The Sunday Oregonian., May 21, 1916, SECTION FIVE, Page 8, Image 64

THE STJXDAT OREGONTAN. PORTLAND 3iAT 21, 191C.
MISSING VERSES OF SOME FAVORITE POEMS ARE SUPPLIED
KIPPKR Ireaon'a Bide." by'
k Whlttter; Will Carlton's "Over
the Kills to the Foorhouse,"
and "The Little Black-eyed Rebel."
"Tennyson's "Locksley Hall." Longtel
low's "Launching of the Ship." "Cas
abianaca," "Willie, the Fisher Boy"
and "The Burning of the Ship" ar a
few of the old favorites that have
been requested in the past week by
readers of this page.
Another reader asks for the verses
from Swinton's old reader, which be
g"in: "Drive the nail aright.' boys; hit
It on the head. Strike with all your
might, boys, while the Iron is red,"
"An Old Man's Reverfe Is wanted
by Mrs. E. A. Adams, of Vancouver.
The opening lines are:
"In the midst of his children's chil
dren. By the home fire's cheerful blase.
An old man sat in his easy chair.
Dreaming of bygone days."
Mrs. M. B. Conkins. of Seattle, asks
for the reprinting of "The Guardian
Genius of the Swiss" and gives Us
opening linens:
"There dwells high over Switzerland
A spirit great and still. v
To guard the generous patriot band
That Switser valleys tllL"
"Bath Sheba," a poem written by a
student of Stanford several years ago
and published In the Chaparral, is re
quested by another reader. It begins:
"In days when kings went forth to
fight
("My ways are righteous." salth the
Lord)
And Israel strove with the Ammonite.
(Who goeth to battle shall die by
, tho sword)."
D. W. Lane, contributing some selec
tions of Irish patriotic verse, asks for
"The Men Who Died for Ireland" and
"Kory of the Hill."
Two poems which Mrs. Jennie A.
Ruhr., of Tillamook, would like to
have reprinted are the hymn beginning
"We have heard from that bright, that
heavenly land; wo have heard and oul
hearts aro glad," and a poem which
begins:
"Oh, thou the lonely heart that break-
est,
'Stealing its treasures one by one:
I'll call thee blessed, when thou roakest
The parted one."
Another reader, sending several se
lections which have been requested by
other readers wants the words of "Hylo
Hale," a part of which runs:
"The roosters crow at break, of day,
Hylo Hale!
The hens they reckon the eggs they lay,
Hylo Hale!"
Also the "Golden Wedding," which
starts: "Let's go to the golden weddin'l
All de darkles will be there! Oh. such
dancin' and such treadin'! Oh, de yel
low gals so fair!"
Miss Pearl Shaw sends the follow
ing somewhat difficult request: "Will
you please ask the readers of your
pa:ce if some of them can furnish the
verse descriptive of willoware china?"
B. Stovall wants the poem ""Cause
I'm Fat" printed, but is unable to give
the name of the author or any lines
from it.
Miss Margaret X. Graham, sending
a contribution, also asks for the re
printing of the old classic, "Kentucky
Bell."
While requests have been numerous,
contributions have been equally plen
tiful and many readers of the page
have sent in copies of poems which
were requested in previous issues.
Mrs. Albert B. Sutton, of The Dalles,
sent in the first copy of "The Drunk
ard's Wife," which was requested a
short time ago. Mrs. Sutton desires
to know where she can secure a copy
of the old Osgood Fth Reader, which
was in use 30 years ago.
Addie "V. Gano, of Springfield, also
sends a copy of the same poem. The
title under which It is published la
"Go Feel What I Have Felt."
GO FEEL WHIT I HAVE KELT.
Go feel what I have felt.
Go bear what I have borne,
Eink "neath the blow a father dealt
And the cold, proud world's scorn;
Thus struggle on from year to year.
Thy sole relief the scalding tear.
Go weep as I have wept
O'er a loved father's fall:
Bee every cherished promise swept.
Youth's sweetness turned to gall;
Hope's faded flowers strewed all the
way,
That led mo up to woman's day.
Go kneel as I have knelt:
Implore, beseech and pray.
Strive the besotted heart to melt.
