all but
this are known."
Seven mighty kings went out the minstrel man to find:
And all they found was a dead cyprus soughing in the wind.
And slower still, and sadder still the heavy winters rolled,
And the burning summers waned away, and the king grew very
Dull, worn, feeble, bent; and once he thought, "to die
Were rest, at least." And as he thought the music wandered by.
Into the presence of the king, singing, the singer came,
And his face was like the spring in flower, his eyes were clear
as flame.
"What is the song you play, and what the theme your praises
sing?
It is sweet; I knew not I owned a thing so sweet," said the weary
"I sing my country," said the singer, "a land that is sweeter
than song."
"Which of my kingdoms is your country?  Thither would I along."
"Great, O king, is thy power, and the earth a footstool for thy
feet;
But my country is free, and my own country, and oh, my country
is sweet!"
As he heard the eyes of the king grew young and alive with fire
"Lo, is there left on the earth a thing to strive for, a thing to
"Where is thy country?  tell me, O singer, speak thine innermost
heart!
Leave thy music!  speak plainly!  Speak-forget thine art!"
The eyes of the singer shone as he sang, and his voice rang wild
and free
As the elemental wind or the uncontrollable sobs of the sea.
"O my distant home!" he sighed; "Oh, alas!  away and afar
I watch thee now as a lost sailor watches a shining star.
"Oh, that a wind would take me there!  that a bird would set me
Where the golden streets shine red at sunset in my father's town!
"For only in dreams I see the faces of the women there,
And fain would I hear them singing once, braiding their ropes
of hair.
"Oh, I am thirsty, and long to drink of the river of Life, and I
Am fain to find my own country, where no man shall die."
Out of the light of the throne the king looked down: as in the
spring
The green leaves burst from their dusky buds, so was hope in the
eyes of the king.
"Lo," he said, "I will make thee great; I will make thee mighty
in sway
Even as I; but the name of thy country speak, and the place and
the way."
"Oh, the way to my country is ever north till you pass the mouth
of hell,
Past the limbo of dreams and the desolate land where shadows
dwell.
"And when you have reached the fount of wonder, you ford the
waters wan
To the land of elves and the land of fairies, enchanted
The singer ceased; and the lyre in his hand snapped, as a cord,
in twain;
And neither lyre nor singer was seen in the kingdom of Persia
again.
And all the nobles gazed astounded; no man spoke a word
Till the old king said: "Call out my armies; bring me hither a
As a little torrent swollen by snows is turned to a terrible
stream,
So the gathering voices of all his countries cried to the king in
Crying, "For thee, O our king, for thee we had freely and
willingly died,
Warriors, martyrs, what thou wilt; not that our lives betide
"The worth of a thought to the king, but rather because thy rod
Is over our heads as over thine Is the changeless will of God.
"Rather for this we beseech thee, O master, for thine own sake
refrain
From the blasphemous madness of pride, from the fever of
impious gain."
"You seek my death," the king thundered; "you cry, forbear
to save
The life of a king too old to frolic; let him sleep in the grave.
"But I will live for all your treason; and, by my own right
hand!
I will set out this day with you to conquer Fairyland."
Then all the nations paled aghast, for the battle to begin
Was a war with God, and a war with death, and they knew
the thing was sin.
Sick at heart they gathered together, but none denounced the
wrong,
For the will of God was unseen, unsaid, and the will of the king
was strong.
So the air grew bright with spears, and the earth shook under
the tread
Of the mighty horses harnessed for battle; the standards flaunted
And the wind was loud with the blare of trumpets, and every
house was void
Of the strength and stay of the house, and the peace of the land
destroyed.
And the growing corn was trodden under the weight of armed
feet,
And every woman in Persia cursed the sound of a song too sweet,
Cursed the insensate longing for life in the heart of a sick old
But the king of Persia with all his armies marched on Masinderan.
Many a day they marched in the sun till their silver armour was
To sink their bodies into the grave, and many a man fell dead.
And they passed the mouth of hell, and the shadowy country
gray,
Where the air is mist and the people mist and the rain more
real than they.
And they came to the fount of wonder, and forded the waters
And the king of Persia and all his armies marched on Masinderan.
And they turned the rivers to blood, and the fields to a ravaged
camp,
And they neared the golden faery town, that burned in the dusk
as a lamp.
And they stood and shouted for joy to see it stand so nigh,
Given into their hands for spoil; and their hearts beat proud
and high.
And the armies longed for the morrow, to conquer the shining
town,
For there was no death in the land, neither any to strike them
down.
The hosts were many in numbers, mighty, and skilled in the
strife,
And they lusted for gold and conquest as the old king lusted for
life.
And, gazing on the golden place, night took them unaware,
And black and windy grew the skies, and black the eddying air
So long the night and black the night that fell upon their eyes,
They quaked with fear, those mighty hosts; the sun would never
rise.
Darkness and deafening sounds confused the black, tempestuous
And no man saw his neighbor's face, nor heard his neighbor's
prayer.
And wild with terror the raging armies fell on each other in
fight,
The ground was strewn with wounded men, mad in the horrible night
Mad with eternal pain, with darkness and stabbing blows
Rained on all sides from invisible hands till the ground was red
as a rose.
