William McKendree Carleton

William McKendree Carleton, commonly known as Will Carleton, was an American poet from Michigan. He gained significant recognition for his work that depicted rural life, with some of his most famous pieces including 'Over the Hill to the Poorhouse' and 'Betsy and I Are Out'. His writings often focused on social issues and the hardships faced by ordinary people. Carleton's style was straightforward, and he was well-known for his ability to capture the essence of American rural life in the 19th century.

October 21, 1845

December 18, 1912

English

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How Betsey And I Made Up.

    


Give us your hand, Mr. Lawyer: how do you do to-day?
You drew up that paper - I s'pose you want your pay.
Don't cut down your figures; make it an X or a V;
For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.

Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,
Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;
And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,
They'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive.

No - for I was laborin' under a heavy load;
No - for I was travelin' an entirely different road;
For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,
And seein' where ...

William McKendree Carleton

How We Fought The Fire.

I.

        'Twas a drowsy night on Tompkins Hill:
        The very leaves of the trees lay still;
        The world was slumbering, ocean deep;
        And even the stars seemed half asleep,
        And winked and blinked at the roofs below,
        As yearning for morn, that they might go.
        The streets as stolid and still did lie
        As they would have done if streets could die;
        The sidewalks stretched as quietly prone
        As if a foot they had never known;
        And not a cottage within the town,
        But looked as if it would fain lie down.
        Away in the west a stacken-cloud,
        With white arms drooping and bare head bowed,
        Was leaning against - with drowsy eye -
        The dark blue velveting of the sky...

William McKendree Carleton

How We Kept The Day.

I.
The great procession came up the street,
With clatter of hoofs and tramp of feet;
There was General Jones to guide the van,
And Corporal Jinks, his right-hand man;
And each was riding his high horse,
And each had epaulettes, of course;
And each had a sash of the bloodiest red,
And each had a shako on his head;
And each had a sword by his left side,
And each had his mustache newly dyed;
And that was the way
We kept the day,
The great, the grand, the glorious day,
That gave us -
Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!
(With a battle or two, the histories say,)
Our National Independence!

II.
The great procession came up the street,
With loud da capo, and brazen repeat;
There was Hans, the leader, a Teuton born,
A sharp who worried th...

William McKendree Carleton

If I'D A Million Millions.

                    If I'd a million millions -
                    Just think! a million millions! -
        What wouldn't I do - what couldn't I do -
                    If I'd a million millions?
        From every forest's finest tree
        My many-gabled house should be;
        With silver threads from golden looms
        Should be attired my palace-rooms;
        My blossomed table have the best
        Of all the East and all the West;
        My bed should be a daintier thing
        Than ever sheltered queen or king;
                    What wouldn't I do,
                    What couldn't I do,
                    If I'd a million millions?

                    If I'd a million millions -
                    A good, square million millions -...

William McKendree Carleton

Johnny Rich.

Raise the light a little, Jim,
For it's getting rather dim,
And, with such a storm a-howlin', 'twill not do to douse the glim.
Hustle down the curtains, Lu;
Poke the fire a little, Su;
This is somethin' of a flurry, mother, somethin' of a - whew!

Goodness gracious, how it pours!
How it beats ag'in the doors!
You will have a hard one, Jimmy, when you go to do the chores!
Do not overfeed the gray;
Give a plenty to the bay;
And be careful with your lantern when you go among the hay.

See the horses have a bed
When you've got 'em fairly fed;
Feed the cows that's in the stable, and the sheep that's in the shed;
Give the spotted cow some meal,
Where the brindle can not steal;
For she's greedy as a porker, and as slipp'ry as an eel.

Hang yo...

William McKendree Carleton

Let The Cloth Be White.

    Go set the table, Mary, an' let the cloth be white!
    The hungry city children are comin' here to-night;
    The children from the city, with features pinched an' spare,
    Are comin' here to get a breath of God's untainted air.

    They come from out the dungeons where they with want were chained;
    From places dark an' dismal, by tears of sorrow stained;
    From where a thousand shadows are murdering all the light:
    Set well the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!



