Green Fields and Running Brooks, and Other Poems Part 9

And her beautiful eyes are as midday to me, When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee, And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat, And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet And delirious breaths of the air's lullabies-- So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes.

O her beautiful eyes! they have smitten mine own As a glory glanced down from the glare of The Throne; And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star, And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise-- So I grope through the night of her beautiful eyes.

DOT LEEDLE BOY.

Ot's a leedle Christmas 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 monkeys.h.i.+ne', Ober I vas 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 saur kraut!

Und der cheekens on der hind-leg Vas standin' in der s.h.i.+ne Der sun shmile out dot morning On dot leedle boy of mine.

He vas yoost a leedle baby Not bigger as a doll Dot time I got acquaintet-- Ach! you ought to heard 'im squall!-- I grackys! dot's der moosic Ot make me feel so fine Ven first I vas been marriet-- Oh, dot leedle boy of mine!

He look' yoost like his fader!-- So, ven der vimmen said "Vot a purty leedle baby!"

Katrina shake der head.

I d.i.n.k she must a-notice Dot der baby vas a-gryin', Und she cover up der blankets Of dot leedle boy of mine.

Vel, ven he vas got bigger, Dot he grawl und b.u.mp his nose, Und make der table over, Und mola.s.ses on his glothes-- Dot make 'im all der sveeter,-- So I say to my Katrine "Better you vas quit a-shpankin'

Dot leedle boy of mine!"

I vish you could a-seen id-- Ven he glimb up on der chair Und shmash der lookin' gla.s.ses Ven he try to comb his hair Mit a hammer!--Und Katrina Say "Dot's an ugly sign!"

But I laugh und vink my fingers At dot leedle boy of mine.

But vonce, dot Vinter morning, He shlip out in der snow Mitout no stockin's on 'im.-- He say he "vant to go Und fly some mit der birdies!"

Und ve give 'im medi-cine Ven he catch der "parrygoric"-- Dot leedle boy of mine!

Und so I set und nurse 'im, Vile der Christmas vas come roun', Und I told 'im 'bout "Kriss Kringle,"

How he come der chimbly down: Und I ask 'im eef he love 'im Eef he bring 'im someding fine?

"_Nicht besser as mein fader_,"

Say dot leedle boy of mine.--

Und he put his arms aroun' me Und hug so close und tight, I hear der gclock a-tickin'

All der balance of der night! . . .

Someding make me feel so funny Ven I say to my Katrine "Let us go und fill der stockin's Of dot leedle boy of mine."

Veil.--Ve buyed a leedle horses Dot you pull 'im mit a shtring, Und a leedle fancy jay-bird-- Eef you vant to hear 'im sing You took 'im by der top-knot Und yoost blow in behine-- Und dot make much _spectakel_-- For dot leedle boy of mine!

Und gandles, nuts and raizens-- Unt I buy a leedle drum Dot I vant to hear 'im rattle Ven der Gristmas morning come!

Und a leedle shmall tin rooster Dot vould crow so loud und fine Ven he sqveeze 'im in der morning, Dot leedle boy of mine!

Und--vile ve vas a-fixin'-- Dot leedle boy vake out!

I fought he been a-dreamin'

"Kriss Kringle" vas about,-- For he say--"_Dot's him!--I see 'im_ _Mit der shtars dot make der s.h.i.+ne_!"

Und he yoost keep on a-gryin'-- Dot leedle boy of mine,--

Und gottin' vorse und vorser-- Und tumble on der bed!

So--ven der doctor seen id, He kindo' shake his head, Und feel his pulse--und visper "Der boy is a-dyin'."

You d.i.n.k I could _believe_ id?-- _Dot leedle boy of mine_?

I told you, friends--dot's someding, Der last time dot he speak Und say "_Goot-bye, Kriss Kringle_!"

--Dot make me feel so veak I yoost kneel down und drimble, Und bur-sed out a-gryin'

"_Mein Goit, mein Gott im Himmel_!-- _Dot leedle boy, of mine_!"

Der sun don't s.h.i.+ne dot Gristmas!

. . . Eef dot leedle boy vould _liff'd_-- No deefer-en'! for Heaven vas His leedle Gristmas-gift! . . .

Und der rooster, und der _gandy_, Und me--und my Katrine-- Und der jay-bird--is a-vaiting For dot leedle boy of mine.

DONN PIATT OF MAC-O-CHEE.

Donn Piatt--of Mac-o-chee,-- Not the one of History, Who, with flaming tongue and pen, Scathes the vanities of men; Not the one whose biting wit Cuts pretense and etches it On the brazen brow that dares Filch the laurel that it wears: Not the Donn Piatt whose praise Echoes in the noisy ways Of the faction, onward led By the statesman!--But, instead, Give the simple man to me,-- Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

II.

Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

Branches of the old oak tree, Drape him royally in fine Purple shade and golden s.h.i.+ne!

Emerald plush of sloping lawn Be the throne he sits upon!

And, O Summer sunset, thou Be his crown, and gild a brow Softly smoothed and soothed and calmed By the breezes, mellow-palmed As Erata's white hand agleam On the forehead of a dream.-- So forever rule o'er me, Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

III.

Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee: Through a lilied memory Plays the wayward little creek Round thy home at hide-and-seek-- As I see and hear it, still Romping round the wooded hill, Till its laugh-and-babble blends With the silence while it sends Glances back to kiss the sight, In its babyish delight, Ere it strays amid the gloom Of the glens that burst in bloom Of the rarest rhyme for thee, Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

IV.

Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

What a darling destiny Has been mine--to meet him there-- Lolling in an easy chair On the terrace, while he told Reminiscences of old-- Letting my cigar die out, Hearing poems talked about; And entranced to hear him say Gentle things of Thackeray, d.i.c.kens, Hawthorne, and the rest, Known to him as host and guest-- Known to him as he to me-- Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee!

THEM FLOWERS.

Take a feller 'at's sick and laid up on the shelf, All shaky, and ga'nted, and pore-- Jes all so knocked out he can't handle hisself With a stiff upper-lip any more; Shet him up all alone in the gloom of a room As dark as the tomb, and as grim, And then take and send him some roses in bloom, And you can have fun out o' him!

You've ketched him 'fore now--when his liver was sound And his appet.i.te notched like a saw-- A-mockin' you, mayby, fer romancin' round With a big posy-bunch in yer paw; But you ketch him, say, when his health is away, And he's flat on his back in distress, And _then_ you kin trot out yer little bokay And not be insulted, I guess!

You see, it's like this, what his weaknesses is,-- Them flowers makes him think of the days Of his innocent youth, and that mother o' his, And the roses that _she_ us't to raise:-- So here, all alone with the roses you send-- Bein' sick and all trimbly and faint,-- My eyes is--my eyes is--my eyes is--old friend-- Is a-leakin'--I'm blamed ef they ain't!