And, though he was longing for rest, none ventured to pause from
the strife,
Lest haply another wound be his to poison his hateful life
And the king entreated death; and for peace the armies prayed;
But the gifts of God are everlasting, his word is not gainsaid;
Gold and battle are given the hosts, their boon is turned to a
And the curse of the king is to reign forever in conquered
Handy Spandy, Jack-a-Dandy,
Loved plum cake and sugar candy;
He bought some at a grocer's shop
And out he come with a hop.
Jocko is a monkey,
Dressed just like a clown;
With the grinding-organ man
He travels round the town.
Jocko, Jocko, climb a pole,
Jocko climb a tree,
Jocko, Jocko, tip your cap,
And make a bow to me.
Summer of 'sixty-three, sir, and Conrad was gone away--
Gone to the county-town, sir, to sell our first load of hay--
We lived in the log-house yonder, poor as ever you've seen;
Roschen there was a baby, and I was only nineteen.
Conrad, he took the oxen, but he left Kentucky Belle;
How much we thought of Kentucky, I couldn't begin to tell--
Came from the Blue-Grass country; my father gave her to me
When I rode north with Conrad, away from Tennessee.
Conrad lived in Ohio--a German he is, you know--
The house stood in broad corn-fields, stretching on, row after
The old folks made me welcome; they were kind as kind could be
But I kept longing, longing, for the hills of Tennessee.
O, for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill!
Clouds that hang on the summit, a wind that is never still
But the level land went stretching away to meet the sky--
Never a rise, from north to south, to rest the weary eye!
From east to west, no river to shine out under the moon,
Nothing to make a shadow in the yellow afternoon;
Only the breathless sunshine, as I looked out, all forlorn;
Only the "rustle, rustle," as I walked among the corn.
When I fell sick with pining, we didn't wait any more,
But moved away from the corn-lands out to this river shore--
The Tuscarawas it's called, sir--off there's a hill, you see--
And now I've grown to like it next best to the Tennessee.
I was at work that morning.  Some one came riding like mad
Over the bridge and up the road--Farmer Rouf's little lad;
Bareback he rode; he had no hat; he hardly stopped to say;
"Morgan's men are coming, Frau; they're galloping on this way;
"I'm sent to warn the neighbors.  He isn't a mile behind;
He sweeps up all the horses--every horse that he can find;
Morgan, Morgan, the raider, and Morgan's terrible men,
With bowie-knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen."
The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door;
The baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor;
Kentuck was out in the pasture; Conrad, my man, was gone;
Nearer, nearer, Morgan's men were galloping, galloping on!
Sudden I picked up the baby, and ran to the pasture-bar;
"Kentuck!" I called; "Kentucky!" She knew me ever so far!
I led her down the gully that turns off there to the right,
And tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight.
As I ran back to the log-house, at once there came a sound--
The ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground--
Coming into the turnpike out from the White Woman Glen--
Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men.
As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm!
But still I stood in the doorway, with baby on my arm.
They came; they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped
Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band six hundred strong.
Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through
Pushing on east to the river, many long miles away,
To the border-strip where Virginia runs up into the West,
To ford the Upper Ohio before they could stop to rest.
On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance;
Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways
glance;
And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain,
When the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein.
Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face,
As he asked for a drink of water, and glanced around the place:
I gave him a cup, and he smiled--'twas only a boy, you see;
Faint and worn; with dim blue eyes, and he'd sailed on the
Only sixteen he was, sir--a fond mother's only son--
Off and away with Morgan before his life had begun!
The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish
mouth;
And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South!
O, pluck was he to the backbone; and clear grit through and
through;
Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't
The boy was dying sir, dying, as plain as plain could be,
Worn out by his ride with Morgan up from the Tennessee.
But, when I told the laddie that I too was from the South,
Water came into his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth;
"Do you know the Blue-Grass country?" he wistfully began to say;
Then swayed like a willow sapling, and fainted dead away.
I had him into the log-house, and worked and brought him to;
I fed him, and I coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do;
And, when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone,
"O, I must go," he muttered; "I must be up and away!
Morgan, Morgan is waiting for me!  O, what will Morgan say?"
But I heard the sound of tramping, and kept him back from the
The ringing sound of horses' hoofs that I had heard before.
And on, on came the soldiers--the Michigan cavalry--
And fast they rode, and back they looked, galloping rapidly;
They had followed hard on Morgan's track; they had followed day
and night;
But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight.
And rich Ohio sat startled through all these summer days;
For strange, wild men were galloping over her broad highways;
Now here, now there, now seen, now gone, now north, now east,
now west,
Through river-valleys and corn-land farms, sweeping away her
best.
A bold ride and a long ride!  But they were taken at last;
They had almost reached the river by galloping hard and fast;
But the boys in blue were upon them ere ever they gained the
ford,
And Morgan, Morgan the raider, laid down his terrible sword.
Well, I kept the boy till evening--kept him against his will--
But he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still;
When it was cool and dusky--you'll wonder to hear me tell--
But I stole down to the gully, and brought up Kentucky Belle.
I kissed the star on her forehead--my pretty, gentle lass--
But I knew that she'd be happy, back in the old Blue-Grass:
A suit of clothes of Conrad's, with all the money I had,
And Kentucky, pretty Kentucky, I gave to the worn-out lad.