The downward course to stay:
Ho cast with bitter curse aside
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears do
ne a. ,
Go stand where I have stood
And see the stronar man tow.
With enashing teeth, lips bathed in
Diood.
And cold and livid brow:
Go catch his wandering glance and see
mere mirrored his sours misery.
Go hear what I have heard
The sobs of dark despair.
As memory's feeling fount hath stirred
And its revealinss there
Have told him what he might have
oeen
Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen.
Go to thy mother's side.
And her crashed spirit cheer;
Thine own deep anguish hide.
Wipe from her cheek the tear;
Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed
brow.
The gray that streaks her dark hair
uuw,
The toilworn frame, the trembling limb,
And trace the ruin back to htm
Whose plighted faith In early youth
Promised eternal love and truth.
But who, forsworn, hath yielded in
His promise to the deadly cup
And led her down frnm liw -
From nil that mariA h., h.tkn n. w.t
And chained her there mid want and
etriie.
That lowly thing a drunkard's wife
jukx Biampou on cnuanooaa brow, so
mna.
That withering blight a drunkard's
cmia.
Go hear and see and feel and know
All that my soul hath felt and Known
Then lookwithin the wine cup's glow;
oee 11 us erigainess can atone;
Thirk if its flavor you would try.
If all proclamedW""Tls drink and die,'
Tell me I hate the bowl?
Hate is a feeble word:
I loathe, abhor my very soul
By strong disgust is stirred
Whene'er I see or hear or tell
Of the dark beverage of hell!
The Rev. Toward Arnold Walter, of
Hartford. Conn., is the author of the
following, which was banded to The
Oregonlan by Dr. Levi W. Myera. of
mis city:
BIT CREED.
I would be true, for there are those
who trust me:
I would be pure, for there are those
who care;
I would be strong, for there are those
to suner;
I would be brave, for there Is much
to dare;
I would be friend of all the foe the
menaiess; '
I would be giving, and forget the
gift;
. I would be humble, for I know my
weakness;
I would look up and laugh and love
and lift.
The beautiful characterisation of the
village preacher in Oliver Gotdemitb's
"Deserted Village" la submit ted ' by
Clarence W. Ison. of Hood River, as his
favorite poem. It was written about
the middle o the eighteenth century.
THIS VILLAGE PREACHER.
By Oliver Goldsmith.
Sweet was the sound, when oft, at
evening's close.
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There, as I passed with careless etepa
and slow.
The mingling notes came soften'd from
below;
The swain responsive as the milkmaid
sung. -The
sober herd that low'd to meat their
young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the
pool.
The playful children Just let loose from
school: ' .
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the
whispering wind.
And the loud laugh that spoke the
vacant mind;
These all in sweet confusion sought
the shade.
And filled each pause the nightingale
had made.
But now the sounds of population fail.
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the
. gale.
No busy steps the grass-grown foot
way tread.
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled
All but yon widow'd, solitary thing.
That feebly bends beside the splashy
spring:
She. wretched matron, forced In age.
for bread.
To strip the brook with mantling
cresses spread.
To pick her wintry fagot from, the
thorn.
To seek her nightly ebed, and weep
till morn: -
She only left of all the harmless train.
The sad historian ot the pensive plain.
Near yonder copse, where once the
garden smiled.
And still where many a. garden-flower
grows wild;
There, where a few thorn shrubs the
place disclose.
The village preacher's modest mansion
rose. ,
A man he was to all the country dear.
And passing rich with forty pounds a
year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly
race.
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to
. change his place:
Unskillful he to fawn, or seek for
power
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying
hour; .
Far other aims, hla heart had learned
to prise.
More bent to raise the wretched than
to rise. '
His house was known to all the
vagrant train.
He chid their wanderings, but relieves!
their pain;' . s
The long remember'd beggar was his
guest.
Whose beard descending swept his
aged breast -The
ruln'd spendthrift, now no longer
proud,
Claimed kindred there, and. had his
claims allowed;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay
Sat by the fire, and talked the night
away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sor-
Shouldered his crutch, ani show'd how
uiua Cl 9 TV (J n.
