Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 44

Lasca

I want free life and I want fresh air; And I sigh for the canter after the cattle, The crack of the whips like shots in battle, The mellay of horns, and hoofs, and heads That wars, and wrangles, and scatters, and spreads; The green beneath and the blue above, And dash and danger, and life and love; And Lasca!

Lasca used to ride On a mouse-gray mustang, close to my side, With blue _serape_ and bright-belled spur; I laughed with joy as I looked at her!

Little knew she of books or creeds; An _Ave Maria_ sufficed her needs; Little she cared, save to be by my side, To ride with me, and ever to ride, From San Saba's sh.o.r.e to Lavaca's tide.

She was as bold as the billows that beat, She was as wild as the breezes that blow; From her little head to her little feet She was swayed, in her suppleness, to and fro By each gust of pa.s.sion; a sapling pine, That grows on the edge of a Kansas bluff And wars with the wind when the weather is rough, Is like this Lasca, this love of mine.

She would hunger that I might eat, Would take the bitter and leave me the sweet; But once, when I made her jealous for fun, At something I'd whispered, or looked, or done, One Sunday, in San Antonio, To a glorious girl on the Alamo, She drew from her girdle a dear little dagger, And--sting of a wasp!--it made me stagger!

An inch to the left or an inch to the right, And I shouldn't be maundering here to-night; But she sobbed, and, sobbing, so swiftly bound Her torn _rebosa_ about the wound That I quite forgave her. Scratches don't count In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.

Her eye was brown,--a deep, deep brown; Her hair was darker than her eye; And something in her smile and frown, Curled crimson lip, and instep high, Showed that there ran in each blue vein, Mixed with the milder Aztec strain, The vigorous vintage of old Spain.

She was alive in every limb With feeling, to the finger tips; And when the sun is like a fire, And sky one shining, soft sapphire, One does not drink in little sips.

The air was heavy, the night was hot, I sat by her side, and forgot--forgot; Forgot the herd that were taking their rest; Forgot that the air was close opprest; That the Texas norther comes sudden and soon, In the dead of night or the blaze of noon; That once let the herd at its breath take fright, That nothing on earth can stop the flight; And woe to the rider, and woe to the steed, Who falls in front of their mad stampede!

Was that thunder? No, by the Lord!

I sprang to my saddle without a word, One foot on mine, and she clung behind.

Away on a hot chase down the wind!

But never was fox-hunt half so hard, And never was steed so little spared, For we rode for our lives. You shall hear how we fared In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.

The mustang flew, and we urged him on; There was one chance left, and you have but one; Halt, jump to the ground, and shoot your horse; Crouch under his carca.s.s, and take your chance; And if the steers, in their frantic course, Don't batter you both to pieces at once, You may thank your star; if not, good-by To the quickening kiss and the long-drawn sigh, And the open air and the open sky, In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.

The cattle gained on us, and just as I felt For my old six-shooter, behind in my belt, Down came the mustang, and down came we, Clinging together, and--what was the rest?

A body that spread itself on my breast, Two arms that shielded my dizzy head, Two lips that hard on my lips were pressed; Then came thunder in my ears, As over us surged the sea of steers, Blows that beat blood into my eyes, And when I could rise, Lasca was dead!

I gouged out a grave a few feet deep, And there in Earth's arms I laid her to sleep!

And there she is lying, and no one knows, And the summer shines and the winter snows; For many a day the flowers have spread A pall of petals over her head; And the little gray hawk hangs aloft in the air, And the sly coyote trots here and there, And the black snake glides, and glitters, and slides Into the rift in a cotton-wood tree; And the buzzard sails on, And comes and is gone, Stately and still like a ship at sea; And I wonder why I do not care For the things that are like the things that were.

Does half my heart lie buried there In Texas, down by the Rio Grande?

_Frank Desprez._

Over the Hill to the Poor-House

Over the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way-- I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray-- I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told, As many another woman that's only half as old.

Over the hill to the poor-house--I can't quite make it clear!

Over the hill to the poor-house-it seems so horrid queer!

Many a step I've taken a-toiling to and fro, But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go.

What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame?

Am I lazy or crazy? Am I blind or lame?

True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout; But charity ain't no favor, if one can live without.

I am willin' and anxious an' ready any day To work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way; For I can earn my victuals, an' more too, I'll be bound, If anybody only is willin' to have me round.

Once I was young an' han'some--I was upon my soul-- Once my cheeks was roses, my eyes as black as coal; And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say, For any kind of a reason, that I was in their way.

'Tain't no use of boastin', or talkin' over-free, But many a house an' home was open then to me; Many a han'some offer I had from likely men, And n.o.body ever hinted that I was a burden then.

And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart, But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part; For life was all before me, an' I was young an' strong, And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to get along.

And so we worked together: and life was hard, but gay, With now and then a baby for to cheer us on our way; Till we had half a dozen, an' all growed clean an' neat, An' went to school like others, an' had enough to eat.

So we worked for the childr'n, and raised 'em every one, Worked for 'em summer and winter just as we ought to've done; Only, perhaps, we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn-- But every couple's childr'n's a heap the best to them.

Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones!

I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my sons; And G.o.d he made that rule of love; but when we're old and gray, I've noticed it sometimes, somehow, fails to work the other way.

Strange, another thing: when our boys an' girls was grown, And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone; When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be, The Lord of Hosts he come one day, an' took him away from me.

Still I was bound to struggle, an' never to cringe or fall-- Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all; And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown, Till at last he went a-courtin', and brought a wife from town.

She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant smile-- She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' style; But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her, I know; But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't make it go.

She had an edication, an' that was good for her; But when she twitted me on mine, 'twas carryin' things too fur; An' I told her once, 'fore company (an' it almost made her sick), That I never swallowed a grammar, or eat a 'rithmetic.

So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done-- They was a family of themselves, and I another one; And a very little cottage one family will do, But I never have seen a house that was big enough for two.

An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye, An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't try; But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow, When Charley turn'd agin me, an' told me I could go.

I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all; And what with her husband's sisters, and what with childr'n three, 'Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me.

An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got, For Thomas's buildings'd cover the half of an acre lot; But all the childr'n was on me--I couldn't stand their sauce-- And Thomas said I needn't think I was comin' there to boss.

An' then I wrote Rebecca, my girl who lives out West, And to Isaac, not far from her--some twenty miles, at best; And one of 'em said 'twas too warm there for any one so old, And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold.

So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about-- So they have well-nigh soured me, an' wore my old heart out; But still I've borne up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down, Till Charley went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town.

Over the hill to the poor-house--my childr'n dear, good-by!

Many a night I've watched you when only G.o.d was nigh; And G.o.d'll judge between us; but I will always pray That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day.

_Will Carleton._

The American Flag

When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there.

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.

Majestic monarch of the cloud, Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest trumpings loud And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of War, The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on.