George W. Doneghy

I.

Rock-sentineled, romantic stream!
Thy waters flow with silvery gleam
Where glassy pools and visions greet
Embosomed in some cool retreat;
Then rippling o'er a pebbly bed,
With current fleet thy course is led
To where, walled in by beetling cliffs,
It plunges o'er the hidden rifts.


II.

Past where the meadows gently sweep
The limpid waters silent creep,
Until, o'erhung with cooling shade,
They lave the shores of sylvan glade,
And many a wild-flower blooming there
Its incense flings upon the air;
And spreading o'er each sloping side
An emerald carpet stretches wide.


III.

Now gliding out, the waters gleam
And sparkle with the sun's warm beam,
Reflecting then some mirrored cloud
Like specter...

You may boast about the landscapes fair so far across the sea
Of castled Rhine, and southern France, and favored Italy--
But have you seen, when Springtime flings the scented blossoms down,
The forests and the meadows green around old Shakertown?

You may boast of some that bask beneath perpetual Summer's smiles--
Those "Eden's of the eastern wave"--the sunny Grecian isles--
And others that perhaps you've seen, of beauty and renown,
But come and view the country spread around old Shakertown!

O come and boast that you have been where Nature's lavish hand
Bestowed the gifts of wood and field that vie with any land--
Where valleys wear a velvet robe--the hills an emerald crown
Of bluegrass shimmering in the sun, around old Shakertown!

O come to old Kentucky then, an...

I.

The sweetest dreams, it seems to me, that we can ever know,
Are those the fancy brings to us of days of long-ago,
When rainbow-tinted pictures all are like a mirage flung
Upon the canvas memory weaves--of days when we were young.


II.

The step may falter, eye be dim--the brow may wrinkles wear,
And underneath the crumbling mould our friends be sleeping there--
But oh, these visions come to us as to the rose the dew,
And while with raptured gaze we look the heart seems ever new.


III.

Oh, when perhaps at last we're left a laggard on life's stage,
This is the mellowed draught we quaff our longings to assuage--
As sweet as that from Paradise the smiling Houris hand
The Prophet's faithful followers when at its gates they stand!

I.

Give me the patches on my pants, the freckles on my face--
The happy heart where cankering care had never found a place--
And let my bare feet walk again that dirt road down the hill
That led me to the river's brink, beyond the old Mock Mill!


II.

Give me the youthful friends I knew, now scattered far and wide--
The loved ones who have passed beyond the bounds of time and tide--
And let me see the rose's hue that mantled every cheek
When we were run-aways from school, a-fishing in the creek.


III.

Give me the stone-bruise on my heel, the hat without a crown--
The unkempt suit of yellow hair the sun had burnt to brown--
And let me go and soak myself, just where we used to walk,
In that old swimmin' pool we had, up on the Hanging...

I.

In Southern sunny clime there is a hallowed tomb,
    Where rest the ashes of a minstrel priest;
And soft winds that are laden with a sweet perfume
    Their requiems for him have never ceased.


II.

We read his songs, and hear again the tread
    Of armed battalions, marching to the fray,
Or see once more the features of belovèd dead
    Whose life blood crimsoned uniforms of gray!


III.

We see the tattered banner that he loved so well
    Again unfurled and fluttering in the breeze,
And once again we hear the "rebel yell"
    Triumphant wafted o'er the riven trees!


IV.

O, may thy minstrel spirit find eternal rest
    In some fair clime where nothing can be lost!
Where anguish never more ca...

I.

The sweetest music put in song since Robby Burns's time
Is that which breathes its harmony from Georgia's sunny clime,
Where the fragrant-scented odor that the climbing jasmine flings
Commingles with the melody that gifted Stanton sings!


II.

It may not suit a bookish clan that cannot understand
The rhythm and the cadences they never can command--
But what is that to him that knows and touches all the strings
Of hearts responsive to his strain when gifted Stanton sings?


III.

We read his songs and hear the notes repeated once again
His ear has caught when listening to the mocking-bird's refrain,
And interwoven with the sense a mystic something rings
That fills the soul with ecstasy when gifted Stanton sings!