Pleased with his guests, the good
And quite forgot their vices In their
woe;
Careless their merits or their faults'
t f scan I
Hi" piIy srave er hartty began.
..mo iu leiiero me wretched was his
pride.
And e'eE. h.ia ,aUlnS leaned to virtue's
.lit In Vila 1 1 . . , . '
....... isiuuipi m.i every call.
He 1 and wept, he pray'd and
And. as a bird each fond endearment
tries,
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to
e tried each 'art. reproved each dull
Allured to brighter worlds and led the
At church, with meek and unaffected
Trull" 0frn?1.rnf the x'r Place:
Truth from his lips prevailed with dou
ble sway.
And fools, who came to scoff, remained
The service nmt .
With .oi, in pious man,
With steady seal, each honest rustic
ECB Cwlle.ren ,oUowea endearing
And Pi"ed n!s t( hare the
HU IL ."I"" P"-enf warmth
Their welfare pleased him. and their
cares distress':
T thew-.1it,1ert' h! his griefs
BUt alinhh1eavernia:,,S thhtS ha
A" 807oerma11 Cliff that ,lfU lts aw'5
ThUSc,oJ;S"ndJt.a."!ft h ',ng
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Dr. L. it vi..i -.
fs1-.u' lTlLllb ; terevTo7fn:
for the following Toiy of th. rtrV ,
e-icn mem to her frnm
memory. he learned them 5
THE ASS AND twb! i-it
Within the field, a . 'J .
A strong-lunged ass .began fo bray;
- oacK his voice
Z ' roa?Jo his h,ar' rejoice.'
Ill a t I fiViOUlH Innv.. . j
, . cu on grass.
My lunrs am Kmi .... .
vuiue is loud
At concerts I might draw a crowd.
"1 music, now It fills
The vallev
ti. t i " . tne mils!
r-' " !, h. kw..ir look! see what
- . twi music ve got. "
A areat musician ,
' . t.J QIQl
While passing with his violin.
....p. irnne upon h is way
And hadn lh . . '
- ji . "aa' to bray.
Thi. r.iVKK tne flddler said.
must wish you
For worse than any sounding brass
" " ryiDf, air. Asa
X "lv-. eiup vniir Clin
And listen, to my violin."
n ruDoea tne rosin on his bow
r. - wco, ooia nign and low
Making a stone do for a chair.
v " . rna, soui-stirring air
Kre he had ceased his tune to play
The ass again began to bray
No violin nor song of bird
Cc-old for a moment then be heard
'U Jhe old dropped his head
And to the musician said
"Music is sound, my friend, you see
-.. lust music De.
2Lm'f th T0,1"1111 be tn Proudest.
. J " s me loudest."
W hat more could the musician savr
What further tr. K i. i.i 'I
. - tit in Dray?
He wandered off through twilight dim.
'o-.v.i, " 3 tw mucn ror hira.
How many men we dally pass.
c taatm. Ilk. 1. ; w i .
... oijia ass.
They grow to men from braggart boys
uiins mu3( make si
noise.
They gain high seats in synagogues.
No mystery their vision fogs. .
And if e'er they lack for argument
They give their store of gas a vent
But wise men whisper as they pass.
"There goes a, self-conceited ass."
"Paul. Vane, requested by Mrs. Pal
ta -v y tt r -
- ' I ma if um s. -
(This song, which was popular
written at a still earlier date, is
that the United States Government
copy reprinted herewith was sent
k
UD
Kebel3 at home, go hide your faces;
Weep for your crimes with bitter tears;
You could not bind the blessed daylight.
Though you should strive a thousand years.
Back to your dens, ye secret traitors;
Down to your own degraded spheres,
Ere the first blaze of dazzling sunlight
Shorten your lives a thousand years.
'Haste thou along, thou glorious noonday;
O, for the eyes of ancient seers;
O, for the faith of him who reckons
Each of his days a thousand years.
Chorus:
A thousand yeaw?, my own Columbia;
A thousand years so long foretold;
Tis the glad morn, whose early twilight
Washington saw, ia times of old.
mer. of Albany, has been sent In by
two contributors. We are Indebted
for It to Mrs. A. Ronde. of Portland,
and to Mrs. 'E. E. Alvord.