I guided him to the southward, as well as I knew how:
The boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow;
And then the glow it faded, and my heart began to swell;
And down the glen away she went, my lost Kentucky Belle!
When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high,
Baby and I were both crying--I couldn't tell him why--
But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall,
And a thin old horse with drooping head stood in Kentucky's
stall.
Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me,
He knew I couldn't help it--'twas all for the Tennessee;
But, after the war was over, just think what came to pass--
A letter, sir, and the two were safe back in the old Blue-Grass.
The lad got across the border, riding Kentucky Belle;
And Kentuck she was thriving, and fat, and hearty, and well;
He cared for her, and kept her, nor touched her with whip or
spur;
Ah!  we've had many horses, but never a horse like her!
Moses was a camel that traveled o'er the sand.
But they brought him to the Fair,
Now upon his hump,
Every child can take a ride,
Who can stand the bumpity-bump.
Little blue egg, in the nest snug and warm,
Covered so close from the wind and the storm,
Guarded so carefully day after day,
What is your use in this world now, pray?
"Bend your head closer; my secret I'll tell:
There's a baby-bird hid in my tiny blue shell."
Little green bud, all covered with dew,
Answer my question and answer it true;
What were you made for, and why do you stay
Clinging so close to the twig all the day?
"Hid in my green sheath, some day to unclose,
Nestles the warm, glowing heart of a rose."
Dear, little baby-girl, dainty and fair,
Surely there's no other use for you here
Than just to be petted and played with, you dear!
"Oh, a wonderful secret I'm coming to know,
Just a baby like me, to a woman shall grow."
Ah, swiftly the bird from the nest flies away,
And the bud to a blossom unfolds day by day,
While the woman looks forth in my baby-girl's eyes,
Through her joys and her sorrows, her tears and surprise--
Too soon shall the years bring this gift to her cup,
God keep her, my woman who's now growing up!
Who said that I was a naughty dog,
And could not behave if I tried?
I only chewed up Katrina's French doll,
And shook her rag one until it cried.
Tommy stood aghast! for, really and truly, he wasn't quite so
Both objections being insurmountable, this delightful scheme was
What did he do? He whispered six times!
WHISPER MARKS.  Thomas Brown.....
Thomas Brown and              Partners in disgrace.
Melinda Jones                 15 plus 11 = 26.
"And did my little man cry?" asked mamma.
"Would Tommy please come and take supper with her?"
Baby thinks it fine,
In the summer-time,
To wade in the brook clear and bright.
But a big green frog
Jumped off of a log,
And gave
quite a fright.
Three fishers went sailing away to the West--
Away to the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn and many to keep,
Though the harbor-bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the light-house tower
And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
And the night-wrack came rolling up, ragged and brown.
But men must work and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden and waters deep,
And the harbor-bar be moaning.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands,
For those who will never come back to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep--
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep--
And good-by to the bar and its moaning.
Lion with your shaggy mane,
Tell me, are you wild or tame?
On little boys do you like to sup,
If I come near, will you eat me up?
"Apples Finkey!" Many a name
Has a grander sound in the roll of fame;
Many a more resplendent deed
Has burst to light in the hour of need;
But never a one from a truer heart,
Striving to know and to do its part.
Striving, under his skin of tan,
With the years of a lad to act like a man.
And who was "Apples?" I hear you ask.
To trace his descent were indeed a task.
Winding and vague was the family road--
And, perhaps, like Topsy, "he only growed."
But into the camp he lolled one noon,
Barefoot, and whistling a darky tune,
Into the camp of his dusky peers--
The Tenth, preparing, at break o' day,
To move to the transport down in the bay.
Boom!  roared the gun--the ship swung free,
With her good prow turned to the Carib Sea.
"Pity it was, for the little cuss,
We couldn't take 'Apples' along with us,"
The trooper said, as he walked the deck,
And Tampa became a vanishing speck.
What's that?   A stir and a creak down there
In the piled-up freight--then a tuft of hair,
Crinkled and woolly and unshorn--
And out popped "Apples" "ez shore's yer born!"
Of course he wasn't provided for
In the colonel's roll or the rules of war;
But somehow or other the troop was glad
To welcome the little darky lad.
You know how our brave men, white and black,
Landed and followed the Spaniard's track;
And the Tenth was there in the very front,
Seeking and finding the battle's brunt.
Onward they moved through the living hell
Where the enemy's bullets like raindrops fell,
Down through the brush, and onward still
Till they came to the foot of San Juan hill--
Then up they went, with never a fear,
And the heights were won with a mad, wild cheer!
And where was "the mascot Finkey" then?
In the surging ranks of the fighting men!
Wherever a trooper was seen to fall,
In the open field or the chaparral;
Wherever was found a wounded man;
"Apples" was there with his water and can.
About him the shrapnel burst in vain--
He was up and on with his work again.
The sharpshooters rattled a sharp tattoo,
The singing mausers around him flew.
But "Apples" was busy--too busy to care
For the instant death and the danger there.
Many a parched throat burning hot,
Many a victim of Spanish shot,
Was blessed that day; ere the fight was won
Under the tropical, deadly sun,
By the cool drops poured from the water-can
Of the dusky lad who was all a man.