IV...

Facile Princeps.


I.

O gifted one of the Sunny South, with lips so eloquent,
    In whose great heart no malice e'er was found!
And now thou art a messenger of Peace, by heaven sent
    On mission of fraternity, to heal the cankering wound!


II.

In that dread day when fratricidal strife
    Convulsed with passion--crimsoned with its blood--
No nobler son than thou who staked his life
    With veterans Gray withstood the overwhelming flood!


III.

No sweeter tribute could be paid by mortal tongue--
    No nobler sentiment the human heart could fill--
In grander strains no poet's praises e'er were sung
    Of private soldier--than thy words that burn and thrill!


IV.

No treasured wron...

FEBRUARY 4TH, 1894.


"Gone to his exceeding great reward,"
    The friend of rich and poor alike;
And there'll rest not beneath the sward
    More shining mark that death could strike.

The benefactor of his race--
    His noble soul from avarice free;
By heaven lent the sordid earth to grace--
    A nation's tears sincerely shed for thee!

Thrice blest the one, in lowly lot,
    Contented with an humble place,
Who by thy noble heart was ne'er forgot
    And knew thy smiling, loving face!

Oh, thus too early snatched away
    From generous act and loving deed;
Thousands will now deplore the day--
    Thousands now whose hearts will bleed!

The heaven-pointing shaft for thee
    Its stately head might never raise;
B...

I.

Oh, for a deep-shaded spot where the shadows cool
    Are hid from the rays of the glaring sun,
And the sparkling waters from a limped pool
    O'er the gleaming pebbles in ripples run!


II.

Where the sloping banks are with verdure clad,
    And the hoary cliffs with moss o'ergrown,
And the tangled vine and the wildflowers pad
    The fallen trunk and the hidden stone!


III.

Where the song that wells from a feathered throat
    The echoes repeat again and again,
And the drifted sedge and the bubbles float
    O'er the glassy depths of a miniature main!


IV.

Where the willows dip in the edge of the stream,
    And sway and nod in the passing breeze,
And a feller could tranquilly rest and drea...

I.

Now Farmer Jones was noted for fast horses on his place,
And also as the father of a son with freckled face,
And hair so red it looked as if it had been dyed in blood,
And Ephraim was the "masher" of the country neighborhood.


II.

This Ephraim Jones' yellow mare, she was no nice and fleet
That all the girls for miles around on Eph. were very "sweet,"
In hopes to get a ride or two behind her on the road,
With sleigh-bells jingling 'round her neck, some day when it had snowed.


III.

Or else to spin along the pike, with buggy top let down,
And ribbons sailing out behind, when Eph. would drive to town,
The envy of the country boys, and many maidens fair
A-casting wistful glances at the youth with reddish hair.


IV.<...

I.

Gim me back my stone-bruised heel,
    And them tow-linen pants,
An' that old pole an' line an' reel,
    An' all them boyhood ha'nts,
An' that old hat I used to wear,
    That didn't hav' no crown,
An' that same crop uv yeller hair--
    Sun-burnt on top ter brown--
An' them playmates I used ter know,
    An' loved like very brothers--
An' you kin let the old world go
    An' giv' its wealth ter others!


II.

Gim me back one gallus, too,
    That buttoned with a peg,
An' them blamed ticks that burrowed through
    The skin uv either leg,
An' that old single-barrel gun,
    As crooked as a rail,
An' that same dog that used ter run
    The molly cotton-tail,
An' lem me hav' the tops I spun--
    The ki...

I.

Sweetly to sleep beneath the fresh green turf
    They laid the loved and lost away;
A chair is vacant by the household hearth,
    And shadow-vested Sorrow's there to-day.


II.

The tender hands that guided us in youth
    Are folded now upon the gentle breast,
And those dear eyes whose depths were love and truth
    Are closed to open in eternal rest.


III.

Through simple faith and duty well performed,
    A crown of light forever shall be hers;
And though with bitter grief and anguish mourned,
    A consolation gleams through blinding tears!

