To you I dedicate this book,
And, as you read it line by line,
Upon its faults as kindly look
As you have always looked on mine. Jo.," is the very essence of loyalty, love, and
reminiscential ardor. "And this," he added, "is what I get for it. It was to Dooley that he wrote his first poem, a parody on "O Had
I Wings Like a Dove," a song then in great vogue. Smith Russell calls "comics," a
word which always amused Eugene and which he frequently used. They will read,
'Tonight, M. L. Gray, Banjo and Specialty Artist.'" He was now past the age of
thirty-five, and a great psychical revolution was coming on. It was a serious mistake, but it was not the less a
noble one. The wish was granted, and
the boy hobbled to the bedside. Field." Then turning with tears in his eyes, as if apologizing
for an intrusion, he added: "He was always good to me and I loved him." BUENA PARK, January, 1896. This Casey wuz an Irishman,--you'd know it by his name
And by the facial features appertainin' to the same. "Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!" V
"O Robin, wilt thou wed this girl,
Whenas she is so vaine a sprite?" Ye which gave joy to Robin's soul--
Saies Robin: "Divell, be it soe,
an that you make me whoale!" X
That day, upp rising ffrom his bed,
Quoth Robin: "I am well again!" So goe, Sir Tomas, goe your way;
ffor whiles I bee on live I will
ffor Robin's coming pray!" Then droned a bomblebee
Saftly this songe to thee:
"Balow, my boy!" Why, Horace was a daisy
That was very much alive! And the wisest of us know him
As his Lydia verses show him,--
Go, read that virile poem,--
It is No. 25. Then Little John did make no sign,
And not a word he spake;
But he smiled, altho' with mickle woe
His heart was like to break. He raised his master in his arms,
And set him on his knee;
And Robin's eyes beheld the skies,
The shaws, the greenwood tree. He twanged his bow. I love him madly--
That I might save
Him from the grave
I'd give my life, and give it gladly! 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_. "Oh, give me back my heavenly child,--
My love!" And, best of all, the paragraphs are pointed as a tack,
And that's because they emanate
From little Mack. So when a politician with a record's on the track,
We're apt to hear some history
From little Mack. Why, little Mack! De gustibus, 't is stated,
Non disputandum est. Which meaneth, when translated,
That all is for the best. KRINKEN
Krinken was a little child,--
It was summer when he smiled. Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he. And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him--
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm. Just a little child was he. Nor long delayed the promised maid
Equipped for bridal, coy and blushing. Can vintage come, with this voice dumb
That used to bid a welcome to it? In vengeance, I
Shall wield another weapon, gory! THE LITTLE PEACH
A little peach in the orchard grew,--
A little peach of emerald hue;
Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew,
It grew. John took a bite and Sue a chew,
And then the trouble began to brew,--
Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue. What of that peach of the emerald hue,
Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew? Ah, well, its mission on earth is through. 1880. "Sleep well, my child," it murmurs low;
"The guardian angels come and go,--
O child, sleep well!" Speak on--speak on, dear Lord! And when the last dread night is near,
With doubts and fears and terrors wild,
Oh, let my soul expiring hear
Only these words of heavenly cheer,
"Sleep well, my child!" Oh, for an hour in that dear place! Oh, for the peace of that dear time! Oh, for that childish trust sublime! Oh, for a glimpse of Mother's face! 1885. Pretty is the widowed mother,
And the daughter, too, is pretty. CHRISTMAS TREASURES
I count my treasures o'er with care.--
The little toy my darling knew,
A little sock of faded hue,
A little lock of golden hair. Long years ago this holy time,
My little one--my all to me--
Sat robed in white upon my knee
And heard the merry Christmas chime. I said. They came again one Christmas-tide,--
That angel host, so fair and white! 1879. And yet--and yet--
(Ah, vain regret!) A plague, I say,
On maidens gay;
I'll weave no compliments to tell 'em! "Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin' gratifies ye;
But one uv these fine times I'll show ye sumthin' will surprise ye!" we cried,--"a woman in the camp uv Blue Horizon! Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, 'nd nominate your pizen!" Strange, was it not? sing, O my home! 1883. He trots his treason to and fro,
As only babies can,
And says he'll be his mamma's beau