"The copy . was taken from an old
scrapbook. made up in 1880. 1R81 .and
1882." writes Mrs. Jfcionde in transmit
ting her copy: -
PALL VASE,' OR LORESA'S REPLY.
The years are creeping slowly by, dear
r-aui.
.1 11 n 111 LCI O V- I .
The wind sweeps past with mournful
cry. near raui,
i .4 Ai, mv far. wltb know.
11 - J ' . "
But there's no snow upon the heart.
dear raui,
Those early loves throw sunshine over
all
And sweeteen mem'rles dear.
I thought it easy to forget, dear Paul.
Lite glowed WHil youuuui -1- ,
Tho glorious future gleamed yet. dear
fau i. .
Ana Dao us tianiMi i
They "frowning said. "It must not
cannot oe,
i i. .AnmlAa K. r m '
jareai now m . . . . .
And Paul, you know how well that
outer oay
I bent to their commands.
I've kept you ever in my heart, dear
Faul.
n-v . r o-ninl unA ill:
1 JII U j v
Our souls could not be torn apart, dear
I nevr knew how dear you were to me
Till I was left alone:
I thought mr poor, poor heart would
break the aay
They told me you were gone. &
Perhaps we'll never, never meet, dear
rim.
i pon xnis earm o ?' .
But there where happy angels greet,
1 1 I I AV...
Toll 11 meet iii i n (.nu.
Together up the ever-shining way
we ll press wun nwinu "cai i
Together thro" the bright eternal day.
jy mi iic.1.1 j - - ,
-ca w-rr VTuirhev contributes a
copy of Whittler's "Three Bells," a
ballad of the sea:
THE TnREE BELLS.
Beneath the low-hung night cloud
Tk.i raVed her sDlintering mast.
The good ship settled slowly.
The cruel leaK gainea isss.
Over the awful ocean
Her signal guns pealed out;
Dear God. was that thy answer.
From the horror round aooui.'
A voice came down the wild wind
"Ho! Ship ahoy!" its cry;
"Our stout Three Bells, of Glasgow.
Shall standstill daylight by!"
Hour after hour crept slowly.
Yet on the heaving swells.
Tossed up and down the ship lights-'
The lights of the Three Bells.
And ship to ship made signals;
Man answered back to man: .
While oft. to cheer and hearten,
Tlfh Three Bell nearer ran.
And the captain from her taffrall
Sent down his hopeful cry:
"Take heart! hold on!" he shouted.
"The Three Bells shall stand by!"
All night across the waters
The tossing lights shone clear;
All night from reeling taffrall
The -Three' Bells sent her cheer.
And when the dreary watches
Of storm and darkness passed.
Just as the wreck lurched under.
All souls were- saved at last.
Sail on. Throe Bells, forever.
In grateful memory sail!
Ring on Three Bells of rescue
Above the wavo and gale!
So thine. In nlsrht and tempest,
I hear the Master's cry.
And. tossing through the darkness.
Tho lights of God draw nigh.-
W. H. Brackett sends the ballad of
"The Lighthouse," which was given
him by a friend in Seattle, whose
mother used to sing It to her 80 years
' ea 4v mm it fi mi M
m u . v i k.t 01 fti 9 1 u
In 1561 when the war of secession was just beginning, and which was
based on a prophecy said to have been uttered by George Washington,
as constituted In its beginning would endure a thousand years. The
in by Mrs. Angle Renshaw, cf Portland.)
Lift up your eyes, desponding freemen;
Fling to the -winds your needless fears;
He uho unfurled 'our beauteous banner,
Says it shall wave thousand yeirrs.
Chorus:
A thousand years, ray own Columbia,
A thousand years so long foretold.
Tis the glad morn, whose early twilight
Washington saw in times of old.
What if the clouds one little moment
Hide the blue sky where morn appears
What if the sun that tints them crimson
Rises to shine a thousand years?
Go tell the great world the glorious tidings;
Yes, and be sore the bondsman hears;
Tell the oppressed of every nation,
Jubilee lasts a thousand years.
Envious foes across the ocean,
Little we heed your threatening sneers;
Little will they, our children's children.
