The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems Part 4

MY VALENTINE.

I.

I pa.s.sed her on the crowded street-- This winsome maid, demure and sweet-- And envious saw the silken tresses That seemed to give her cheeks caresses, And rapture felt that thrilled me through When on me glanced those eyes of blue From underneath the drooping lashes That could not hide their azure flashes!

And oh, I dreampt of bliss divine If she would be--my Valentine!

II.

And visions of as fair a face As painter's pencil e'er did trace Would haunt the mind each waking hour, And slumber owned its magic power-- Until I found by merest chance That belladonna made the glance, And borrowed hair had lent its aid For silken tresses of this maid-- And padding--paint--did all combine To make for me--my Valentine!

A SMOKE.

I.

O others may boast of their pleasures galore-- The miser with rapture may count o'er his store, And some may imagine great happiness there In the gay s.h.i.+ning beam of Society's glare; But best of all comforts a feller can know, While wintry winds whistle and fast flies the snow, Is a pipe after supper, by a bright blazing fire, Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher!

II.

O doctors may tell you and others declare It'll shorten your days and your heart will impair-- That nicotine poison will flow through your veins And nervous distraction will rack with its pains; But what cares a feller in slippers and gown, When wintry winds whistle and snow's pouring down, With papers and books, and his feet near the fire, Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher?

III.

O rare are the fancies, contentment and bliss, That drive away care in an hour such as this!

When the ills of this life and the things that provoke Are lost for the while in the blue curling smoke Of a pipe and tobacco that's yellow as gold, And raptures supernal the senses unfold.

O give me a chair by a bright blazing fire, And sweet-smelling ringlets that curl high and higher!

PERRYVILLE.

FOUGHT OCTOBER 8th, 1862.

Here on this spot, where Nature now, with chilling, icy breath, Has mantled in a robe of white the field of strife and death, We view in memory once again the awful scenes where met In serried ranks the Blue and Gray--and tears the lashes wet; For those who fell that dreadful day are mingled with the dust, And often here the plow upturns a bayonet red with rust: A sad memento of the time when pa.s.sion held full sway-- Reminder to the rustic swain of fratricidal fray.

From yonder hill the shotted guns in dreadful chorus rang-- And on this plain was heard that day the glittering sabre's clang, And in that vale, where wound the brook, with waters murmuring, We stood and heard the Minie b.a.l.l.s their deadly message sing, And saw the life blood, gus.h.i.+ng red, from stricken comrade near, Whose gentle voice his loved ones then no more should ever hear-- His blue eyes close--his bosom heave--his pulse forever still, A sacrifice to cause held dear, on the field of Perryville!

And the swiftly circling years can ne'er erase From Memory's tablets or from Nature's face One spot of all the rest we're standing near-- By fiercely battling hosts the prize held dear; The old spring's waters still are gurgling from the rock Where famished soldiers knelt--grim Death himself to mock; Here on that day in ghastly heaps they lay-- Commingling with the Blue the men that wore the Gray!

And now the virgin snow has covered o'er the sod Where once in fierce array contending armies trod; The wintry wind makes mournful music through the trees Where then the clash of arms was floating on the breeze, And deep-toned guns belched forth the screaming sh.e.l.l Like fiendish messengers of Death let loose from h.e.l.l; Now Nature's peaceful emblem spread o'er glade and hill Enwraps beneath its folds the b.l.o.o.d.y field of Perryville.

December 26, 1895.

LONGINGS.

I.

Gim me back my stone-bruised heel, And them tow-linen pants, An' that old pole an' line an' reel, An' all them boyhood ha'nts, An' that old hat I used to wear, That didn't hav' no crown, An' that same crop uv yeller hair-- Sun-burnt on top ter brown-- An' them playmates I used ter know, An' loved like very brothers-- An' you kin let the old world go An' giv' its wealth ter others!

II.

Gim me back one gallus, too, That b.u.t.toned with a peg, An' them blamed ticks that burrowed through The skin uv either leg, An' that old single-barrel gun, As crooked as a rail, An' that same dog that used ter run The molly cotton-tail, An' lem me hav' the tops I spun-- The kites that I hav' sailed-- An' then at last, when life is done, Who'd keer if it had failed?

DOWN ABOUT OLD SHAKERTOWN.

You may boast about the landscapes fair so far across the sea Of castled Rhine, and southern France, and favored Italy-- But have you seen, when Springtime flings the scented blossoms down, The forests and the meadows green around old Shakertown?

You may boast of some that bask beneath perpetual Summer's smiles-- Those "Eden's of the eastern wave"--the sunny Grecian isles-- And others that perhaps you've seen, of beauty and renown, But come and view the country spread around old Shakertown!

O come and boast that you have been where Nature's lavish hand Bestowed the gifts of wood and field that vie with any land-- Where valleys wear a velvet robe--the hills an emerald crown Of bluegra.s.s s.h.i.+mmering in the sun, around old Shakertown!

O come to old Kentucky then, and to her garden spot, Then wander wheresoe'er you will, it ne'er will be forgot-- For Nature's face is wreathed in smiles nor wears a single frown To mar the beauty she has spread around old Shakertown!

MEMORIA IN aeTERNA.

Sweet Memory! thou faculty divine-- Triumphant o'er the cruel hand of Time!

On thy tablets we may trace The lines his fingers ne'er efface, And take with us till latest day The images that light our way, And picture thus in a shadowy form The loved and lost he's from us torn-- Their lids by Death so early sealed-- Life's crimson tide by him congealed-- The tyrant has not all concealed-- They in thy mirror still revealed!

Before the morning sunbeams kissed The face of Nature--veiled in mist-- And heralded with golden ray The opening of the perfect day-- Ere yet the sable shades of night At dawn's approach had winged their flight-- We've listed to the whispering breeze That's wafted o'er the trembling trees, And seemed to hear the voices sweet Of loved ones now we ne'er can meet Till earthly night shall pa.s.s away-- Supplanted by immortal day!

And thus in retrospective mood, Alone with Nature's solitude In some secluded sylvan dell, Her myriad voices float and swell And flitting shadows softly tell Of dear ones lost--yet loved so well!

Then to the sunny home where dwelt-- (Ere yet the envious tyrant dealt The blow that blighted hopes have felt)-- Fond fancy wanders, and can see Once happy scenes that ne'er can be Lost in thy shades, O Memory!

But those to us so cruelly denied Are drifting now upon some fairer tide-- Their scattered ashes on Hope's pinions rise And people realms beyond the azure skies!

Then may our faltering footsteps lead To where fond hearts may never bleed-- Where vanished faces, cherished forms, Are anch.o.r.ed safe from life's rude storms; Where strains seraphic, soft and low, The rapt ear greet, and we shall know The loved and lost we only see In visions of sweet Memory!