In the forward trenches, at close of day,
Burning with fever, "Finkey" lay.
He seemed to think through the long, wet night,
He still was out in the raging fight,
For once he spoke in his troubled sleep;
"I'se comin', Cap., ef my legs'll keep!"
Next day--and the next--and the next--he stayed
For the sick and wounded could not get back
Over the mountainous, muddy track.
But the troopers gave what they had to give
That the little mascot might stick and live.
Over him many a dark face bent,
And through it all he was well content--
Well content as a soldier should
Who had fought his fight and the foe withstood.
Slowly these stern beleaguered men
Nursed him back to his strength again,
Till one fair day his glad eyes saw
A sight that filled him with pride and awe,
For there, as he looked on the stronghold down,
The flag was hoisted over the town,
And none in that host felt a sweeter joy
Than "Apples Finkey," the water-boy.
--JOHN JEROME ROONEY, in New York Sun.
Down at the pond in zero weather,
To have a fine skate
the girls and boys gather.
Even the Baby thinks it a treat,
But somehow cannot stay upon his feet.
Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away he run!
The pig was eat,
And Tom was beat,
And Tom went roaring down the street.
"Like the apple of the eye, Mr. Owen; doubt it not."
"Bennie's life, sir," faltered Blossom.
Blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder and
Blossom heard this order: "Send this dispatch at once!"
"The Lord be praised!"
If I had a horse I would call him "Gay,"
Feed and curry him well every day,
Hitch him up in my cart and take a ride,
With Baby Brother tucked in at my side.
Little brown thrushes at sunrise in summer
After the May-flowers have faded away,
Warble to show unto every new-comer
How to hush stars, yet to waken the Day:
Singing first, lullabies, then, jubilates,
Watching the blue sky where every bird's heart is;
Then, as lamenting the day's fading light,
Down through the twilight, when wearied with flight,
Singing divinely, they breathe out, "good-night!"
Little brown thrushes with birds yellow-breasted
Bright as the sunshine that June roses bring,
Climb up and carol o'er hills silver-crested
Just as the bluebirds do in the spring,
Seeing the bees and the butterflies ranging,
Pointed-winged swallows their sharp shadows changing;
But while some sunset is flooding the sky,
Up through the glory the brown thrushes fly,
Singing divinely, "good-night and good-by!"
This tall Giraffe,
Measures ten feet and a half,
And I wonder if his neck
Of rubber is made.
Out of the sun
He thinks he has run
But only his feet
Are in the shade.
Here, sit ye down alongside of me; I'm getting old and gray;
But something in the paper, boy, has riled my blood today.
To steal a purse is mean enough, the most of men agree;
But stealing reputation seems a meaner thing to me.
A letter in the Herald says some generals allow
That there wa'n't no fight where Lookout rears aloft its shaggy
brow;
But this coat sleeve swinging empty here beside me, boy, to-day,
Tells a mighty different story in a mighty different way.
When sunbeams flashed o'er Mission Ridge that bright November
morn,
The misty cap on Lookout's crest gave token of a storm;
For grim King Death had draped the mount in grayish, smoky
shrouds--
Its craggy peaks were lost to sight above the fleecy clouds.
Just at the mountain's rocky base we formed in serried lines,
While lightning with its jagged edge played on us from the pines;
We stormed the very "gates of hell" with "Fighting Joe" that day.
The mountain seemed to vomit flames; the boom of heavy guns
Played to Dixie's music, while a treble played the drums:
The eagles waking from their sleep, looked down upon the stars
Slow climbing up the mountain side, with morning's broken bars.
We kept our eyes upon the flag that upward led the way
Until we lost it in the smoke on Lookout side that day;
And then like demons loosed from hell we clambered up the crag,
"Excelsior," our motto, and our mission, "Save the flag."
In answer to the rebel yell we gave a ringing cheer;
We left the rifle-pits behind, the crest loomed upward near;
A light wind playing 'long the peaks just lifted death's gray
shroud;
We caught the gleam of silver stars just breaking through the
cloud.
A shattered arm hung at my side that day on Lookout's crag,
And yet I'd give the other now to save the dear old flag.
The regimental roll when called on Lookout's crest that night
Was more than doubled by the roll Death called in realms of
light.
Just as the sun sank slowly down behind the mountain's crest,
When mountain peaks gave back the fire that flamed along the
west,
Swift riding down along the ridge upon a charger white,
Came "Fighting Joe," the hero now of Lookout's famous fight.
He swung his cap as tears of joy slow trickled down his cheek,
And as our cheering died away, the general tried to speak.
He said, "Boys, I'll court-martial you, yes, every man that's
here;
I said to take the rifle pits," we stopped him with a cheer,
"I said to take the rifle pits upon the mountain's edge,
And I'll court-martial you because--because you took the ridge"
Then such a laugh as swept the ridge where late King Death had
strode!
And such a cheer as rent the skies, as down our lines he rode!
I'm getting old and feeble, I've not long to live, I know,
But there WAS A FIGHT AT LOOKOUT.  I was there with "Fighting
So these generals in the Herald, they may reckon and allow
That there warn't no fight at Lookout on the mountain's shaggy
brow,
But this empty coat-sleeve swinging here beside me, boy, to-day
Tells a mighty different tale in a mighty different way.
