Old Spookses' Pass, Malcolm's Katie, and other poems Part 14

Old Spense wus smilin' jest es clar Es stars in the big "Dipper"; An' Deely made believe tew hum "Old Hundred" gay an' chipper, But thinkin' what a tightsome squeeze The vat wus fur the Agent's knees.

Old Spense he sed, "I guess, my gal, "Ye've been a sort ov dreamin'; "I see ye haven't set the pans, "Nor turn'd the mornin's cream in; "Now ain't ye spry? Now, darn my hat "Ef the milk's run inter thet thar vat."

Thar's times one's feelin's swell like bread In summer-time a-risin', An' Deely's heart swole in a way Wus mightily surprising When Spense gripp'd one ov them thar pans Ov yaller cream in his big han's!

The moon glode underneath a cloud, The breeze sigh'd loud an' airy; The pans they faintlike glimmer'd on The white walls ov the dairy.

Deely she trembl'd like an ash, An' lean'd agin the old churn dash.

"Tarnation darksome," growl'd old Spense, Arf liftin' up the cover-- He turn'd the pan ov cream quite spry On Deely's Agent lover.

Good sakes alive! a curdlin' skreek From thet thar Agent man did break!

All drippin' white he ros'd tew view.

His curly locks a-flowin'

With clotted cream, an' in the dusk, His eyes with terror glowin'.

He made one spring--'tis certain, reely, He never sed "Good night" tew Deely.

Old Spense he riz up from the ground, An' with a kind ov wonder, He look'd inter thet patent vat, An' simply sed, "By thunder"!

Then look'd at Deely hard, and sed, "The milk will sop clar thro' his hed"!

Folks look'd right solemn when they heard The hull ov thet thar story, An' sed, "It might be plainly seen Twas clar agin the glory Of Pruvidence to use a vat Thet Satan in had boldly sat"!

They shook their heads when Spense declar'd 'Twas Deely's beau in hidin'; They guess'd they know'd a thing or two, An' wasn't so confidin':-- 'Twas the "Devourin' Lion" c.u.m Tew ask old Spense testep down hum!

Old Spense he kinder spil'd the thing Fur thet thar congregation, By holdin' on tew life in spite Ov Satan's invitation; An' hurts thar feelin's ev'ry Spring, Buyin' some pesky patent thing.

The Agent man slid out next day, To peddle round young Hyson; And Deely fur a fortnight thought Ov drinkin' sum rat pison; Didn't put no papers in her har; An' din'd out ov the pickle jar.

Then at Aunt Hesby's sewin' bee She met a slick young feller, With a city partin' tew his har An' a city umbereller.

He see'd her hum thet night, an' he Is now her steddy company!

THE ROMAN ROSE-SELLER

Not from Paestum come my roses; Patrons, see My flowers are Roman-blown; their nectaries Drop honey amber, and their petals throw Rich crimsons on the lucent marble of the shrine Where snowy Dian lifts her pallid brow, As crimson lips of Love may seek to warm A sister glow in hearts as pulseless hewn.

Caesar from Afric wars returns to-day; Patricians, buy my royal roses; strew His way knee-deep, as though old Tiber roll'd A tide of musky roses from his bed to do A wonder, wond'rous homage. Marcus Lucius, thou To-day dost wed; buy roses, roses, roses, To mingle with the nuptial myrtle; look, I strip the polish'd thorns from the stems, The nuptial rose should be a stingless flower; Lucania, pa.s.s not by my roses. Virginia, Here is a rose that has a canker in't, and yet It is most glorious-dyed and sweeter smells Than those death hath not touched. To-day they bear The shield of Claudius with his spear upon it, Close upon Caesar's chariot--heap, heap it up With roses such as these; 'tis true he's dead And there's the canker! but, Romans, he Died glorious, there's the perfume! and his virtues Are these bright petals; so buy my roses, Widow.

No Greek-born roses mine. Priestess, priestess!

Thy ivory chariot stay; here's a rose and not A white one, though thy chaste hands attend On Vesta's flame. Love's of a colour--be it that Which ladders Heaven and lives amongst the G.o.ds; Or like the Daffodil blows all about the earth; Or, Hesperus like, is one sole star upon The solemn sky which bridges same sad life, So here's a crimson rose: Be, thou as pure As Dian's tears iced on her silver cheek, And know no quality of love, thou art A sorrow to the G.o.ds! Oh mighty Love!

I would my roses could but chorus Thee.

No roses of Persepolis are mine. Helot, here-- I give thee this last blossom: A bee as red As Hybla's golden toilers sucked its sweets; A b.u.t.terfly, wing'd like to Eros nipp'd Its new-pinked leaves; the sun, bright despot, stole The dew night gives to all. Poor slave, methinks A bough of cypress were as gay a gift, and yet It hath some beauty left! a little scarlet--for The G.o.ds love all; a little perfume, for there is no life, Poor slave, but hath its sweetness. Thus I make My roses Oracles. O hark! the cymbals beat In G.o.d-like silver bursts of sound; I go To see great Caesar leading Glory home, From Campus Martius to the Capitol!

