The Old Soldiers Story Part 14

Of our high heaven's vast o'er-welcoming; While, packeted with joy and thankfulness, And fair hopes many as the stars that s.h.i.+ne, And bearing all love's loyal messages, Mine own goes homing back to thee and thine.

THE GUDEWIFE

My gudewife--she that is tae be-- O she sall seeme sang-sweete tae me As her ain croon tuned wi' the chiel's Or spinnin'-wheel's.

An' faire she'll be, an' saft, an' light, An' muslin-bright As her spick ap.r.o.n, jimpy laced The-round her waiste.-- Yet aye as rosy sall she bloome Intil the roome (The where alike baith bake an' dine) As a full-fine Ripe rose, lang rinset wi' the raine, Sun-kist againe,-- Sall seate me at her table-spread, White as her bread.-- Where I, sae kissen her for _grace_, Sall see her face Smudged, yet aye sweeter, for the bit O' floure on it, Whiles, witless, she sall sip wi' me Luve's tapmaist-bubblin' ecstasy.

TENNYSON

ENGLAND, OCTOBER 5, 1892

We of the New World clasp hands with the Old In newer fervor and with firmer hold And n.o.bler fellows.h.i.+p,-- O Master Singer, with the finger-tip Of Death laid thus on thy melodious lip!

All ages thou has honored with thine art, And ages yet unborn thou wilt be part Of all songs pure and true!

Thine now the universal homage due From Old and New World--ay, and still The New!

ROSAMOND C. BAILEY

Thou brave, good woman! Loved of every one; Not only that in singing thou didst fill Our thirsty hearts with sweetness, trill on trill, Even as a wild bird singing in the sun-- Not only that in all thy carols none But held some tincturing of tears to thrill Our gentler natures, and to quicken still Our human sympathies; but thou hast won Our equal love and reverence because That thou wast ever mindful of the poor, And thou wast ever faithful to thy friends.

So, loving, serving all, thy best applause Thy requiem--the vast throng at the door Of the old church, with mute prayers and amens.

MRS. BENJAMIN HARRISON

WAs.h.i.+NGTON, OCTOBER 25, 1892

Now utter calm and rest; Hands folded o'er the breast In peace the placidest, All trials past; All fever soothed--all pain Annulled in heart and brain, Never to vex again-- She sleeps at last.

She sleeps; but O most dear And best beloved of her Ye sleep not--nay, nor stir, Save but to bow The closer each to each, With sobs and broken speech, That all in vain beseech Her answer now.

And lo! we weep with you, One grief the wide world through: Yet with the faith she knew We see her still, Even as here she stood-- All that was pure and good And sweet in womanhood-- G.o.d's will her will.

GEORGE A. CARR

GREENFIELD, JULY 21, 1914

O playmate of the far-away And dear delights of Boyhood's day, And friend and comrade true and tried Through length of years of life beside, I bid you thus a fond farewell Too deep for words or tears to tell.

But though I lose you, nevermore To greet you at the open door, To grasp your hand or see your smile, I shall be thankful all the while Because your love and loyalty Have made a happier world for me.

So rest you, Playmate, in that land Still hidden from us by His hand, Where you may know again in truth All of the glad days of your youth-- As when in days of endless ease We played beneath the apple trees.

TO ELIZABETH

OBIT JULY 8, 1893

O n.o.ble, true and pure and lovable As thine own blessed name, ELIZABETH!-- Ay, even as its cadence lingereth Upon the lips that speak it, so the spell Of thy sweet memory shall ever dwell As music in our hearts. Smiling at Death As on some later guest that tarrieth, Too gratefully o'erjoyed to say farewell, Thou hast turned from us but a little s.p.a.ce-- We miss thy presence but a little while, Thy voice of sympathy, thy word of cheer, The radiant glory of thine eyes and face, The glad midsummer morning of thy smile,-- For still we feel and know that thou art here.

TO ALMON KEEFER

INSCRIBED IN "TALES OF THE OCEAN"

This first book that I ever knew Was read aloud to me by you!

Friend of my boyhood, therefore take It back from me, for old times' sake-- The selfsame "Tales" first read to me, Under "the old sweet apple tree,"

Ere I myself could read such great Big words,--but listening all elate, At your interpreting, until Brain, heart, and soul were all athrill With wonder, awe, and sheer excess Of wildest childish happiness.

So take the book again--forget All else,--long years, lost hopes, regret; Sighs for the joys we ne'er attain, Prayers we have lifted all in vain; Tears for the faces seen no more, Once as the roses at the door!

Take the enchanted book--And lo, On gra.s.sy swards of long ago, Sprawl out again, beneath the shade The breezy old-home orchard made, The veriest barefoot boy indeed-- And I will listen as you read.

TO--"THE J. W. R. LITERARY CLUB"

Well, it's enough to turn his head to have a feller's name Swiped with a _Literary_ Club!--But _you're_ the ones to blame!-- I call the World to witness that I never _agged_ ye to it By ever writin' _Cla.s.sic-like_--_because I couldn't_ do it: I never run to "h.e.l.licon," ner writ about "Per-na.s.sus,"

Ner ever tried to rack or ride around on old "P-_ga.s.sus_"!

When "Tuneful Nines" has cross'd my lines, the ink 'ud blot and blur it, And pen 'ud jest putt back fer home, and take the short way fer it!

And so, as I'm a-sayin',--when you name your Literary In honor o' this name o' mine, it's railly nessessary-- Whilse I'm _a-thankin'_ you and all--to _warn_ you, ef you do it, I'll haf to jine the thing myse'f 'fore I can live up to it!