A race!  A race!  Which will win,
Thin little Harold or chubby Jim?
Surely not Harold for there he goes
Down so flat
he bumps his nose,
While Jimmy stops short.
The fat little elf,
Says he can't run a race
all by himself.
"Mother, I'm going to begin to-morrow."
"Begin what, my son?"
could think of--writers' offices, merchants' offices, wharves,
"I am sure you have, my boy."
"But I'll hold on; only you'll have to get my boots mended, and
"Yes, yes! Has anything happened? Tell me quick!"
"I'm not aware, ma'am, that anything has happened," said the old
gentleman. "I saw the lad at light this morning. He seemed to be
"I hope he doesn't look like it," said Mrs. Boyd, proudly.
"What did you say, ma'am? But--I beg your pardon."
And then, in a few simple words, she told Donald's whole story.
As it did to Donald Boyd. He has not been taken into the house of
We went to the Zoo the Leopard to see,
But found him an unsociable fellow.
He would not look at us or say where he bought
His polka-dot suit of yellow.
Merrily swinging on briar and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name;
Spink, spank, spink;
Snug and safe in that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed.
Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest,
Hear him calling his merry note:
Spink, spank, spink;
Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a quiet life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings:
Spink, spank, spink;
Brood, kind creatures; you need not fear
Thieves and robbers while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee.
Modest and shy as a nun is she,
One weak chirp is her only note,
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat:
Spink, spank, spink;
Never was I afraid of man;
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.
Chee, chee, chee.
Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight!
There as the mother sits all day,
Robert is singing with all his might:
Spink, spank, spink;
Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.
Soon as the-little ones chip the shell
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seed for the hungry brood.
Spink, spank, spink;
This new life is likely to be
Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work, and silent with care;
Off is his holiday garment laid,
Half forgotten that merry air,
Spink, spank, spink;
Nobody knows but my mate and I
Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.
Summer wanes; the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows;
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:
Spink, spank, spink;
When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.
Chee, chee, chee.
Riggity-rig,
Dance a jig,
Dance a Cake-walk,
Or cut a  Pigeon's Wing.
My papa's all dressed up to-day;
He never looked so fine;
I thought when I first looked at him
My papa wasn't mine.
He's got a beautiful new suit
The old one was so old--
And papa's sort o' glad and sort
O' sad--I wonder why;
And ev'ry time she looks at him
It makes my mamma cry.
Who's Uncle Sam?  My papa says
That he belongs to him;
But papa's joking, 'cause he knows
My uncle's name is Jim.
My papa just belongs to me
And mamma.  And I guess
The folks are blind who cannot see
His buttons marked U. S.
U. S.  spells Us.  He's ours--and yet
My mamma can't help cry,
And papa tries to smile at me
And can't--I wonder why.
A dancing Bear came down the street;
The children all ran to see the treat;
Said the keeper: "Now, boys, come pay for your fun;
Give me a penny to buy Bruin a bun."
I was born 'way down in "Dixie,"
Reared beneath the Southern skies,
And they didn't have to teach me
Every "Yankee" to despise.
I was but a country youngster
When I donned a suit of gray,
When I shouldered my old musket,
And marched forth the "Yanks" to slay.
Four long years I fought and suffered,
"Dixie" was my battle cry;
"Dixie" always and forever,
Down in "Dixie" let me die.
And to-night I'm down in "Dixie,"
"Dixie" still so grand and true;
But to-night I am appareled
In a uniform of blue.
And to-night the band is playing;
'Tis not "Dixie's" strains I hear,
But the strains of "Yankee Doodle"
Ring out strong and clear.
Long I listen to the music;
By my side a comrade stands;
He's a "Yank" and I'm a "Rebel,"
But we grasp each other's hands.
Here together we united
'Way down South in "Dixie" stand,
And my comrade whispers softly,
"There's no land like 'Dixie's land.'"
But my eyes are filled with teardrops,
Tears that make my heart feel glad;
And I whisper to my comrade:
"'Yankee Doodle' ain't so bad."
A game of marbles
We were having one day,
When Baby chanced
to come along that way.
Too little he was
to join our game,
But he pocketed our marbles
just the same.
Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan;
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace!
From my heart I give thee joy;
I was once a barefoot boy.
Prince thou art--the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy,
In the reach of ear and eye:
Outward sunshine, inward joy.
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
O!  for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools:
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild flower's time and place,
Flight of fowl, and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks
Part and parcel of her joy.
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
O for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for!
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight,
Through the day and through the night;
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Still, as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too,
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!
O!  for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread,
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O'er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent:
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While, for music, came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch; pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy.
Cheerily then, my little man!
Live and laugh as boyhood can;
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
All too soon those feet must hide
In the prison-cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah!  that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!
Gallop, gallop!  far away.
Pony and I are going today.
Please get out of our way,
Don't ask us to stay;
We'll both come back
Some sunshiny day.
Who is Babouscka? Is she Santa Klaus' wife?
Whom is she trying to overtake?
What is she looking for?
Ah, that you can't guess unless you know her sad story.