When yeu have gone a thousand years.
ago. "It must be a hundred, years old.
at least." he suggests. ,
TUB LIGHT HO IS El.
The scene was more beautiful far to my
eye
Than if day In Its pride had arrayed
it
The land breeze blew wild and the asure
arched sky
Looked pure as the Spirit that
made it;
The murmur rose soft as I silently
gazed
On the shadowy waves playful mo
tion; From the dim distant .isle the light
house fire biased.
Like a star in the midst of the ocean.
Xo longer the Joy of the sailor boy's
breast
Was heard In his wildly breathed
numbers;
The sea-bird had flown to her wave-
gtrdied nest
And the fisherman sunk to his slum
bers. Enraptured I gased from the hill's gen
tle slope;
All hushed was the billows commo
tion. And I thought that the lighthouse
looked lovely as hope
That star on life's tremulous ocean.
The time Is long past and the scene Is
afar.
Yet. when my head rests on Its pil
low. Fond memory will often rekindle the
star
That rose on the breast ot the billow.
And in life's closing hour, t when the
trembling soul flies.
And death stills the heart's last emo
tion: Oh. then mar the Seraph of Mercy arise.
Like a star on eternity a ocean.
A copy of "Mollle Darling," which
was requested a short time ago by one
of our readers, has- been sent in. to
gether wun several omer selections,
by a contributor who does not give his
name-:
1IOLLIC D.VBU56.
Won't yotlMell me. Mollie darling.
That you love none else but me?
For I love you, Mollie darling;
You. are all the world to me.
No one listens but the flowers.
As they bow their heads in shame;
They seem modest, Mollie darling.
When they hear me speak your name.
CHORXJS.
Mollie, sweetest, fairest, dearest.
Cheer up, darling, tell me this:
If you love me, Mollie darling.
Let your answer be a kiss.
Stars are shining. Mollis darling.
Through the mystic veil of night.
And the clouds are swiftly flying.
While fair Luna, hides her light.
Farewell, darling, farewell. loved one;
Happy may you ever be;
When you'Te dreaming. Molile darling.
Don't forget to dream ot me.
Addie V. Gano, of Springfield, who
has contributed other poems asked for
by vertous readers, sends the following
ad one of tier favorites:
OD JHITS THE DOOR."
God sometimes shuts the door and shuts
us in.
That he may speak, perchance, through
grief or pain:
And softly, heart to heart, above the
din, -May
tell some precious thought to us
again. . '
God sometimes shuts the door, and
keeps us still.
That so our feverish haste, our deep
- unrest.
Beneath his gentle touch may quiet,
till
He whispers what our weary hearts
love best.
God sometimes "shuts the door; and.
though shut In
If 'tis his hand, shall we not wait and
see?
if worry lies without and toil and sin.
Cod'a world may wait within for you
and me.
We are indebted to Mrs. W. C. Hud
son, of Raymond. Wash., for the cop
of "Three Beautiful Angela," wtUch
Vf7
i tt
n II u 13'
A
was requested by Mrs. T. G. Haven, ot
Koseburg. a short time ago.
THREE UUAl'TIFCL AGELLS'
"Oh, father, dear father,' a young child
said
As she stole one. night to his lonely
bed.
"Oh. father, com ta my loom with me.
Three beautiful aagelg, there you'll see,
"Just now, as I lay with, half-closed
eyes.
I heard a sweet sound from the spark
ling skies.
And aa 1 was wondering what It could
mean.
Mother, Mary and Willis came gliding
ia.
"They hovered around my little bed
And each laid a hand on my aching
Dead;
The tears from my eyelids felt like
. pearls.
But they wiped them away with their
shiauig curls.
"A dream, a dream, my gentle child:
Your aching bead made youa fancy
"A dream; Oh. no. that cannot be.
For dreams never come and talk te
me.
"And they did talk. Sister Mary said
Her spirit yet lived, though her body
was dead.
And she said that but once the flowers
should bloom
And we'd rome to them in their own
bright home.
"And little Willie, as he stood there
With hin mild 'bine eyes and shining
fair. ,
Said with a smile I yet can see:
Oh come, little sister, come home with
me.
