Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 32

Dearly they sold them, like Berserkers raging, Facing the death that encircled them round; Death's bitter pangs by their vengeance a.s.suaging, Marking their tracks by their dead on the ground.

Comrades, our children shall yet tell their story,-- Custer's last charge on the Old Sitting Bull; And ages shall swear that the cup of his glory Needed but that death to render it full.

_Frederick Whitttaker._

A Boy and His Stomach

What's the matter, stummick? Ain't I always been your friend?

Ain't I always been a pardner to you? All my pennies don't I spend In getting nice things for you? Don't I give you lots of cake?

Say, stummick, what's the matter, You had to go an' ache?

Why, I loaded you with good things yesterday; I gave you more corn an' chicken than you'd ever had before; I gave you fruit an' candy, apple pie an' chocolate cake, An' last night when I got to bed you had to go an' ache.

Say, what's the matter with you? Ain't you satisfied at all?

I gave you all you wanted; you was hard jes' like a ball, An' you couldn't hold another bit of puddin'; yet last night You ached most awful, stummick! That ain't treatin' me jest right.

I've been a friend to you, I have! Why ain't you a friend o' mine?

They gave me castor oil becoz you made me whine.

I'm feelin' fine this mornin'; yes it's true; But I tell you, stummick, you better appreciate things I do for you.

On the Sh.o.r.es of Tennessee

"Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey, In the suns.h.i.+ne bright and strong, For this world is fading, Pompey-- Ma.s.sa won't be with you long; And I fain would hear the south wind Bring once more the sound to me, Of the wavelets softly breaking On the sh.o.r.es of Tennessee.

"Mournful though the ripples murmur As they still the story tell, How no vessels float the banner That I've loved so long and well, I shall listen to their music, Dreaming that again I see Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop Sailing up the Tennessee;

"And Pompey, while old Ma.s.sa's waiting For Death's last dispatch to come, If that exiled starry banner Should come proudly sailing home, You shall greet it, slave no longer-- Voice and hand shall both be free That shout and point to Union colors On the waves of Tennessee."

"Ma.s.sa's berry kind to Pompey; But old darkey's happy here, Where he's tended corn and cotton For dese many a long-gone year.

Ober yonder, Missis' sleeping-- No one tends her grave like me; Mebbe she would miss the flowers She used to love in Tennessee.

"'Pears like, she was watching Ma.s.sa-- If Pompey should beside him stay, Mebbe she'd remember better How for him she used to pray; Telling him that way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of Heaven While he lived in Tennessee."

Silently the tears were rolling Down the poor old dusky face, As he stepped behind his master, In his long-accustomed place.

Then a silence fell around them, As they gazed on rock and tree Pictured in the placid waters Of the rolling Tennessee;--

Master, dreaming of the battle Where he fought by Marion's side, Where he bid the haughty Tarleton Stoop his lordly crest of pride:-- Man, remembering how yon sleeper Once he held upon his knee.

Ere she loved the gallant soldier, Ralph Vervair of Tennessee.

Still the south wind fondly lingers 'Mid the veteran's silver hair; Still the bondman, close beside him Stands behind the old arm-chair.

With his dark-hued hand uplifted, Shading eyes, he bends to see Where the woodland, boldly jutting, Turns aside the Tennessee.

Thus he watches cloud-born shadows Glide from tree to mountain-crest, Softly creeping, aye and ever To the river's yielding breast.

Ha! above the foliage yonder Something flutters wild and free!

"Ma.s.sa! Ma.s.sa! Hallelujah!

The flag's come back to Tennessee!"

"Pompey, hold me on your shoulder, Help me stand on foot once more, That I may salute the colors As they pa.s.s my cabin door.

Here's the paper signed that frees you, Give a freeman's shout with me-- 'G.o.d and Union!' be our watchword Evermore in Tennessee!"

Then the trembling voice grew fainter, And the limbs refused to stand; One prayer to Jesus--and the soldier Glided to the better land.

When the flag went down the river Man and master both were free; While the ring-dove's note was mingled With the rippling Tennessee.

_Ethel Lynn Beers._

The White-Footed Deer

It was a hundred years ago, When, by the woodland ways, The traveler saw the wild deer drink, Or crop the birchen sprays.

Beneath a hill, whose rocky side O'er-browed a gra.s.sy mead, And fenced a cottage from the wind, A deer was wont to feed.

She only came when on the cliffs The evening moonlight lay, And no man knew the secret haunts In which she walked by day.

White were her feet, her forehead showed A spot of silvery white, That seemed to glimmer like a star In autumn's hazy night.

And here, when sang the whippoorwill, She cropped the sprouting leaves, And here her rustling steps were heard On still October eves.

But when the broad midsummer moon Rose o'er the gra.s.sy lawn, Beside the silver-footed deer There grazed a spotted fawn.

The cottage dame forbade her son To aim the rifle here; "It were a sin," she said, "to harm Or fright that friendly deer.

"This spot has been my pleasant home Ten peaceful years and more; And ever, when the moonlight s.h.i.+nes, She feeds before our door,

"The red men say that here she walked A thousand moons ago; They never raise the war whoop here, And never tw.a.n.g the bow.

"I love to watch her as she feeds, And think that all is well While such a gentle creature haunts The place in which we dwell."

The youth obeyed, and sought for game In forests far away, Where, deep in silence and in moss, The ancient woodland lay.

But once, in autumn's golden time, He ranged the wild in vain, Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer, And wandered home again.

The crescent moon and crimson eve Shone with a mingling light; The deer, upon the gra.s.sy mead, Was feeding full in sight.

He raised the rifle to his eye, And from the cliffs around A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, Gave back its deadly sound.

Away, into the neighboring wood, The startled creature flew, And crimson drops at morning lay Amid the glimmering dew.