George W. Doneghy

I.

Dear little one with eyes so blue,
    And silken ringlets of flaxen hair!
Oh, may life have in store for you
    Something better than anguish and care!
            Oh, may thy footsteps guided be
                In paths of peace and pleasantness!
            Oh, may those bright eyes never see
                Much of the cold world's bitterness!


II.

Dear little one with innocent lips,
    Tasting life's cup at the sparkling brim!
Oh, may the dregs that sorrow sips
    Ever be kept aloof from him!
            Oh, may the smile on his dimpled face
                Through the years to come still linger there!
            Oh, may Time's fingers gently place
                The silver strands in his flaxen hair!

I walked within the silent city of the dead,
Which then with Autumn leaves was carpeted,
And where the faded flower and withered wreath
Bespoke the love for those who slept beneath,
And, weeping, stood beside a new-made grave
Which held the sacred dust that friendship gave.
That heart with milk of human kindness overflowed--
That sympathetic hand its generous aid bestowed
To lighten others' burdens on life's weary road!
And there no polished shaft need lift its head
In lettered eulogy above the sainted dead--
His deeds are monuments above the dust whereon we tread!
When from its fragile tenement of clay
To fairer realms his spirit winged its way,
With poignant grief we stood around the bier
Which held the lifeless form of one held dear,
And broken hearts that ...

I can see the back-log blazing and the sparkles take their flight
Up the cavernous old chimney on a merry Christmas night;
I can see the old folks smiling and the children's cheeks aglow,
And a saucy maiden standing there beneath the mistletoe;
I can hear the laughter mingle with the strains of music sweet
As we tripped the light fantastic with the "many-twinkling feet;"
I can see the moonlight gleaming through the trees upon the snow,
When memory takes me back again to scenes I used to know.

I can see the candles burning bright upon the Christmas tree;
I can see the presents handed round, and hear the shouts of glee,
And from the buried years there comes a-stealing on the heart
A something indefinable which bids the tear-drop start;
I can see the blue smoke curling, throug...

I.

O sweet are the memories when backward we gaze
Through the vista of years to our schoolboy days,
When faces now vanished to the vision appear
And the music of voices long hushed we can hear,
As together we romped where the school-house stood,
Or joyfully wended our way through the wood
Where placidly lay, in the valley beyond,
The moss-covered waters of Tom Barbee's pond!


II.

Though scattered by Time o'er the face of the earth,
And sorrow and anguish have succeeded to mirth,
Still many there be whose mist-bedewed eye
Looks longingly back, while the breast heaves a sigh,
To that far-away time, when together we played
In the school-house yard, or on Saturdays strayed
Where the knots in our sleeves were tied tight as a bond,
As we ...

The sun is sinking where the western hills
    The vision bounds with rugged summits old,
And with his latest beam he brightly gilds
    And crowns with amethyst and gold.

The distant music of a tinkling bell
    Is floating o'er the meadow's gentle sweep--
No discords mar the magic of the spell,
    And stealthily the twilight shadows creep.

And gently falls upon the listening ear--
    Like tones from voices of the long-ago--
The cadence of the murmuring waters near--
    With rhythmic ripplings soft and low.

Now grow apace the shadows' slanting shapes
    And fade the rugged hills to misty gray,
As dying day its calm departure takes
    And yields to coming night her sable sway.

The vaulted dome above now glows afar
    With man...

Bright visions of childhood! How dear to the heart
Are the scenes which from memory can never depart!
Undimmed by the sorrows, the grief and the tears
Which have shadowed the pathway of life's later years,
They come like the rainbow which follows the storm--
On remembrance reflected with colors as warm--
And in dreams of delight they picture the fun
That we had long ago when we fished in Clark's Run!

With a can full of worms and a heart full of joy,
Up and down the old stream, a bare-footed boy,
A truant from school, my footsteps would stray
To the deep-shaded pool, or where ripples at play,
As they flowed over beds of smooth-polished stones,
Sang a lullaby sweet in soft undertones!
From the dawn of the day to the set of the sun
What pleasures we've had when ...

When the nights are gittin' chilly and the leaves begin to fade,
An' the mercury's down to thirty, 'stead o' ninety in the shade,
There's a happy kind o' feelin' takes possession o' the soul--
With the smoke house full o' middlin', and the coal house full o' coal!

When the wintry winds are whistlin' through the branches o' the trees,
An' the dead leaves are a-flyin' and a-rustlin' in the breeze,
You kin feel the vast contentment that over you will roll--
If the barn is full o' fodder, and the coal house full o' coal!

When the 'skeeter's ceased from troublin' and the fly is chilled to death,
An' the window-pane is written with the Frost King's icy breath,
You kin dream about the Summer-time, an' that old fishin' pole--
If the pantry's full o' victuals, an' the coal house fu...

I.

O, where are the friends that in youth we once knew,
Whose smiles were like sunshine, whose hearts were so true?
Alas! they are lost in the darkness and gloom
That veils them from sight in the cold, silent tomb!


II.

O, where are the years that forever have fled,
And over Life's morning their radiance shed?
With the Past written down on the unending scroll
Where Time--grim destroyer--his victims enroll!


III.

O, where are the fancies, the visions, the dreams,
That filled the young breast--with which memory teems?
They have faded away--from life they have passed--
Like stars blotted out when the sky's overcast!


IV.

O, where are the hopes that have beckoned us on
With their beacons of light, throu...

I.

Full well I know that wishing never yet has brought
    The things that seem to us would satisfy the heart,
And that anticipated pleasure, when at last 'tis caught,
    Has naught but transitory solace to impart;
And yet, somehow, I've ever felt and thought
    A joy there is that never can depart--
(As long as we are capable of feeling--wishing)--
    And that's to leave dull care behind, and--go a-fishing!


II.

Some dream of wealth--of place--of fame--
    And fleeting shadows vainly they pursue;
And some have sighed to win a deathless name
    Where fields of carnage corpses thickly strew,
And shrieks of agony are heard 'mid smoke and flame;
    But these are dizzy heights attained by few;
So, when Dame Fortune is her favors dishin...

I.

When the chilling winds of Winter come a-knocking at the door,
And the fleecy flakes are flying and the earth is covered o'er,
And you've supped on sweet potatoes and a 'possum frosted ripe,
Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
                                    Old
                                            Cob
                                                    Pipe!


II.

When the fire is blazing brightly and the room is snug and warm,
And you've left your cares and troubles on the outside with the storm,
And your natural leaf is colored with a golden yellow stripe,
Then glory hallelujah! Git yer
                                    Old
                                            Cob
                                                    Pipe!