The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 4

Of Cochran, I but little knew, He was a stranger here, 'Twas always said he would get blue, And acted very queer.

Montgomery I knew right well, He was rather kind than cross, He taught the willing how to spell, And always would be boss.

He wrote a very pretty hand And could command a school: His appet.i.te got the command, And that he could not rule.

One day he took a heavy slug Of something rather hot; He took that something from a jug, And shortly he was not.

Who "took" him, though, I never can Nor need I ever say; But when the Lord doth take a man, 'Tis seldom done that way.

Poor Humphreys was a sort of crank (Folks said his learning made him mad,) But this I know, he always drank, And that will make the best man, bad.

Excuse this rather long digression, My pen has carried me astray; These schoolboy days make an impression From which 'tis hard to get away.

Then let me turn, and return too, For I have wandered from my text,-- Well, Mr. Steele, how do you do?

I hope you are not vexed.

'Tis pleasant in our riper years To have our children come And bring their children--little dears, They make it seem like home.

An old man's children are his crown, And you may well be proud When from your throne you just look down Upon this hopeful crowd.

But now my neighbors dear, adieu; "The best of friends must part;"

I'll often kindly think of you, And treasure each one in my heart;

And if we never meet again On this poor frozen clod, O! may we meet to part no more Around the throne of G.o.d.

TO MARY.

The following lines suggested by the beautiful story of the sisters, Martha and Mary of Bethany, (Luke, 10:38-42,) were addressed to Miss Mary M., of Wilmington, Del.

In Bethany there dwelt a maid, And she was young and very fair; 'Twas at her house that Jesus stayed, And loved to stay, when he was there.

For Mary seated at his feet, In rapture hung upon His word: His language flow'd in accent sweet, Such language mortal never heard.

Her sister, cross in looks and word, (The cares of life have this effect,) Came and accused her, to her Lord, Of idleness and of neglect.

"Martha, Martha," He kindly said, Forego thy troubles and thy care-- One needful thing, a crust of bread, Is all I ask with thee to share.

"Mary hath chosen that good part, To hear my word and do my will, Which shall not from her trusting heart Be taken." It shall flourish still.

Dear Mary, in this picture see Thy own, drawn by a master hand; Name, face and character agree Drawn by Saint Luke, an artist grand.

IMPROMPTU

TO MRS. ANNA C. BAKER.

Composed in the top of a cherry tree when the wind was blowing a gale.

In fis.h.i.+ng for men, I should judge from your looks You've always had biters enough at your hooks.

And whenever you dipp'd your net in the tide You had little need to spread it out wide.

To encircle so many you wish'd for no more And like the old fishers sat down on the sh.o.r.e, Casting all the worthless and bad ones away-- Preserving the good and the true to this day.

May the promising youth, I saw by your side All blooming and beaming, your hope and your pride, Be a pillar of state, so strong and so tall As to make you rejoice, that you made such a haul.

LAMENT FOR THE YEAR 1887.

Read before the Jackson Hall Debating Society.

My tale to-night is full of woe, I would that it were one of gladness; I would not thrill your hearts, you know, With notes of grief or sadness.

My friend and yours is near his end, His pulse is beating faint and low, 'Tis sad to lose so good a friend, His time has come and he must go.

His life is ebbing fast away, His mortal race is almost run, He cannot live another day, Nor see another rising sun.

While watching round his dying bed, The tears we shed are tears of sorrow, We'll close his eyes for he'll be dead, And carried hence before to-morrow.

His frame, so fragile now and weak, Was late the seat of vital power, But now, alas! he cannot speak, He's growing weaker every hour.

Old seventy-seven, your friend and mine, Has done his part by you and me, Then friends, let us unite and twine, A bright wreath to his memory.

His reign has been a checker'd reign, While some have suffered loss and wrong, We have no reason to complain, So come and join me in my song.

He found me in the lowly vale, In poverty with robust health, And sweet contentment in the scale, Outweighing fame and pomp and wealth.

Destroying war beneath his reign, Has drench'd the earth with blood and tears, Which ever flow, but flow in vain, As they have done through countless years.

When will the reign of peace begin?

When will the flood of human woe, That flows from folly, pride, and sin, Subside, and ever cease to flow?

G.o.d speed the time when war's alarms, Will never more convulse the earth, And love and peace restore the charms Which dwelt in Eden at its birth.

Old seventy-seven, again adieu, We'll ne'er again each other see.

I've been a constant friend to you, As you have always been to me.

"Step down and out" you've had your day, Your young successor's at the gate, Let him be crowned without delay, The royal stranger seventy-eight.

VERSES

Presented to my daughter with a watch and a locket with a picture of myself.

Receive, my child, this gift of love, And wear it ever near thy heart, A pledge of union may it prove, Which time nor distance ne'er can part.

I've watched thy infant sleep, and prest My eager lips against thy brow, And lingered near thy couch, and blest, Thy tender form with many a vow.