But though the house was crowded, it empty seemed that day When Jennie lay by the fireplace there, and moaned her life away.
An' right in there the preacher, with Bible and hymn-book, stood,
""Twixt the dead and the living," and "hoped 'twould do us good";
And the little whitewood coffin on the table there was set,
And now as I rub my eyes it seems as if I could see it yet.
Then that fit of sickness it brought on you, you know;
Just by a thread you hung, and you e'en-a'-most let go;
And here is the spot I tumbled, an' give the Lord his due,
When the doctor said the fever'd turned, an' he could fetch
you through.
Yes, a deal has happened to make this old house dear:
Christenin's, funerals, weddin's-what haven't we had here?
Not a log in this buildin' but its memories has got,
And not a nail in this old floor but touches a tender spot.
Out of the old house, Nancy,-moved up into the new;
All the hurry and worry is just as good as through;
But I tell you a thing right here, that I ain't ashamed to say,
There's precious things in this old house we never can take
Here the old house will stand, but not as it stood before: Winds will whistle through it, and rains will flood the floor; And over the hearth, once blazing, the snowdrifts oft will pile,
And the old thing will seem to be a-mournin' all the while.
Fare you well, old house! you're naught that can feel or see, But you seem like a human being-a dear old friend to me; And we never will have a better home, if my opinion stands, Until we commence a-keepin' house in the house not made with hands.
LLOYD MIFFLIN (1846-1921)
I lay on Delos of the Cyclades
At evening, on a cape of golden land;
The blind Bard's book was open in my hand,
There where the Cyclops makes the Odyssey's
Calm pages tremble as Odysseus flees.
Then, stately, like a mirage o'er the sand,
A phantom ship across the sunset strand
Rose out of dreams and clave the purple seas;
Straight on that city's bastions did she run-
Whose toppling turrets on their donjons hold
Bells that to mortal ears have never tolled-
Then drifted down the gateways of the sun
With fading pennon and with gonfalon,
And cast her anchors in the pools of gold.
As through the Void we went I heard his plumes
Strike on the darkness. It was passing sweet
To hold his hand and feel that thin air beat
Against our pinions as we winged those glooms
Of Ebon, through which Atropos still dooms
Each soul to pass. Then presently our feet
Found footing on a ledge of dark retreat,
And opposite appeared two doors of tombs
Seen by the star upon the angel's head
That made dim twilight; there I caught my breath: "Why pause we here?" The angel answering said, "The journey ends. These are the Doors of Death; Lo, now they open, inward, for the dead."
And then a Voice,-"Who next that entereth ?"
Upon a cloud among the stars we stood.
The angel raised his hand and looked and said,
"Which world, of all yon starry myriad,
Shall we make wing to?" The still solitude
Became a harp whereon his voice and mood
Made spheral music round his haloed head.
I spake for then I had not long been dead-
"Let me look round upon the vasts, and brood
A moment on these orbs ere I decide.
What is yon lower star that beauteous shines
And with soft splendor now incarnadines
Our wings?-There would I go and there abide."
He smiled as one who some child's thought divines:
"That is the world where yesternight you died."
EDGAR FAWCETT (1847-1904)
How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly
In tropic splendor through the Northern sky?
At some glad moment was it nature's choice
To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?
Or did some orange tulip, flaked with black,
In some forgotten garden, ages back,
Yearning toward Heaven until its wish was heard,
Desire unspeakably to be a bird?
JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE (1847-1908)
The Skeleton at the Feast
We summoned not the Silent Guest,
And no man spake his name;
By lips unseen our Cup was pressed,
And mid the merry song and jest,
The Uninvited came.
Wise were they in the days of old,
Who gave the Stranger place;
And when the joyous catch was trolled,
And toasts were quaffed and tales were told,
They looked him in the face.
God save us from the skeleton
Who sitteth at the feast!
God rest the manly spirit gone,
Who sat beside the Silent One,
And dreaded him the least!
The net of law is spread so wide,
No sinner from its sweep may hide.
Its meshes are so fine and strong,
They take in every child of wrong.
O wondrous web of mystery!
Big fish alone escape from thee!
WALTER LEARNED (1847-1915)
When I was seventeen I heard
From each censorious tongue,
"I'd not do that if I were you;
You see you're rather young."
Now that I number forty years,
I'm quite as often told
Of this or that I shouldn't do
Because I'm quite too old.
O carping world! If there's an age
Where youth and manhood keep
An equal poise, alas! I must
Have passed it in my sleep.
Sweet sixteen is shy and cold,
Calls me "sir," and thinks me old;
Hears in an embarrassed way
All the compliments I pay;
Finds my homage quite a bore,
Will not smile on me, and more
To her taste she finds the noise
And the chat of callow boys.
Not the lines around my eye,
Deepening as the years go by;
Not white hairs that strew my head,
Nor my less elastic tread;
Cares I find, nor joys I miss,
Make me feel my years like this:-
Sweet sixteen is shy and cold,
Calls me "sir," and thinks me old.
Sweet-breathed and young,
The people's daughter,
No nerves unstrung,
Going to slaughter!
"Good morning, friends,
You'll love us better,-
Make us amends:
We've burst your fetter!
"How the sun gleams!
(Women are snarling):
Give me your beams,
Liberty's darling!
"Marie's my name;
Christ's mother bore it.
That badge? No shame:
Glad that I wore it!"
(Hair to her waist,
Limbs like a Venus):
Robes are displaced:
"Soldiers, please screen us!
"He at the front?
That is my lover:
Stood all the brunt;-
Now-the fight's over.
"Powder and bread
Gave out together:
Droll! to be dead
In this bright weather!
"Jean, boy, we might
Have married in June!
This the wall? Right!
Vive la Commune!"
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS (1848-1908)
De Big Bethel chu'ch! de Big Bethel chu'ch!
Done put ole Satun behin' um;
Ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu'ch,
De Big Bethel chu'ch will fin' um!
Hit's good ter be dere, en it's sweet ter be dere,
Wid de sisterin all aroun' you-
A-shakin' dem shackles er mussy en love
Wharwid de Lord is boun' you-
Hit's sweet ter be dere en lissen ter de hymes, En hear dem mo'ners a-shoutin'
Dey done reach de place whar der ain't no room Fer enny mo' weepin' en doubtin'!
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