"Who is the Child?" asked the old woman.
accompany these Kings on their journey?
But the foolish woman shook her head. No, the night was dark and
It is a dreadful feeling to realize that one has lost a chance of
nurseries.
Come, Bossy, come Bossy!  Here I am with my cup,
Come give me some milk, rich and sweet.
I will pay you well with red clover hay,
The nicest you ever did eat.
Low in the grass and high in the clover,
Starring the green earth over and over,
Now into white waves tossing and breaking,
Like a foaming sea when the wind is waking,
Now standing upright, tall and slender,
Showing their deep hearts' golden splendor;
Daintily bending,
Airily lending
Garlands of flowers for earth's adorning,
Fresh with the dew of a summer morning;
High on the slope, low in the hollow,
Where eye can reach or foot can follow,
Shining with innocent fearless faces
Out of the depths of lonely places,
Till the glad heart sings their praises
--Here are the daisies!
The daisies!
See them ebbing and flowing,
Like tides with the full moon going;
Spreading their generous largess free
For hand to touch and for eye to see;
In dust of the wayside growing,
On rock-ribbed upland blowing,
By meadow brooklets glancing,
On barren fields a-dancing,
Till the world forgets to burrow and grope,
And rises aloft on the wings of hope;
--Oh!  of all posies,
Lilies or roses,
Sweetest or fairest,
Richest or rarest,
That earth in its joy to heaven upraises,
Give me the daisies!
Why?  For they glow with the spirit of youth,
Their beautiful eyes have the glory of truth,
Down before all their rich bounty they fling
--Free to the beggar, and free to the king
Loving they stoop to the lowliest ways,
Joyous they brighten the dreariest days;
Under the fringe of their raiment they hide
Scars the gray winter hath opened so wide;
Freely and brightly--
Who can count lightly
Gifts with such generous ardor proffered,
Tokens of love from such full heart's offered,
Or look without glances of joy and delight
At pastures star-covered from morning till night,
When the sunshiny field ablaze is
With daisies!
Your praise is,
That you are like maidens, as maidens should be,
Winsome with freshness, and wholesome to see,
Gifted with beauty, and joy to the eye,
Head lifted daintily--yet not too high--
Sweet with humility, radiant with love,
Generous too as the sunshine above,
Swaying with sympathy, tenderly bent
On hiding the scar and on healing the rent,
Innocent-looking the world in the face,
Yet fearless with nature's own innocent grace,
Full of sweet goodness, yet simple in art,
White in the soul, and pure gold in the heart
--Ah, like unto you should all maidenhood be
Gladsome to know, and most gracious to see;
Like you, my daisies!
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye;
Four-and-twenty blackbirds
Baked into a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing.
Wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the King?
The King was in the parlor
Counting out his money;
The Queen was in the kitchen
Eating bread and honey;
The maid was in the garden
Hanging up the clothes,
There came a little blackbird
And picked off her nose.
Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass,
He turned them into the river lane;
One after another he let them pass,
Then fastened the meadow bars again.
Along by the willows and over the hill
He patiently followed their sober pace--
The merry whistle for once was still
And something shadowed the sunny face.
Only a boy, and his father had said
He never could let his youngest go,
Two already were lying dead
Under the feet of the trampling foe.
But, after the evening work was done,
And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp,
Over his shoulder he slung his gun
And stealthily followed the footpath damp.
Across the clover and through the wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,
And the blind bat's flitting startled him.
Thrice since then have the lanes been white
And the orchards sweet with apple bloom,
And now when the cows came back at night
The feeble father drove them home;
For news had come to the lonely farm
That three were lying where two had lain,
And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm
Could never lean on a son's again.
The summer day grew cool and late,
He went for the cows when his work was done,
But down the lane, as he opened the gate,
He saw them coming, one by one.
Tossing their horns in the evening wind,
Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,
But who was it following close behind?
Loosely swung in the idle air
The empty sleeve of army blue,
And worn and pale through its crisped hair
Looked out a face that the father knew.
For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn
And yield their dead to life again,
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
In golden glory at last may wane.
The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes,
And under the silent evening skies
Together they followed the cattle home.
To and fro,
See us go!
Up so high,
Down so low;
Now quite fast,
Now real slow.
This is the way,
to get
fresh air
pleasant
Rough and ready the troopers ride,
Pistol in holster and sword by side;
They have ridden long, they have ridden hard,
They are travel-stained and battle-scarred;
The hard ground shakes with their martial tramp,
And coarse is the laugh of the men of the camp.
They reach the spot where a mother stands
With a baby shaking its little hands,
Laughing aloud at the gallant sight
Of the mounted soldiers, fresh from the fight.
The captain laughs out, "I will give you this,
A bright piece of gold, your baby to kiss."
"My darling's kisses cannot be sold,
But gladly he'll kiss a soldier bold."
He lifts up the babe with a manly grace,
And covers with kisses its smiling face.
Its rosy cheeks and its dimpled charms,
And it crows with delight in the soldier's arms.
"Not all for the captain," the troopers call;
"The baby, we know, has a kiss for all."
To each soldier's breast the baby is pressed
By the strong rough men, and kissed and caressed.
And louder it laughs, and the lady's face
Wears a mother's smile at the fond embrace.