My gentle mother's eyes grew dim
As she said, 'Let her stay and comfort
him;
But a few short months et sorrow are
given
And we ll have them, Willie, with us
in heaven. "
"Deropsey's Grave." which was re
quested last week, was seat in by Em
ma Ia. Harvey, of lane.' Or.:
DEMrSEVS GRAVIS,
Far out in- the wilda of Oregon,
On a lonely mountain side.
Where Columbia's mighty waters
Roll down to the ocean tide.
Where the giant fir and cedar
Are shadowed ia the wave,
O'ergrewn with ferm and lichens.
I found "poor Iempsey's" grave.
A winding, wooded canyon road
That mortals seldom tread
Leads up this lonely mountain
To this desert of the dead;
And the western sun was sinking
In Pacific's crimsoned wave
And these solemn pines kept watching
Over "poor Jack. Dempsey's" grave.
I found no marble monolith.
No broken shaft nor stone
Recording sixty victories
This vanquished victor won;
No rose, no shamrock could I find.
No mortal here to tell
Where sleeps in this forsakes spot
Th" immortal "Nonpareil.
That man of honor and of iron.
That man of heart and steel.
That man who far outclassed his class
And made mankind te feel
That Dempsey's name and Dempsey's
lame
Should live in storied stonw.
Is now at rest far in the West.
In the wilds of Oregon.
Forgotten by ten thousand throats
That thundered hla acclaim.
Fomotten by his myriad friends.
Who cheered his very name;
But strange New Tork should thus for-
- get
Its--"bravest of the brave. .
And In the wlids of Oregon-
Leave Toor jacic jjempseys grave.
MAG JIAHON,
Portland, Or. 189.
Mrs. Totter, of 415 Mill street, has
contributed a ballad.-which she says
was a favorite some years ago, de
scriptive of the incident ot Robert
Bruce and the spider. "It used to be m ;
little girl s sleepy song, she says.
ROBERT THE BRUCE.
BY JOHN BROUGHAM.
Robert the Bruce in the dungeon stood.
Waiting the hour of doom;
Behind him the palace of Holyrood
Before him a nameless tomb.
And the foam on his lip was flecked
with red
As away to the past his memory sped.
ipcalling tne dajs of hla great re
nown.
When he won and he wore the Scot
tish crown.
Yet. come there shadow or come
there shine.
The spider is spinning his thread
so One,
"Iiave sat on the royal seat of Scone,"
He muttered beneath his breath.
"It's a luckless change, from a kingly
in rone
To a felon's shameful death.
And he clenched his hand in his de
spair.
And he struck at the shapes that were
gathering there.
Pacing his cell in impatient rax.
As a new-caught lion paces his cage.
out, come there shadow or come
there shine.
The spider. U spinning bis web so
fine.
"Ob, were It my fate to yield up- my
At the head cf-mv liegemen all-
in the foremost shock of the battle
strire.
' Breaking my countrva thrall.
rd welcome death from the foemaa's
steel.
Breathing prayer for- old Scotland's
weal;
But here, where no pitying heart fa
nigh.
By a loathsome hand tt ia hard to
ie.
Tet come there shadow or come
there' shine.
The spider is spinning his thread so
fine.
"Time and again have I fronted, the
prid
Of the tyrant's vast array.
But only to see, on the crimson tide.
My Dopes swept far awav.
xo a landless chief and a crownlesa
Jxing.
On the broad, broad earth not a living
thing
To keep me court, save you insect
small.
Striving to reach from wall to wall."
or, come there, shadow or come
there shine.
The spider is spinning, his thread so
mi,.
"Work, work as a foot, as I have done.
p.. ,k , . . . , . .
wio di your time ana pain
The space Is too wide te be bridged
.11
Tou but waste your strength In
Vftln
And Brue. for the moment, forgot his
ei,
Hla soul now filled with the same be
lief That, howsoever the Issue went.
For e-vil or good was the omen sent.
-n.ua. come mere shadow or come
therA shin.
The spider is spinning his thread so
AltlC
As a gambler watches his turning card
As a mother waits for the hopeful
- VI t.
