The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems Part 13

I walked within the silent city of the dead, Which then with Autumn leaves was carpeted, And where the faded flower and withered wreath Bespoke the love for those who slept beneath, And, weeping, stood beside a new-made grave Which held the sacred dust that friends.h.i.+p gave.

That heart with milk of human kindness overflowed-- That sympathetic hand its generous aid bestowed To lighten others' burdens on life's weary road!

And there no polished shaft need lift its head In lettered eulogy above the sainted dead-- His deeds are monuments above the dust whereon we tread!

When from its fragile tenement of clay To fairer realms his spirit winged its way, With poignant grief we stood around the bier Which held the lifeless form of one held dear, And broken hearts that knew no comfort then Still mourn the loss of one of Nature's n.o.blemen!

TWILIGHT.

The sun is sinking where the western hills The vision bounds with rugged summits old, And with his latest beam he brightly gilds And crowns with amethyst and gold.

The distant music of a tinkling bell Is floating o'er the meadow's gentle sweep-- No discords mar the magic of the spell, And stealthily the twilight shadows creep.

And gently falls upon the listening ear-- Like tones from voices of the long-ago-- The cadence of the murmuring waters near-- With rhythmic ripplings soft and low.

Now grow apace the shadows' slanting shapes And fade the rugged hills to misty gray, As dying day its calm departure takes And yields to coming night her sable sway.

The vaulted dome above now glows afar With many a soft and tender light, Each sparkling gem it wears a jeweled star, With sweet effulgence purely bright.

Sweet scene! Sweet hour! If to the heart No quick'ning pulses they can lend, And to the soul no rapture thus impart-- Vain were our lives--and vainer still the end!

O, such the time when he who will may feel Release from care, vexation, toil, and strife-- And musing then will gently o'er him steal The sweetest moments of the turmoil--life!

OUT UV "POLITICKS."

I.

"I'll tell yer what," said Uncle Zeke, down at the country store, "I'd been a farmer all my life--fur twenty year or more-- Until one day my noddle here, it got plumb out o' fix, Er-swellin' with the idy that I's made fur politicks.

II.

"I'd been ter hear them fellers speak, an' rip an' rant an' rave, When 'lection time's er-comin' on, who tell yer how ter save Ther kentry frum tarnation ruin, by sendin' only men That's fit ter draw ther salaries, an' honest--jest like them.

III.

"So listen, boys--yer'll profit by ther story that I tell-- I left ther farm ter 'lectioneer an' run fur constable; I wouldn't hearken ter my wife--she said I'd lost my wit, An' as fur holdin' offices--_she_ knowed _I_ wusn't fit.

IV.

"But ennyhow, I sold er steer, an' then er heifer calf, An' bought er bran' new suit o' clothes fur twenty an' er half, An' 'fore ther 'lection day c.u.m roun' I'd sold my wheat an' oats, An' spent ther proceeds that I got in purchasin' uv votes.

V.

"I knowed 'twus wrong--agin ther law--ter do er thing like that-- But then ther boys all said, yer know, 'twould take er little 'fat,'

Fur ther feller that I run agin could have no earthly hope Uv beatin' me if I'd use ther right amount uv 'soap.'

VI.

"I jocks I did--I won ther fight--I sarved er single term-- (But fur ther salary that I got I wouldn't give er durn); An' right up here I wear ther scar that shows whar I wus. .h.i.t Ther day I rid fur forty miles ter sarve that cussed 'writ!'"

JONES' MARE.

I.

Now Farmer Jones was noted for fast horses on his place, And also as the father of a son with freckled face, And hair so red it looked as if it had been dyed in blood, And Ephraim was the "masher" of the country neighborhood.

II.

This Ephraim Jones' yellow mare, she was no nice and fleet That all the girls for miles around on Eph. were very "sweet,"

In hopes to get a ride or two behind her on the road, With sleigh-bells jingling 'round her neck, some day when it had snowed.

III.

Or else to spin along the pike, with buggy top let down, And ribbons sailing out behind, when Eph. would drive to town, The envy of the country boys, and many maidens fair A-casting wistful glances at the youth with reddish hair.

IV.

This thing went on till finally our Ephraim fell in love With Tildy Ann Serepty Brown--as gentle as a dove-- Of all the girls around about the reigning country bell, Whose father was as rich as cream--he'd struck an oil well!

V.

About three nights in every week could Ephraim's yellow mare Be found a-standing hitched outside, while he was courting there, And so the boys, with envy mad and jealousy aroused, To humble Eph. hit on a plan they heartily espoused.

VI.

If anything in all the world, beside sweet Tildy Ann, Was dear to Ephraim's eye and heart, it was his claybank, Fan; He boasted of her speed and looks, and of her pedigree-- Said more intelligence in a brute no man would ever see.

VII.