"Just such a kiss," cried one warrior grim,
"When I left my boy I gave to him;"
"And just such a kiss on the parting day,
I gave to my girl as asleep she lay."
Such were the words of these soldiers brave,
And their eyes were moist when the kiss they gave.
"Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?"
"Yes sir, yes sir three bags full;
One for my master and one for my dame,
And one for the little boy who lives in the lane."
Tommy Bangs looks quite smart,
Driving along in his new goat cart,
But Tommy's not one of your selfish boys,
With every baby he shares his joys,
Takes them to ride and lets them drive,
Of course, they like Tommy
The best boy alive.
One of the deepest seasons of gloom was when the French Emperor,
"Tell his lordship," he said, "that I shall report myself at
But when he had fairly reached it, and the servant had shown him
However, what with the beautiful ladies of the castle gathering
command--understand that!"
No one said "yes," for everyone was sure he had passed it to his
At last one of the most famous officers rose from his seat:
Then, at last the indignation of the company broke forth.
The walk that had been gone over so merrily was a terrible one to
"Comrade, I am sent to tell you that your pension is stopped! His
The fire was soon extinguished, but not a wink of sleep could his
What are the children doing today,
Down on the nursery floor,
That baby laughter and crows of delight
Float through the open door?
Watching Don's top
spinning around,
Making that queer little
whirring sound.
This big Reindeer must have run away
From Santa Claus and his Christmas sleigh.
Do you think if I should take him back
A present I would get out of Santa's pack?
When freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch of the cloud,
Who rears't aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning-lances driven,
When strive the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven--
Child of the sun!  to thee is given
To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory!
Flag of the brave!  thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on.
Ere yet the life-blood warm and wet
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier's eyes shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn;
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon's mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabers rise and fall
Like darts of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas!  On ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frightened waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home,
By angel hands to valor given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us?
We will swing the rope for Baby dear,
So jump, jump, jump!
That you will trip her up I fear,
But jump, jump, jump!
Swing it easy and low,
Steady and slow,
Or down the dear tot will go.
A crafty Fox crept forth one day
And over the hills he scampered away
In search of a fine, fat hen;
But old dog Sport was keeping guard,
When Fox leaped into our chicken yard,
And chased him back to his den.
"'I tell you they won't leave one stone on another if they get
"Aunt Polly soon explained matters, taking care to assure the
"She stood upon the door-stone beside him as she spoke, a little,
"'Oh dear! oh dear!' sobbed the terrified chorus.
"Aunt Polly could do nothing with us; and little Dolly Miles, the
"Dan wriggled himself from his grasp and looked sulkily defiant:
"'I didn't say 'TWAS that,' he muttered. 'I said it MIGHT be, an'
"'The smoke comin' out o' Deacon Mileses chimly has a queer look,
"Here she drew a handkerchif from her pocket. This she fastened
"The Gubtils watched us off without a word of encouragement or
Then, and not till then, Aunt Polly broke down and sobbed aloud:
Now where are you creeping,
With such a rapid pace
across the nursery floor?
who'll give you royal greeting,
With coddling and petting
and kisses
galore.
Inside of me says I am naughty,
But truly, I know I am not;
For if Brother Joe could see me
Right in this very same spot,
He'd let me do just
what I'm doing,
I'm very sure; that is,
perhaps.   Oh dear!  however do
big folks
Hold this thing
straight in their
laps?
It slips, an' it slips, an'
it slips,
You naughty old
Banjo, oh dear!
Is he coming?  then what
will he do
To find me sitting up
here!   Ho, ho!  'twas a mouse
--how silly
An' frightened I've actually been;
For he'd say, "If you hold it quite still,
You may take it, I'm willing, Corinne!"
I know: so now I'll begin it;
How does he go "tum-ty tum ting,"
An' make such beautiful tunes;
Too lovely for anything?
I ain't a bit 'fraid they may hear,
--The house-people 'way off below--
Me playing in Brother Joe's room,
Still I better be careful, you know.
If they didn't say 'twas amusing,
I sh'd think 'twas stupid to play,
To tug at such tiresome strings
An' make them come over this way;
But it must be delightful.  I'll pull
A very fine tune at first;
It sound's as if something had burst!
That string must 'a' truly been cracked,
Don't you s'pose?  or moth-eaten, p'raps;
'Tisn't pleasant to practice, I'm sure,
But forlorn, when anything flaps.
So I guess I have finished; hark, hark!
He really IS coming--Oh my!
Now, Banjo, I know mamma wants me,
An' so I must bid you good-by!
Mr. Bunny was a rabbit,
Mr. Bunny was a thief!
He hopped into my garden
And stole a cabbage leaf.
He ate up all my parsnips
Without asking if he may,
And when I tried to catch him
Kicked up his heels
and ran away.
Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach-tree fruited deep,
Fair as a garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall,
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall--
Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town--
Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down:
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat, left and right,
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.
"Halt"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast,
"Fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick as it fell from the broken staff,
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;
She leaned far out on the window sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.
"Shoot if you must this old gray head,--
But spare your country's flag," she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word.
"Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog!  March on!" he said.
All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet.