    They ha' not seen the daisies made for the heart's behoof;
    They never heard the rain-drops upon a cottage roof;
    They do not...

William McKendree Carleton

More Ways Than One.

[From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.]

[More Ways Than One.]

        I was present, one day
            Where both layman and priest
        Worshipped God in a way
            That was startling, at least:
        Over thirty in place
            On the stage, in a row,
        As is often the case
            At a minstrelsy show;
        In a uniform clad
            Was each one of them seen,
        And a banjo they had,
            And a loud tambourine.
        And they sung and they shouted
            Their spasmodic joys,
        Just as if they ne'er doubted
            That God loved a noise.

        And their phrases, though all
            Not deficient in points,
        A grammarian would call
      ...

William McKendree Carleton

One And Two.

I.
If you to me be cold,
Or I be false to you,
The world will go on, I think,
Just as it used to do;
The clouds will flirt with the moon,
The sun will kiss the sea,
The wind to the trees will whisper,
And laugh at you and me;
But the sun will not shine so bright,
The clouds will not seem so white,
To one, as they will to two;
So I think you had better be kind,
And I had best be true,
And let the old love go on,
Just as it used to do.

II.
If the whole of a page be read,
If a book be finished through,
Still the world may read on, I think,
Just as it used to do;
For other lovers will con
The pages that we have passed,
And the treacherous gold of the binding
Will glitter unto the last.
But lids have a lonely look,...

William McKendree Carleton

Only A Box.

[From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.]

[Only A Box.]


        Only a box, secure and strong,
        Rough, and wooden, and six feet long,
        Lying here in the drizzling rain,
        Waiting to take the up-bound train.



        Only its owner, just inside,
        Cold, and livid, and glassy-eyed;
        Little to him if the train be late!
        Nothing has he to do but wait.

        Only an open grave, somewhere,
        Heady to close when he gets there;
        Turfs and grasses and flowerets sweet,
        Ready to press him 'neath their feet.

     ...

William McKendree Carleton

Our Army Of The Dead.

By the edge of the Atlantic, where the waves of Freedom roar,
And the breezes of the ocean chant a requiem to the shore,
On the Nation's eastern hill-tops, where its corner-stone was laid,
On the mountains of New England, where our fathers toiled and prayed,
Mid old Key-stone's rugged riches, which the miner's hand await,
Mid the never-ceasing commerce of the busy Empire State,
With the country's love and honor on each brave, devoted head,
Is a band of noble heroes - is our Army of the Dead.

On the lake-encircled homestead of the thriving Wolverine,
On the beauteous Western prairies, with their carpeting of green,
By the sweeping Mississippi, long our country's pride and boast,
On the rugged Rocky Mountains, and the weird Pacific coast,
In the listless, sunny Southland, wit...

William McKendree Carleton

Out O' The Fire.

[As Told in 1880.]

Year of '71, children, middle of the fall,
On one fearful night, children, we well-nigh lost our all.
True, it wa'n't no great sum we had to lose that night,
But when a little's all you've got, it comes to a blessed sight.

I was a mighty worker, in them 'ere difficult days,
For work is a good investment, and almost always pays;
But when ten years' hard labor went smokin' into the air.
I doubted all o' the maxims, an' felt that it wasn't fair.

Up from the East we had traveled, with all of our household wares,
Where we had long been workin' a piece of land on shares;
But how a fellow's to prosper without the rise of the land,
For just two-thirds of nothin', I never could understand.

Up from the East we had traveled, me and my folks al...

William McKendree Carleton

Out Of The Old House, Nancy.

Out of the old house, Nancy - moved up into the new;
All the hurry and worry is just as good as through.
Only a bounden duty remains for you and I -
And that's to stand on the door-step, here, and bid the old house good-bye.



What a shell we've lived in, these nineteen or twenty years!
Wonder it hadn't smashed in, and tumbled about our ears;
Wonder it's stuck together, and answered till to-day;
But every individual log was put up here to stay.


Things looked rather new, though, when this old house was built;
And things that blossomed you would've made some women wilt;
And every other day, then, as sure as day would break,
My neighb...

