Page images
PDF
EPUB

De sarpints hissed; de painters yelled; tel', whut wid all de fussin',

You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin' roun' an' cussin'.

Now Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet,

Got lonesome in de barber-shop, an' c'u'dn't stan' de

racket;

An' so, fur to amuse he-se'f, he steamed some wood an'

bent it,

An' soon he had a banjo made-de fust dat wuz invented.

He wet de ledder, stretched it on; made bridge an' screws an' aprin;

An' fitted in a proper neck-'twuz berry long an' tap

rin';

He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring it:

An' den de mighty question riz: how wuz he gwine to string it?

De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin'; De ha'r's so long an' thick an' strong,—des fit fur banjostringin';

Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as washday-dinner

graces:

An' sorted ob 'em by de size-f'om little E's to basses.

He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig,-'twas "Nebber min' de wedder,"

She soun' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all toged

der:

Some went to pattin'; some to dancin': Noah called de

figgers;

An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob niggers!

Now, sence dat time-it's mighty strange-dere's not de
slightes' showin'

Ob any ha'r at all upon the 'possum's tail a-growin';
An' curi's, too, dat nigger's ways-his people nebber
los' 'em-

Fur whar you finds de nigger-dar's de banjo an' de
'possum!

South

56.

Lizette Woodworth Reese

Lizette Woodworth Reese was born January 9, 1856, at Baltimore, Maryland, where she has lived ever since. After an education obtained chiefly in private schools, she taught English in the Western High School at Baltimore.

A Handful of Lavender (1891), A Quiet Road (1896) and A Wayside Lute (1909) embody an artistry which, in spite of its old-fashioned contours, is as true as it is tender. A host of the younger lyricists owe much of their technique to her admirable models, and few modern sonneteers have equaled the blended music and symbolism of "Tears."

TEARS

When I consider Life and its few years

A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun;

A call to battle, and the battle done

Ere the last echo dies within our ears;

A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears;
The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat;
The burst of music down an unlistening street,—
I wonder at the idleness of tears.

Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight,
Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep,
By every cup of sorrow that you had,

Loose me from tears, and make me see aright
How each hath back what once he stayed to weep:
Homer his sight, David his little lad!

SPICEWOOD

The spicewood burns along the gray, spent sky,
In moist unchimneyed places, in a wind,

That whips it all before, and all behind,
Into one thick, rude flame, now low, now high.
It is the first, the homeliest thing of all-
At sight of it, that lad that by it fares,
Whistles afresh his foolish, town-caught airs-
A thing so honey-colored and so tall!

It is as though the young Year, ere he pass,
To the white riot of the cherry tree,
Would fain accustom us, or here, or there,
To his new sudden ways with bough and grass,
So starts with what is humble, plain to see,
And all familiar as a cup, a chair.

Frank Dempster Sherman

Frank Dempster Sherman was born at Peekskill, New York, May 6, 1860. He entered Columbia University in 1879, where, after graduation and a subsequent instructorship, he was made adjunct professor in 1891 and Professor of Graphics in 1904. He held the latter position until his death, which occurred September 19, 1916.

Sherman never wearied of the little lyric; even the titles

of his volumes are instances of his fondness for the brief melody, the sudden snatch of song: Madrigals and Catches (1887), Lyrics for a Lute (1890), Little-Folk Lyrics (1892), Lyrics of Joy (1904). A sumptuous, collected edition of his poems was published, with an Introduction by Clinton Scollard, in 1917.

AT MIDNIGHT

See, yonder, the belfry tower

That gleams in the moon's pale lightOr is it a ghostly flower

That dreams in the silent night?

I listen and hear the chime
Go quavering over the town,

And out of this flower of Time
Twelve petals are wafted down.

BACCHUS

Listen to the tawny thief,
Hid beneath the waxen leaf,
Growling at his fairy host,
Bidding her with angry boast
Fill his cup with wine distilled
From the dew the dawn has spilled:
Stored away in golden casks

Is the precious draught he asks.

Who,-who makes this mimic din
In this mimic meadow inn,
Sings in such a drowsy note,
Wears a golden-belted coat;

Loiters in the dainty room
Of this tavern of perfume;
Dares to linger at the cup
Till the yellow sun is up?

Bacchus 'tis, come back again
To the busy haunts of men;
Garlanded and gaily dressed,
Bands of gold about his breast;
Straying from his paradise,
Having pinions angel-wise,—
'Tis the honey-bee, who goes
Reveling within a rose!

Louise Imogen Guiney

Louise Imogen Guiney was born at Boston, Massachusetts, in 1861. Although she attended Elmhurst Academy in Providence, most of her studying was with private tutors. In 1901 she went to England, where she lived until her death.

Traditional in form and feeling, Miss Guiney's work has a distinctly personal vigor; even her earliest collection, The White Sail and Other Poems (1887), is not without individuality. Her two most characteristic volumes are A Roadside Harp (1893) and Patrins (1897).

Miss Guiney died at Chirping-Camden, England, November

3, 1920.

THE WILD RIDE

I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses,
All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses,

All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing.

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »