Grant At Rest-- August 8, 1885
Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wide forest, and held no
path but as wild adventure led him... And he returned and came again to his
horse, and took off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture; and
unlaced his helm, and ungirdled his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon
his shield before the cross. --Age of Chivalary
_Grant_
What shall we say of the soldier. Grant,
His sword put by and his great soul free?
How shall we cheer him now or chant
His requiem befittingly?
The fields of his conquest now are seen
Ranged no more with his armed men--
But the rank and file of the gold and green
Of the waving grain is there again.
Though his valiant life is a nation's pride,
And his death heroic and half divine,
And our grief as great as the world is wide,
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Grandfather Squeers
'My grandfather Squeers,' said The Raggedy Man,
As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began--
'The most indestructible man, for his years,
And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather Squeers!
'He said, when he rounded his three-score-and-ten,
'I've the hang of it now and can do it again!'
'He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he
Could tell by them just what the weather would be;
'And would laugh and declare, 'while the _Almanac_ would
Most falsely prognosticate, _he_ never could!'
'Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers
That, 'though he'd used '_navy_' for sixty odd years,
'He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the week,
While the seventh he passed with a chew in each cheek:
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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To My Old Friend, William Leachman
Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me,
Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity,
You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart,
Which was like a healin' 'intment to the sorrow of my hart.
When I burried my first womern, William Leachman, it was you
Had the only consolation that I could listen to--
Fer I knowed you had gone through it and had rallied from the blow,
And when you said I'd do the same, I knowed you'd ort to know.
But that time I'll long remember; how I wundered here and thare--
Through the settin'-room and kitchen, and out in the open air--
And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a frozen glare,
And the neghbors' sleds and wagons congergatin' ev'rywhare.
I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away;
I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and gray;
And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clickt the icy hours in two--
And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you!
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Doc Sifers
Of all the doctors I could cite you to in this-'ere town
Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes' take him up and down!
Count in the Bethel Neighberhood, and Rollins, and Big Bear,
And Sifers' standin's jes' as good as ary doctor's there!
There's old Doc Wick, and Glenn, and Hall, and Wurgler, and McVeigh,
But I'll buck Sifers 'ginst 'em all and down 'em any day!
Most old Wick ever knowed, I s'pose, was _whisky!_ Wurgler--well,
He et morphine--ef actions shows, and facts' reliable!
But Sifers--though he ain't no sot, he's got his faults; and yit
When you _git_ Sifers one't, you've got _a doctor_, don't fergit!
He ain't much at his office, er his house, er anywhere
You'd natchurly think certain far to ketch the feller there.--
But don't blame Doc: he's got all sorts o' cur'ous notions--as
The feller says; his odd-come-shorts, like smart men mostly has.
He'll more'n like be potter'n 'round the Blacksmith Shop; er in
Some back lot, spadin' up the ground, er gradin' it agin.
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Uncle Mart's Poem
THE OLD SNOW-MAN
Ho! the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!
He looked as fierce and sassy
As a soldier on parade!--
'Cause Noey, when he made him,
While we all wuz gone, you see,
He made him, jist a-purpose,
Jist as fierce as he could be!--
But when we all got _ust_ to him,
Nobody wuz afraid
Of the old Snow-Man
That Noey Bixler made!
'Cause Noey told us 'bout him
And what he made him fer:--
He'd come to feed, that morning
He found we wuzn't here;
And so the notion struck him,
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Noey's Night-Piece
'They ain't much 'tale' about it!' Noey said.--
'K'tawby grapes wuz gittin' good-n-red
I rickollect; and Tubb Kingry and me
'Ud kindo' browse round town, daytime, to see
What neighbers 'peared to have the most to spare
'At wuz git-at-able and no dog there
When we come round to git 'em, say 'bout ten
O'clock at night when mostly old folks then
Wuz snorin' at each other like they yit
Helt some old grudge 'at never slep' a bit.
Well, at the _Pars'nige_--ef ye'll call to mind,--
They's 'bout the biggest grape-arber you'll find
'Most anywheres.--And mostly there, we knowed
They wuz _k'tawbies_ thick as ever growed--
And more'n they'd _p'serve_.--Besides I've heerd
Ma say k'tawby-grape-p'serves jes 'peared
A waste o' sugar, anyhow!--And so
My conscience stayed outside and lem me go
With Tubb, one night, the back-way, clean up through
That long black arber to the end next to
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The Raggedy Man
1 O the Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa;
2 An' he's the goodest man ever you saw!
3 He comes to our house every day,
4 An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay;
5 An' he opens the shed -- an' we all ist laugh
6 When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf;
7 An' nen -- ef our hired girl says he can --
8 He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann. --
9 Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man?
10 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
11 W'y, The Raggedy Man -- he's ist so good,
12 He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood;
13 An' nen he spades in our garden, too,
14 An' does most things 'at boys can't do. --
15 He clumbed clean up in our big tree
16 An' shooked a' apple down fer me --
17 An' 'nother 'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann --
18 An' 'nother 'n', too, fer The Raggedy Man. --
19 Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man?
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Dot Leedle Boy
Ot's a leedle Gristmas story
Dot I told der leedle folks--
Und I vant you stop dot laughin'
Und grackin' funny jokes!--
So help me Peter-Moses!
Ot's no time for monkey-shine,
Ober I vast told you somedings
Of dot leedle boy of mine!
Ot vas von cold Vinter vedder,
Ven der snow vas all about--
Dot you have to chop der hatchet
Eef you got der sauerkraut!
Und der cheekens on der hind leg
Vas standin' in der shine
Der sun shmile out dot morning
On dot leedle boy of mine.
He vas yoost a leedle baby
Not bigger as a doll
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Friday Afternoon
To William Morris Pierson
[1868-1870]
Of the wealth of facts and fancies
That our memories may recall,
The old school-day romances
Are the dearest, after all!--.
When some sweet thought revises
The half-forgotten tune
That opened 'Exercises'
On 'Friday Afternoon.'
We seem to hear the clicking
Of the pencil and the pen,
And the solemn, ceaseless ticking
Of the timepiece ticking then;
And we note the watchful master,
As he waves the warning rod,
With our own heart beating faster
Than the boy's who threw the wad.
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Country Pathway
I come upon it suddenly, alone--
A little pathway winding in the weeds
That fringe the roadside; and with dreams my own,
I wander as it leads.
Full wistfully along the slender way,
Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine,
I take the path that leads me as it may--
Its every choice is mine.
A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail,
Is startled by my step as on I fare--
A garter-snake across the dusty trail
Glances and--is not there.
Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos
And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies,
Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose
When autumn winds arise.
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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