All day long that free flag tossed
Over the heads of the rebel host;
Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And through the hill-gaps, sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
And the rebel rides on his raids no more.
Honor to her!--and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of Freedom and Union wave!
Peace, and order, and beauty, draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below at Frederick town!
A sturdy cow-boy I would be
And chase this buffalo out in the West.
An Indian pony I know I could ride,
And "round up" with all the rest.
(Used by special arrangement with J. B. Lippincott Company,
Philadelphia, publisher of Mr. Read's Poems.)
Up from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.
And wilder still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon's bar,
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.
But there is a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway leading down;
And there through the flash of the morning light,
A steed as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass as with eagle's flight--
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with the utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell--but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
Still sprung from these swift hoofs, thundering South,
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster;
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master,
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.
Under his spurning feet the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed;
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind.
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire,
But lo!  he is nearing his heart's desire--
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.
The first that the General saw were the groups
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;
What was done--what to do--a glance told him both,
And striking his spurs with a terrible oath,
He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs,
And the wave of retreat checked its course there because
The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray,
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say,
"I have brought you Sheridan all the way
From Winchester down to save the day!"
Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan!
Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man!
And when their statues are placed on high
Under the dome of the Union sky--
The American soldiers' Temple of Fame--
There with the glorious General's name
Be it said in letters both bold and bright:
"Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester--twenty miles away!"
See-saw, Margery Daw,
Jenny shall have a new master,
She shall have but a penny a day,
Because she can't work any faster.
An old Hippopotamus lived on the Nile,
If she hasn't gone away, she's been there quite a while.
She gives all her children a ride on her back,
Broad enough to accommodate the whole scrambling pack.
Between the dark and daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations
That is known as the Children's Hour.
I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.
From my study I see in the lamp-light,
Descending the broad hall-stair,
Grave Alice and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.
A whisper, and then a silence;
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!
They climb up into my turret,
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me,
They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses;
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Is not a match for you all?
I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down in the dungeon,
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there I will keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away.
I will dig me a garden and plant it with seeds,
I will hoe and water it and keep down the weeds;
Then perhaps some of these bright summer days,
To mamma I can carry big boquets.
"He put in his thumb
And pulled out a plum."
So sang Caryl over the stairs.
adornments packed away for safe keeping.
"Ben doin'?" repeated Viny, scared almost to death inwardly, but
"Where?" said Caryl, looking sharply at her.
"Oh, no, you didn't," contradicted Caryl, looking her through and
"An' lib here nebber no mo'?" cried the little black figure in a
Viny's eyes widened fearfully, but she didn't stir.
"If you will take care--mind! SPLENDID care of Aunt Sylvia every
Caryl came to her rescue by giving her a new idea.
"To be good," repeated the small nurse yet more solemnly, "an' to
Viny, having been duly elected to office, considered her honors
Maum Patty tossed her turban in intense scorn at each of the dark
She peered anxiously down the dirty little brick walk again, then
Maum Patty always spoke of her scanty savings deposited in the
Meantime the little black nurse had begun her work.
Peering around Miss Sylvia's half-closed door, Viny exclaimed to
Ruthlessly, then, they were pulled out and overhauled, while Viny
Now in one corner of Caryl's drawer was a small black box;
With one mighty effort she tore herself from the spot, and rushed
At that Viny wrung her hands and writhed in dire distress.
"Get out of my dress!" cried the old lady excitedly. "Here, I'll
"Look out, Caryl!" called the others in the carriage after her.
"It's our Viny," she said, "and something is the matter with Aunt
Ole King Cole  Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
"Who put her in?"
"Who pulled her out?"
"What a naughty act was that,
Us two wuz boys when we fell out--
Nigh to the age uv my youngest now;
Don't rec'lect what t'wuz about,
Some small deef'rence, I'll allow;
Lived next neighbors twenty years,
A-hatin' each other, me 'nd Jim,--
He havin' his opinyin uv me,
'Nd I havin' my opinyin uv him.
Grew up together 'nd wouldn't speak,
Courted sisters 'nd married' em, too;
'Tended same meetin' house onct a week,
A-hatin' each other through 'nd through!
But when Abe Linkern asked the West
F'r soldiers, we answered--me 'nd Jim--
He havin' his opinyin uv me,
'Nd I havin' my opinyin uv him.
But down in Tennessee one night
There wuz sounds uv firin' far away,
'Nd the Sergeant allowed ther'd be a fight
With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex' day;
'Nd as I wuz thinkin' of Lizzie 'nd home,
Jim stood afore me, long and slim--
He havin' his opinyin uv me,
'Nd I havin' my opinyin uv him.
Seemed like we knew ther wuz goin' to be
Serious trouble f'r me and him;
Us two shuck hands, did Jim 'nd me.
But nearer a word from me or Jim!
He went his way, 'nd I went mine,
'Nd into the battle's roar went we--
I havin' my opinyin uv Jim,
'Nd he havin' his opinyin uv me.
Jim never came back from the war again,
But I haint forgot that last, last night,
When, waitin' fur orders, us two men
Made up, 'nd shook hands afore the fight
'Nd after it all, its soothin' to know
That here be I, 'nd yonder's Jim--
He havin' his opinyin uv me,
'Nd I havin' my opinion uv him.