Part 10

Und gandies, nuts und raizens-- Und 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 t'ought he been a-dreamin' "Kriss Kringle" vas about,-- For he say--"DOT'S HIM!--I SEE 'IM MIT DER SHTARS DOT MAKE DER SHINE!" 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 dink 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-BY, KRISS KRINGLE!" --Dot make me feel so veak I yoost kneel down und drimble, Und bur-sed out a-gryin', "MEIN GOTT, MEIN GOTT IN HIMMEL!-- DOT LEEDLE BOY OF MINE!" . . . . . . . . . .

Der sun don't shine 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 awaiting For dot leedle boy of mine.

I SMOKE MY PIPE

I can't extend to every friend In need a helping hand-- No matter though I wish it so, 'Tis not as Fortune planned; But haply may I fancy they Are men of different stripe Than others think who hint and wink,-- And so--I smoke my pipe!

A golden coal to crown the bowl-- My pipe and I alone,-- I sit and muse with idler views Perchance than I should own:-- It might be worse to own the purse Whose glutted bowels gripe In little qualms of stinted alms; And so I smoke my pipe.

And if inclined to moor my mind And cast the anchor Hope, A puff of breath will put to death The morbid misanthrope That lurks inside--as errors hide In standing forms of type To mar at birth some line of worth; And so I smoke my pipe.

The subtle stings misfortune flings Can give me little pain When my narcotic spell has wrought This quiet in my brain: When I can waste the past in taste So luscious and so ripe That like an elf I hug myself; And so I smoke my pipe.

And wrapped in shrouds of drifting clouds, I watch the phantom's flight, Till alien eyes from Paradise Smile on me as I write: And I forgive the wrongs that live, As lightly as I wipe Away the tear that rises here; And so I smoke my pipe.

RED RIDING-HOOD

Sweet little myth of the nursery story-- Earliest love of mine infantile breast, Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory Into existence, as thou art addressed! Hasten! appear to me, guileless and good-- Thou are so dear to me, Red Riding-Hood!

Azure-blue eyes, in a marvel of wonder, Over the dawn of a blush breaking out; Sensitive nose, with a little smile under Trying to hide in a blossoming pout-- Couldn't be serious, try as you would, Little mysterious Red Riding-Hood!

Hah! little girl, it is desolate, lonely, Out in this gloomy old forest of Life!-- Here are not pansies and buttercups only-- Brambles and briers as keen as a knife; And a Heart, ravenous, trails in the wood For the meal have he must,--Red Riding-Hood!

IF I KNEW WHAT POETS KNOW

If I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow In the summer-time? Would I sing of golden seeds Springing up in ironweeds? And of rain-drops turned to snow, If I knew what poets know?

Did I know what poets do, Would I sing a song Sadder than the pigeon's coo When the days are long? Where I found a heart in pain, I would make it glad again; And the false should be the true, Did I know what poets do.

If I knew what poets know, I would find a theme Sweeter than the placid flow Of the fairest dream: I would sing of love that lives On the errors it forgives; And the world would better grow If I knew what poets know.

AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE

An old sweetheart of mine!--Is this her presence here with me, Or but a vain creation of a lover's memory? A fair, illusive vision that would vanish into air Dared I even touch the silence with the whisper of a prayer?

Nay, let me then believe in all the blended false and true-- The semblance of the OLD love and the substance of the NEW,-- The THEN of changeless sunny days--the NOW of shower and shine-- But Love forever smiling--as that old sweetheart of mine.

This ever-restful sense of HOME, though shouts ring in the hall.-- The easy chair--the old book-shelves and prints along the wall; The rare HABANAS in their box, or gaunt church-warden-stem That often wags, above the jar, derisively at them.

As one who cons at evening o'er an album, all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till, in shadowy design, I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.

The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, As I turn it low--to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.

'Tis a FRAGRANT retrospection,--for the loving thoughts that start Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart; And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine-- When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of mine.

Though I hear beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, The voices of my children and the mother as she sings-- I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream--

In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm,-- For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.

O Childhood-days enchanted! O the magic of the Spring!-- With all green boughs to blossom white, and all bluebirds to sing! When all the air, to toss and quaff, made life a jubilee And changed the children's song and laugh to shrieks of ecstasy.