For which Tei- fetal Tk a rAJ
It was thus Bruc, watched, with every
Center- alnn K i.w t .
... - latrn co ,
AU rigid stood, with unuttered
wi r.iix
white, now re-tl. but still as death.
-- cnere snaaow or come
there shine.
The KPider la spinning: hi thread so
fin a
SI fTWal times the. creature tried
Ha has spanned it orer,- tha captive
"Lo. a hrir) o-s Ka. ....
Thee. God. I thank, for this lesson here
lias tutored ray soul to persevere!"
And It served him well, for ere long he
wore
la freedom the Scottish crown once
more.
-And. come there shadow or come
th.P, alii,.
The spMer is spinning his thread so
A song that has been dear to all
""" ror years and which is comin
back int present popularity, and hm
sung everywhere, is "When Ton and I
en xoung.
VHEX lou AD t Werp. vnrvii
I wandered today to the hill, Maggie.
1 - ii m Bl?no Df lOW ;
The creek: end the creaking, eld mill.
ei
As w- ii cl
The green grove Is gone from the hilL
U'Jl.M fir- h. I 1
.. uii rprunir,
Th creaking old mill is still. Maggie,
Bi a were young.
A o f t v ia ,tT., . . .1 i... , r i.
----- --. Jionfin,
Where the young aad the gay and
Ia polished white mansions of stone.
Jicitftic,
Have eaort fnTi, & ,1,,. . 9
Is built where tba birds used to play,
And Join in the songs that were sung
- gay as loey. .Haggle
' i x were young.
They say I am feeble with a re v,,rii
My stepa are lesa sprightly than
men;
My face is a well-written page. Maggie,
nmc i n ii wicmcQ uie pen.
They say we are aged and gray,
Maggie.
As sprays by the white breakers
nung;
But to me you're as fair as you were.
.uajsRi,
When you and I were young.
"Laugh and the World Laughs With
Tou." the much-quoted ansl parodied
poem of Ella Wheeler Wilcox, is sent
in by Alice li. Kuasell. of Berkeley:
LAVGU AND THE WORLD LAUGHS
WITH YOl.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you.
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow
its mirth.
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it Is lost on th air:
The echoes bound to a joyful sound.
But shrink from voicing care. '
Rejoice and men will seek you:
Grieve and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your
pleasure.
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad and your friends are many;
B sad and you lose them all:
There are none to decline your nec
tared wine.
But alone you most drink life's gall
Feast and your halls are crowded;
Fast and the worM goes by;
Succeed and give and it helps you live.
But no man can help you die.
There Is room In the halls ef pleasure;
For a large and lordly train;
But one by one we must all file on.
Through the narrow Isles ot pain.
J. Ls Chapman, ef Lewtston, sends a
copy of "Kearney at Seven Fines."
with his regards to the Grand Army ef
The poem is by E. C
KEARXEV AT SEVE-V PZXES.
So that soldierly legend la still on its
journey
That story of Kearney, who knew not
to yield!
Twas the day when with Jameson,
fierce Berry and Birney.
Against twenty thousand he rallied
the field.
Where the red volloys poured, where
the clamor rose highest.
Where the dead lay in clumps through
the dwarf oak and pine.
Where the aim from the thicket was
surest and nig nest.
No. charge like Plui Kearney's along
the whole line.
When the battle went 111 and the
bravest were solemn.
Near the dark Seven Pines, where we
still held our ground.
He rode down the length of the with
ering colmn.
And his heart at our warcry leaped
up at a bound.
He snuffed, like his charger, the wind
of the powder;
His sword waved us oa and we an
swered the sign.
Loud our cheer aa we rushed, but his
laugh rang the louder
"There's the devil's own fun. boys,
along the whole line!"
How he rode his brown steed IHow
we saw his blade brighten
In the one hand still left, and the
reins In hi tth-
He laughed like a boy when the holl-
uays oeignten.
But a soldier's glance shot from hla
Visor beneath,
p. came the reserves to the valley In
ternal. Asking where to go in, through the
clearlnir ni- i n
"Oh. anywhere! Forward; 'Tis all the
aine, toionei;
Tou'll find lovely fighting along the
whole line!" ,
Oh. coil the black shroud of the night
i- vaanuny
That hid him from sight of his brave
men and tried
Foul! tout sped the bullet that clipped
mi wau my.