William McKendree Carleton

Over The Hill From The Poor-House.

I, who was always counted, they say,
Rather a bad stick any way,
Splintered all over with dodges and tricks,
Known as "the worst of the Deacon's six;"
I, the truant, saucy and bold,
The one black sheep in my father's fold,
"Once on a time," as the stories say,
Went over the hill on a winter's day -
Over the hill to the poor-house.

Tom could save what twenty could earn;
But givin' was somethin' he ne'er would learn;
Isaac could half o' the Scriptur's speak -
Committed a hundred verses a week;
Never forgot, an' never slipped;
But "Honor thy father and mother" he skipped;
So over the hill to the poor-house.

As for Susan, her heart was kind
An' good - what there was of it, mind;
Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice,
Nothin' she w...

William McKendree Carleton

Over The Hill To The Poor-House.

Over the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way -


I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray -
I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told,
As many another woman that's only half as old.

Over the hill to the poor-house - I can't quite make it clear!
Over the hill to the poor-house - it seems so horrid queer!
Many a step I've taken a-toilin' to and fro,
But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go.

What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame?
Am I lazy or crazy? am I blind or lame?
True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout;
But charity ain't no favor, if one can l...

William McKendree Carleton

The "Slugging"-Match.

        "A first-class professional fight!"
            I'm really doing the town!
        There were thousands on thousands to-night
            To see a man knock a man down.
        Two dollars I willingly (?) paid
            To view all this muscle and brawn;
        'Twas rather too much, I'm afraid,
            Or seemed so, the minute 'twas gone.

                    *            *            *            *            *

        And yet 'tis a study to see
            The rage gladiatorial of Rome
        And grim Spanish bull-baiting glee
            Adopt an American home!
        That blood-thirsty, murderous spite
            Men loudly condemn - and possess!
        Besieged New York City last night,
            With first-class financia...

William McKendree Carleton

The Boy Convict's Story.

    I'd rather sit here, Mr. Sheriff - up near to the end of the car;
    We won't do so much advertising if we stay in the seat where we are.
    That sweet little dude saw the bracelets that you on my wrists have bestowed,
    And tells the new passengers promptly you're "taking me over the road."
    I've had a well-patronized trial - the neighbors all know of my fall;
    But when I get out among strangers I'm sensitive-like, after all.

    For I was a lad of good prospects, some three or four summers ago -
    There wasn't any boy in our township who made a more promising show!
    I learned all of Solomon's proverbs, and took in their goodness and worth,
    Till I felt like a virtue-hooped barrel, chock-full of the salt of the earth.
    And this precious picnic of sorrow woul...

William McKendree Carleton

The Dead Stowaway.

    He lay on the beach, just out of the reach
        Of waves that had cast him by:
    With fingers grim they reached for him
        As often as they came nigh.
    The shore-face brown had a surly frown,
        And glanced at the dancing sea,
    As if to say, "Take back the clay
        You tossed this morning at me."
    Great fragments rude, by the shipwreck strewed,
        Had found by this wreck a place;
    He had grasped them tight, and hope-strewn fright
        Sat still on the bloated face.
    Battered and bruised, forever abused,
        He lay by the heartless sea,
    As if Heaven's aid had never been made
        For a villain such as he.
    The fetter's mark lay heavy and dark
        Around the pulseless wrists;
    The harde...

William McKendree Carleton

The Editor's Guests.

The Editor sat in his sanctum, his countenance furrowed with care,
His mind at the bottom of business, his feet at the top of a chair,
His chair-arm an elbow supporting, his right hand upholding his head,
His eyes on his dusty old table, with different documents spread:
There were thirty long pages from Howler, with underlined capitals topped,
And a short disquisition from Growler, requesting his newspaper stopped;
There were lyrics from Gusher, the poet, concerning sweet flow'rets and zephyrs,
And a stray gem from Plodder, the farmer, describing a couple of heifers;
There were billets from beautiful maidens, and bills from a grocer or two,
And his best leader hitched to a letter, which inquired if he wrote it, or who?
There were raptures of praises from writers of the weakly mellifluous s...

William McKendree Carleton

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