Second Book of Verse.
by Eugene Field.
FATHER"S WAY.
MY father was no pessimist; he loved the things of earth,-- Its cheerfulness and sunshine, its music and its mirth.
He never sighed or moped around whenever things went wrong,-- I warrant me he"d mocked at fate with some defiant song; But, being he warn"t much on tune, when times looked sort o" blue, He"d whistle softly to himself this only tune he knew,--
[Ill.u.s.tration: Music]
Now mother, when she heard that tune which father whistled so, Would say, "There"s something wrong to-day with Ephraim, I know; He never tries to make believe he"s happy that "ere way But that I"m certain as can be there"s somethin" wrong to pay."
And so betimes, quite natural-like, to us observant youth There seemed suggestion in that tune of deep, pathetic truth.
When Brother William joined the war, a lot of us went down To see the gallant soldier boys right gayly out of town.
A-comin" home, poor mother cried as if her heart would break, And all us children, too,--for _hers_, and _not_ for _William"s_ sake!
But father, trudgin" on ahead, his hands behind him so, Kept whistlin" to himself, so sort of solemn-like and low.
And when my oldest sister, Sue, was married and went West, Seemed like it took the tuck right out of mother and the rest.
She was the sunlight in our home,--why, father used to say It wouldn"t seem like home at all if Sue should go away; But when she went, a-leavin" us all sorrer and all tears, Poor father whistled lonesome-like--and went to feed the steers.
When crops were bad, and other ills befell our homely lot, He"d set of nights and try to act as if he minded not; And when came death and bore away the one he worshipped so, How vainly did his lips belie the heart benumbed with woe!
You see the telltale whistle told a mood he"d not admit,-- He"d always stopped his whistlin" when he thought we noticed it.
I"d like to see that stooping form and h.o.a.ry head again,-- To see the honest, hearty smile that cheered his fellow-men.
Oh, could I kiss the kindly lips that spake no creature wrong, And share the rapture of the heart that overflowed with song!
Oh, could I hear the little tune he whistled long ago, When he did battle with the griefs he would not have _us_ know!
TO MY MOTHER.
HOW fair you are, my mother!
Ah, though "t is many a year Since you were here, Still do I see your beauteous face, And with the glow Of your dark eyes cometh a grace Of long ago.
So gentle, too, my mother!
Just as of old, upon my brow, Like benedictions now, Falleth your dear hand"s touch; And still, as then, A voice that glads me over-much Cometh again, My fair and gentle mother!
How you have loved me, mother, I have not power to tell, Knowing full well That even in the rest above It is your will To watch and guard me with your love, Loving me still.
And, as of old, my mother, I am content to be a child, By mother"s love beguiled From all these other charms; So to the last Within thy dear, protecting arms Hold thou me fast, My guardian angel, mother!
KoRNER"S BATTLE PRAYER.
FATHER, I cry to Thee!
Round me the billows of battle are pouring, Round me the thunders of battle are roaring; Father on high, hear Thou my cry,-- Father, oh, lead Thou me!
Father, oh, lead Thou me!
Lead me, o"er Death and its terrors victorious,-- See, I acknowledge Thy will as all-glorious; Point Thou the way, lead where it may,-- G.o.d, I acknowledge Thee!
G.o.d, I acknowledge Thee!
As when the dead leaves of autumn whirl round me, So, when the horrors of war would confound me, Laugh I at fear, knowing Thee near,-- Father, oh, bless Thou me!
Father, oh, bless Thou me!
Living or dying, waking or sleeping, Such as I am, I commit to Thy keeping: Frail though I be, Lord, bless Thou me!
Father, I worship Thee!
Father, I worship Thee!
Not for the love of the riches that perish, But for the freedom and justice we cherish, Stand we or fall, blessing Thee, all-- G.o.d, I submit to Thee!
G.o.d, I submit to Thee!
Yea, though the terrors of Death pa.s.s before me, Yea, with the darkness of Death stealing o"er me, Lord, unto Thee bend I the knee,-- Father, I cry to Thee!
GOSLING STEW.
IN Oberhausen, on a time, I fared as might a king; And now I feel the muse sublime Inspire me to embalm in rhyme That succulent and sapid thing Behight of gentile and of Jew A gosling stew!
The good Herr Schmitz brought out his best,-- Soup, cutlet, salad, roast,-- And I partook with hearty zest, And fervently anon I blessed That generous and benignant host, When suddenly dawned on my view A gosling stew!
I sniffed it coming on apace, And as its odors filled The curious little dining-place, I felt a glow suffuse my face, I felt my very marrow thrilled With rapture altogether new,-- "Twas gosling stew!
These callow birds had never played In yonder village pond; Had never through the gateway strayed, And plaintive sp.i.s.sant music made Upon the gra.s.sy green beyond: Cooped up, they simply ate and grew For gosling stew!
My doctor said I mustn"t eat High food and seasoned game; But surely gosling is a meat With tender nourishment replete.
Leastwise I gayly ate this same; I braved dyspepsy--wouldn"t you For gosling stew?
I"ve feasted where the possums grow, Roast turkey have I tried, The joys of canvasbacks I know, And frequently I"ve eaten crow In bleak and chill Novembertide; I"d barter all that native crew For gosling stew!
And when from Rhineland I adjourn To seek my Yankee sh.o.r.e, Back shall my memory often turn, And fiercely shall my palate burn For sweets I"ll taste, alas! no more,-- Oh, that mein kleine frau could brew A gosling stew!
Vain are these keen regrets of mine, And vain the song I sing; Yet would I quaff a stoup of wine To Oberhausen auf der Rhine, Where fared I like a very king: And here"s a last and fond adieu To gosling stew!
CATULLUS TO LESBIA.
COME, my Lesbia, no repining; Let us love while yet we may!
Suns go on forever shining; But when we have had our day, Sleep perpetual shall o"ertake us, And no morrow"s dawn awake us.