When he's a "gweat, big man"! But when the years of youth have sped,
The bearded man, I trow,
Will quite forget he ever said
He'd be his mamma's beau. And when that other comes to you,
God grant her love may shine
Through all your life, as fair and true
As mamma's does through mine! 1885. LULLABY; BY THE SEA
Fair is the castle up on the hill--
Hushaby, sweet my own! See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep
Ghostlike, O my own! Ah, little they reck of you and me--
Hushaby, sweet my own! Here by the sea a mother croons
"Hushaby, sweet my own!" "He loved a woman," let us say,
And on that sacred spot,
To woman's love, that lives for aye,
We'll strew forget-me-not. 1887. I mind the time when we lost our bairn,--
Do you ken that time? ever more gold,--
Bright red gold for dearie!" ever more gold,--
Bright red gold for dearie!" And lo! Yet, what avail accrues to her,
If we assume the garb of woe? Let's merry be,--in laughter we
May rescue somewhat from the foe! Ah, many a brave man trembles now. Wall, that wuz quite another thing; we owned that ary cuss
Who'd worked f'r Mr. Dana _must_ be good enough fer _us_! So, when he bilked at poker, not a sucker drew a gun
On the man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv '83. We broke it gently to him, but he didn't seem surprised,
Thar wuz no big burst uv passion as we fellers had surmised. But bless ye, Mr. Dana! How will he rail at fate capricious,
And curse you duly! Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean;
He'll soon fall in there! Then shall I gloat on his commotion,
For _I_ have been there! Thy staff and rod are mine, O God,
And Thou, my Shepherd, near! my cup He filleth up,
With oil anoints my head! And in her pages there should be
A wealth of prose and verse,
With now and then a _jeu d'esprit_,--
But nothing ever worse! Who--who could paint my rapturous bliss,
My joy unknown to Lowndes! CHRISTMAS HYMN
Sing, Christmas bells! Sing, angel host! Sing, sons of earth! O ransomed seed of Adam, sing! God liveth, and we have a king! Sing, O my heart! Well, since you're bound to have your way,
I don't mind telling, on the quiet. Aurora's son, unhappy lad! 1886. I hear their voices in the street,
Yet 't is so different now from then! Come, brother! 1886. LITTLE CROODLIN DOO
Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo? Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea? Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo! "Where are you going, and what do you wish?" "Now cast your nets wherever you wish,
But never afeard are we!" So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod. But when that he was ware a man ben standing in that suit,
Ye straunger threw up both his hands, and asked him not to shoote. Ye straunger quod, "I'm five feet ten, and fare me from ye West!" Now take him, good sir Maligraunce, and entertain him well
Until soche time as he becomes our guest, as I you tell." And like ye evil quatern or ye hills that skirt ye skies,
Ye jag is reproductive and jags on jags arise. an absynthe cocktail, knave! he said;
Then, looking down beside him, lo! his lady was not there--
He called, he searched, but, Goddis wounds! Ah, too well I know
Song's my only friend! Patiently I'll go
Singing to the end;
Comrades, to your wine! Lo, that voice divine
Whispers, "Sing, oh, sing!" Connivin' at his meanin', we responded promptly, "Wee." "--------!" A hideous store of oaths they swore,
Did the army over in Flanders! "--------!" How wretched is he, wherever he be,
That unto this habit panders! ----------------!" "----------------!" I hoped you'd pass me by--
Alas, the years have sneaked away
And all is changed but I! Had I the power, I would remand
You to a gloom condign,
But here you've crept upon me and
I--I am thirty-nine! You healthy, hulking girls and boys,--
What makes you grow so fast? Oh, I'll survive your lusty noise--
I'm tough and bound to last! I pledge thee in this wine--
Come, let us journey on our way
A year, good Thirty-Nine! Sept. 2, 1889. Go now and wring thy hands, false king! I knew the spot upon the hill
Where checkerberries could be found,
I knew the rushes near the mill
Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound! I knew the wood,--the very tree
Where lived the poaching, saucy crow,
And all the woods and crows knew me--
But that was very long ago. Oh, happy days, when youth's wild ways
Knew every phase of harmless folly! And lo! I love you so--
You are too young to know it now,
But some time you shall know! Look backward, then, into the years,
And see me here to-night--
See, O my darling! End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Western Verse, by Eugene Field