Sweet Memory! thou faculty divine--
Triumphant o'er the cruel hand of Time!
On thy tablets we may trace
The lines his fingers ne'er efface,
And take with us till latest day
The images that light our way,
And picture thus in a shadowy form
The loved and lost he's from us torn--
Their lids by Death so early sealed--
Life's crimson tide by him congealed--
The tyrant has not all concealed--
They in thy mirror still revealed!

Before the morning sunbeams kissed
The face of Nature--veiled in mist--
And heralded with golden ray
The opening of the perfect day--
Ere yet the sable shades of night
At dawn's approach had winged their flight--
We've listed to the whispering breeze
That's wafted o'er the trembling trees,
And seemed to hear the voice...

I.

I passed her on the crowded street--
This winsome maid, demure and sweet--
And envious saw the silken tresses
That seemed to give her cheeks caresses,
And rapture felt that thrilled me through
When on me glanced those eyes of blue
From underneath the drooping lashes
That could not hide their azure flashes!
And oh, I dreampt of bliss divine
If she would be--my Valentine!


II.

And visions of as fair a face
As painter's pencil e'er did trace
Would haunt the mind each waking hour,
And slumber owned its magic power--
Until I found by merest chance
That belladonna made the glance,
And borrowed hair had lent its aid
For silken tresses of this maid--
And padding--paint--did all combine
To make for me--my Valentine!

I.

"I'll tell yer what," said Uncle Zeke, down at the country store,
"I'd been a farmer all my life--fur twenty year or more--
Until one day my noddle here, it got plumb out o' fix,
Er-swellin' with the idy that I's made fur politicks.


II.

"I'd been ter hear them fellers speak, an' rip an' rant an' rave,
When 'lection time's er-comin' on, who tell yer how ter save
Ther kentry frum tarnation ruin, by sendin' only men
That's fit ter draw ther salaries, an' honest--jest like them.


III.

"So listen, boys--yer'll profit by ther story that I tell--
I left ther farm ter 'lectioneer an' run fur constable;
I wouldn't hearken ter my wife--she said I'd lost my wit,
An' as fur holdin' offices--she knowed I wusn't fit.

Fought October 8th, 1862.


Here on this spot, where Nature now, with chilling, icy breath,
Has mantled in a robe of white the field of strife and death,
We view in memory once again the awful scenes where met
In serried ranks the Blue and Gray--and tears the lashes wet;
For those who fell that dreadful day are mingled with the dust,
And often here the plow upturns a bayonet red with rust:
A sad memento of the time when passion held full sway--
Reminder to the rustic swain of fratricidal fray.

From yonder hill the shotted guns in dreadful chorus rang--
And on this plain was heard that day the glittering sabre's clang,
And in that vale, where wound the brook, with waters murmuring,
We stood and heard the Minie balls their deadly message sing,
And saw the life ...

I.

Oh, melancholy child of want and woe!
    A brilliant meteor in an ebon sky!
Thy soul's weird music all did flow
    From heart-strings touched by destiny!


II.

The Raven, perched above thy chamber door,
    Responsive croaked with a prophetic word--
For in the realm of song may "Nevermore"
    Such strains as thine by mortal ear be heard!


III.

Where now doth that proud spirit dwell,
    Whose earthly days were clouded o'er with gloom?
In regions with the sweet-voiced "Israfel,"
    Where never-fading flowerets bloom?


IV.

Dost rest within some "distant Aidenn,
    Beyond the Night's Plutonian shore?
And clasp again a sainted maiden
    Whom the angels name Lenore?"


V....

(A PARAPHRASE.)


I.

Thou lingering Star! No less'ning ray
    Will e'er bedim thy natal morn,
Or usher in the unhallowed day
    When we forget that thou wert born!
O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
    Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou again a Highland maid,
    Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?


II.

That sacred day can we forget,
    Can we forget the hallowed spot
Where by the winding Ayr was set
    The sparkling jewel in lowly cot?
Eternity will not efface
    The record dear of time that's past;
Thy memory sweet we still embrace,
    And will as long as life shall last!


III.

Ayr, congealèd to its pebbled shore,
    O'erhung with wild woods, shorn of gree...