The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems Part 14

He kept her curried till her coat it shone like burnished gold-- With silver-mounted harness on, a beauty to behold.

A brand new buggy hitched to her, a-glinting in the sun, She "took the cake" for speed and style from every other one.

VIII.

They heard that Eph. one night would call upon his Tildy Ann To make arrangements all complete to carry out a plan: It would be Sunday following, when all in style he'd go With Tildy and the yellow mare to the country "bonnet-show."

IX.

Supplied with brushes, cans of paint of every shade and hue, And to furnish light by which to work, a bull's-eye lantern, too, At ten o'clock that night so dark you couldn't see a wink, They striped his Fan with red and brown, and black and blue and pink.

X.

Next morning when he went to feed, and opened wide the door, No zebra that was ever foaled could boast the stripes she wore; Her ears were white, her legs were green, her tail was fiery red, And as he gazed upon her then I can't tell what he said!

THAT OLD STRAW HAT OF MINE.

(WITH APOLOGIES TO RILEY.)

I.

As one who dreams at evening o'er the new hats that he's worn, And muses on the better times that once to him were known, So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, I see the faded ribbon on that old straw hat of mine.

II.

The firelight seems to mock me as the ruddy flames arise, And I turn about to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes; And I ponder then in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke Its fate with my condition, and to vanish like the smoke.

III.

With fondest recollection the loving thoughts that start Into being are but feelings from the bottom of my heart; And to wear the new hats over is a luxury divine-- Till my truant fancy wanders with that old straw hat of mine.

IV.

Now I hear without my chamber, like a fluttering of wings, The rustling of the autumn wind as through the trees it sings, And I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any scheme That will bring to me a hat of which I now can only dream.

V.

In fact, to speak in earnest, if I could work a charm, I'd try it on old Isaacs--'twouldn't do him much of harm-- And I'd find an extra flavor in memory's mellow wine When I thought of how I swapped him that old straw hat of mine.

VI.

A thing of real beauty, with a shape of airy grace, Floats out of Isaacs' storehouse, as the genii from the vase, And, oh! I gaze upon it with a pair of loving eyes, As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies!

VII.

But, ah! my dream is broken when I gaze upon that chair, For my eyes are now wide open and--the same old hat is there; And reluctantly and sadly all my visions I resign To know that I must wear again that old straw hat of mine!

TOM BARBEE'S POND.

I.

O sweet are the memories when backward we gaze Through the vista of years to our schoolboy days, When faces now vanished to the vision appear And the music of voices long hushed we can hear, As together we romped where the school-house stood, Or joyfully wended our way through the wood Where placidly lay, in the valley beyond, The moss-covered waters of Tom Barbee's pond!

II.

Though scattered by Time o'er the face of the earth, And sorrow and anguish have succeeded to mirth, Still many there be whose mist-bedewed eye Looks longingly back, while the breast heaves a sigh, To that far-away time, when together we played In the school-house yard, or on Sat.u.r.days strayed Where the knots in our sleeves were tied tight as a bond, As we splashed and we dived in Tom Barbee's pond!

III.

The "pleasures of memory" by Rogers were lined, With rhythm as sweet as in verse you will find, But could he e'er picture one-half of the joys We had when we wandered as barefooted boys Through the woods and the fields and the meadows out there, With our sun-blistered backs and the burrs in our hair, Or recall to the mind a remembrance more fond Than bathing and swimming in Tom Barbee's pond?

WHERE?

I.

O, where are the friends that in youth we once knew, Whose smiles were like sunshine, whose hearts were so true?

Alas! they are lost in the darkness and gloom That veils them from sight in the cold, silent tomb!

II.

O, where are the years that forever have fled, And over Life's morning their radiance shed?

With the Past written down on the unending scroll Where Time--grim destroyer--his victims enroll!