The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 45

Yet He the jeweled throne shall banish, And the sword and sceptre vanish, Ere His given work be done!

"Warden, wind the clock again!"

But in vain the charge is given, For see the mighty Angel stand, One foot on sea, and one on land, Swearing with uplifted hand, Nevermore in earth or heaven Shall the mystic key be found Or the mighty clock be wound!

"RUBE" AND "WILL."

AN EPISODE RELATED BY AUNT SHEBA.

He'ah dat ole gray sinna H's jes brimful o' gas, Singin' dat tomfool ditty As he goes hobblin' pas'!

He betta be prayin' and mebbe H'll git in de fold at las'!

Yes, he's gwine to de grabe up yonder By de trees dar on de hill, Where all alone by hisself one day He buried po' ma.s.sa Will!

You see dey war boys togedder; To-day dey'd cuss an' fight; But dey'd make it up to-morrow And hunt fur c.o.o.ns at night.

It wasn't much ob a ma.s.sa, Ole missus made you see!

Folks sed, "dem Walden n.i.g.g.as Mought about as well be free."

Once dey went fur de turkeys, Dat's Rube and Ma.s.sa Will, Wid roastin' ears fur stuffin', Made a barbecue behind de mill!

But dey couln'd keep it secret, Ole missus found 'm out, An' she vow'd to sell dat n.i.g.g.a-- He was a thievin' lazy lout, He was a ruinin' Ma.s.sa Willum; Dat fac', she said, was plain; She'd sell him! On her plantation He'd never set his foot again.

An' suah befo' de sun next day went down.

To take dat n.i.g.g.a Reuben A trader had c.u.m from town.

I guess she was glad to sell 'm Fur she needed de money bad, An' meant to spen' it mos'ly In de schoolin' ob her lad!

But jes as dat ole trader Had slipt de han'cuffs on, We sees young ma.s.sa c.u.min'

Ridin' cross de lawn; He stopped right dar afore 'm, His face was pale as death, With all his might he shouted, Soon as he got his bref: "Take dem right off dat n.i.g.g.a!

(and jerkin' his pistol out) Take 'em off I tell you!

An' min' what you're about; Or I'll send you to de debil Faster dan you 'spec to go."

Den ma.s.sa trader dusted And he didn't trabbel slow.

Ah me! dem times seems like a dream, It was so long ago!

Ole missus died next year, De war c.u.m'd on at last And all de Souf lan' echoed With de joyful freedom blast.

We lef' de ole plantation, We trabbled de Norf lan' thro; Chilled by de winds in Winter, In Summer drenched wid dew; But we neber c.u.m to Canaan, Nor found de promised lan', And back to de ole plantation We c.u.m a broken ban'.

But Rube had stayed heah faithful, Stayed by his ma.s.sa's side, And nussed him in de fever Till in his arms he died; But de freedum star in Hebben, It brightens year by year, An' our chillun has foun' de Canaan, Oh yes! des foun' it here; So I don't care what you call us, De tribes ob Sham or Hem, Dat blessed lan' o' promise, Has come right home to dem.

THE LEGEND OF ST. BAVON!

Shaded lights were burning low-- m.u.f.fled bells swung to and fro-- Solemn monks were chanting slow-- Chanting of the Crucified; When the good St. Bavon died.

Oft had he trod the jeering street, With bare and bleeding feet; Leaving crimson-flecked the snow In memory of his Master's woe;

With grief closed lips, sat he apart, The comrade of the dead man's heart; At last the chanting throng were gone And he was with th' dead alone;

When the bare uncurtained room Grew still and ghastly like a tomb, On the icy neck he fell And begged the death-sealed lips to tell

If one deed were left undone,-- That in that radiance like the sun Didst shade with grief the spirit flown, Or dim the brightness of his crown!

Then heard his spirit's inmost ear A voice that he alone could hear, "A shadow walks with me akin to pain, I seek to shun it, but in vain,

"For as I left the life of time, And journeyed toward th' blessed clime, I pa.s.sed along that darkened sh.o.r.e.

Where wail the lost forevermore.

"As on that awful gulf I walked, A black-robed demon with me talked: 'Behold yon spirit lost!' I heard him cry, ''Tis one we strove o'er, thou and I.

"'I, with the tempter's gilded snare, Thou, with the pleading voice of prayer; Hadst thou but prayed till set of sun, My power had vanished; thou hadst won.'

"Above the harps and angel's songs I hear, The demon's laugh, and taunting jeer; Oh, comrade! brother! saint!

Pray for the tempted; oh, pray and do not faint!"

DAVID SCOTT (of James.)

DAVID SCOTT (of James,) so called to distinguish him from his first cousin, David Scott (of John)--to a sketch of whose life the reader is referred for other information respecting the family--was born on his father's farm, called "Scott's Adventure," on the road leading from Cowantown to Newark and about two miles from the former place, on January 7, 1824 and died at Elkton, May 13, 1879.

His early life was spent on the farm, and in learning the trade of auger making, at which his father was an expert workman. His education was obtained at the common schools of the neighborhood, except that which he obtained by attending Newark Academy for a few months in early manhood.

In early life he became enamoured of learning, and commenced teaching a private school in the family mansion in the winter of 1840, when only seventeen years old, and continued to teach in the neighborhood until 1851, when he was appointed Clerk to the County Commissioners and removed to Elkton. Mr. Scott was a Democrat, and from early life took an active part in the politics of his native country. After serving as Clerk to the Commissioners for one term of two years, Mr. Scott started a general warehouse business at the Elkton depot, in which he continued as head of the firm of D. Scott & Bro. until the time of his death.

In 1867 he was elected Clerk of the Circuit Court for Cecil county, and served six years with great acceptability.

In 1876 Mr. Scott was appointed Chief Weigher, and continued to have charge of the State Cattle Scales in the city of Baltimore, until the time of his death.

In 1852 Mr. Scott was married to Miss Mary Jane Wilson, of Newark. They were the parents of three children, two of whom are now living. His first wife died in 1858, and he subsequently married Miss Annie Elizabeth Craig, who, with their four children, still survives him.

In early life Mr. Scott began to write poetry, and continued to write for the local newspapers under the nom de plume of "Anselmo," and the Philadelphia _Dollar Newspaper_ during the time he was engaged in teaching school, and occasionally for the county papers until the close of his life.

For many years Mr. Scott enjoyed the friendship of the literati of Newark, Delaware, and was one of a large number of poetical writers who contributed to the columns of the Philadelphia _Dollar Newspaper_, with several of whom he enjoyed a personal acquaintance, and with several others of whom he carried on a literary correspondence for several years.

Mr. Scott, though not a voluminous writer, was the author of a considerable number of poems, all of which were of a highly intellectual character.

THE FORCED ALLIANCE.

Can earthly commerce hush the music of the heart, and shut the door of memory on a friend?

--Miss Whittlesey.