THE WOOING OF GHEEZIS.

The red chief Gheezis, chief of the golden wampum, lay And watched the west-wind blow adrift the clouds, With breath all flowery, that from his calumet Curl'd like to smoke about the mountain tops.

Gheezis look'd from his wigwam, blue as little pools Drained from the restless mother-wave, that lay Dreaming in golden hollows of her sands; And deck'd his yellow locks with feath'ry clouds, And took his pointed arrows and so stoop'd And leaning with his red hands on the hills, Look'd with long glances all along the earth.

"Mudjekeewis, West-Wind, in amongst the forest, "I see a maid, gold-hued as maize full ripe; her eyes "Laugh under the dusk boughs like watercourses; "Her moccasins are wrought with threads of light: her hands "Are full of blue eggs of the robin, and of buds "Of lilies, and green spears of rice: O Mudjekeewis, "Who is the maid, gold-hued as maize full-ripen'd?"

"O sun, O Gheezis, that is Spring, is Segwun--woo her!"

"I cannot, for she hides behind the behmagut-- "The thick leav'd grape-vine, and there laughs upon me."

"O Gheezis," cried Segwun from behind the grape-vine.

"Thy arms are long but all too short to reach me, "Thou art in heaven and I upon the earth!"

Gheezis, with long, golden fingers tore the grape-vine, But Segwun laughed upon him from behind A maple, shaking little leaves of gold fresh-budded.

"Gheezis, where are thy feet, O sun, O chief?"

"Follow," sigh'd Mudjekeewis, "Gheezis must wed "With Spring, with Segwun, or all nature die."

The red chief Gheezis swift ran down the hills, And as he ran the pools and watercourses s.n.a.t.c.h'd at his yellow hair; the thickets caught Its tendrils on their brambles; and the buds That Segwun dropp'd, opened as they touched.

His moccasins were flame, his wampum gold; His plumes were clouds white as the snow, and red As Sumach in the moon of falling leaves.

He slipp'd beside the maple, Segwun laugh'd.

"O Gheezis, I am hid amid the lily-pads, "And thou hast no canoe to seek me there; farewell!"

"I see thine eyes, O Segwun, laugh behind the buds; "The Manitou is love, and gives me love, and love "Gives all of power." His moccasins wide laid Red tracks upon the waves: When Segwun leap'd Gold-red and laughing from the lily-pads, To flit before him like a fire-fly, she found The golden arms of Gheezis round her cast, the buds Burst into flower in her hands, and all the earth Laughing where Gheezis look'd; and Mudjekeewis, Heart friend of Gheezis, laugh'd, "Now life is come "Since Segwun and red Gheezis wed and reign!"

BABY'S DREAMS.

What doth the moon so lily white, Busily weave this Summer night?

Silver ropes and diamond strands For Baby's pink and dimpl'd hands; Cords for her rosy palms to hold, While she floats, she flies, To Dream Land set with its sh.o.r.es of gold, And its buds like stars shaken out of the skies; Where the trees have tongues and the flowers have lips To coax, to kiss, The velvet cheek of the Babe who slips Thro' the Dream gate up to a land like this.

What is the mild sea whisp'ring clear In the rosy sh.e.l.l of Baby's ear?

See! she laughs in her dimpl'd sleep-- What does she hear from the shining deep?

"Thy father comes a-sailing, a-sailing, a-sailing, Safely comes a-sailing from islands fair and far.

O Baby, bid thy mother cease her tears and bitter wailing The sailor's wife's his only port, his babe his beacon star!"

Softly the Wind doth blow, What say its murmurs low?

What doth it bring On the wide soft plume of its dewy wing?

"Only scented blisses Of innocent, sweet kisses, For such cheeks as this is Of Baby in her nest.

From all the dreaming flowers, A nodding in their bowers; Or bright on leafy towers, Where the fairy monarchs rest."

"But chiefly I bring, On my fresh sweet mouth, Her father's kiss, As he sails out of the south.

He hitherward blew it at break of day, I lay it, Babe, on thy tender lip; I'll steal another and hie away, And kiss it to him on his wave-rock'd ship."

I saw a fairy twine Of star-white Jessamine; A dainty seat shaped like an airy swing; With two round yellow stars, Against the misty bars Of Night; she nailed it high In the pansy-purple sky, With four taps of her little rainbow wing.

To and fro That swing I'll blow.

The baby moon in the amethyst sky Will laugh at us as we float and fly, And stretch her silver arms and try To catch the earth-babe swinging by.

MARY'S TRYST.