The flower of our knighthood, the
whole army's pride.
Tet we dream that he still. In that
-u i.v " J Its lOO
"here the dead form their ranks at
tha W,n Hmmm..-. i
Rides on as of old. down the length ot
And the word still is "Forward"
along the whole Una.
The seauel tn . w. c,- ,
tw-en sent in by Mrs. Ruth Luce and by
Mrs. Alice Mallory. of Grants Pass.
Mrs. Mallory also sent a copy of "All
tiulet Along the Potomaa." which was
requester! and was reprinted last week.
"iT" UVL " ot " aving been received.
... J "avenge, while never so pop.
ular aa "Casev at th i.. .;n ....
corded a place In many scrapbooks. just
i stln of disappointment oft
poem: 5 failure in the first
C.tfrs REVENGE,
By James Wilson.
There were saddened hearts in Mud-
yllle for a week or even more;
There were muttered oaths and curses
TT"r7K fan In town was sore.
Just think. said one. "how soft It
j lkd with Casey at the bat!
And then. to think he'd go and spring a
bush league trick like that."
All his past rame was forgotten: he
M now a hopeless "shine."
T fUa lm "Strike-out Casey
. Trom the Mayer down the line.
And as ho came to bat each day hla
bosom heaved a sigh.
While a look ot hopeless fury shone to
mighty Casey's eye.
The lane Is long, someone has said.
never turns arain.
And Fate, though fickle, often gives an-
other chance to men.
And Casey smiled his rugged face no
longer wore frown;
The pitcher who had started all the
trouble caino to town.
All MudviUe had assembled; ten thou-
sand fans had come
To see the twirler who had put bis
Casey on the bum:
And when he stepped into the box tho
multitude went wild.
He doffed his cap in proud disdain but
Casey only smiled.
-Flay ball!" the umpire's voice rang
, . 9t' and then the rame bedsit:
But In that thron of thousands ther
was not a stnrte fan
Who thought Mudville had a chance;
, ni "! the setttng sun
Their hopes sank low the rival team
w leading "four to one."
The last half of the' ninth came round.
with no change in the score;
But when the first man up hit safe the
crowd began to roar.
The din Increased, the e-h of ten
thousand shouts was heard
When the pitcher hit the second mui
gave "four balls" to tho third.
Three men on base nobodv out three
runs to tie the game?
A triple meant the highest niche in
Mudrllle's hall of fame;
But here the rally ended and the gloom
was deep- ss night
When the fourth one "fouled to catch
er" and the fifth "flew out to
right.
A dismal groan In chorus came a scowl
-was on each face
When Casey walked up. bat In hand.
and slowly took his place:
His bloodshot eye3 in fury gleamed; his
teeth were clinched in hate;
He gave his cap a vicious hook and
pounded on the plate.
But fame Is fleeting-as the wind, and
glory fades away;
There were no wild and woolly cheers,
no glad acclaim this day.
They hissed and groaned and hooted as
they clamored. "Strike hint out"
But Casey rave no outward sign tb.at
he had heard thia shout.
Tha pitcher smiled and cut one loose
across the plate it spread:
Another hiss, another groan' "Strike
ae!' the nmpire said.
Zip! Like a shot, the second curve broke
Just below his knee -
-Strike two!- the umpire roared alond
but Casey made no plea.
No roasting for the umpire not
was an easy lot.
-his
the Republic
Stedman:
But here the pitcher whirled again
was that a rifle shot?
A whack! a crack! and oat through
space the leather pellet flew
A blot against the distant sky a specie
against the blue.
Above the fence in center field, in rapid
whirling flight
The sphere sailed on; the blot grew
dim and then was lost to stckt.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air
ten thousand threw a fit
But no one ever found the ball that
mighty Casey hit!
Oh, somewhere to this favored land
dark clouds may hide the sun.
And somewhere bands no longer play
and children have no fun.
And somewhere ever blighted lives
there hangs a heavy pall:
But Mudville heart, are happy n3W .
for Casey hit the ball I