176 THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE. For it saves its song till the end of life, It sings as it soars into heaven. And the blessed notes fall back from the skies; You have heard these tales; shall I tell you one, Have you heard of him whom the heavens adore, For earth in its wailings and woes, O Prince of the noble! O sufferer divine! Have you heard this tale,-the best of them all,— He dies, but his life, in untold souls, Lives on in the world anew. His seed prevails, and is filling the earth, He taught us to yield up the love of life, His death is our life, his loss is our gain,— Now hear these tales, ye weary and worn, Our Saviour hath told you the seed that would grow, Must pass from the view, and die away, And then will the fruit appear; The grain, that seems lost in the earth below, By death comes life, by loss comes gain; The joy for the tear, the peace for the pain. Her father goes clad in russet All brown and seedy at that; His coat is out at the elbows, And he wears a shocking bad hat. He is hoarding and saving his dollars, So carefully, day by day, While she on her whims and fancies She lies in bed of a morning Until the hour of noon, Then comes down, snapping and snarling Her hair is still in papers, Her cheeks still dabbered with paint Remains of last night's blushes Before she attempted to faint. Her feet are so very little, Her hands are so very white, Her jewels so very heavy, And her head so very light; Her color is made of cosmeticsThough this she'll never own; Her body is mostly cotton, And her heart is wholly stone. She falls in love with a fellow 177 178 THE VAGABONDS. He marries her for her money, THE VAGABONDS.-J. T. TROWBRIDGE. W Roger's my dog:-come here, you scamp! Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, And ate and drank-and starved together. We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! A fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow! (This out-door business is bad for strings,) Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, No, thank ye, Sir, I never drink; Aren't we, Roger ?--see him wink!— Well, something hot, then, we won't quarrel. He's thirsty, too,-see him nod his head? What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk! He understands every word that's said,— And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, I've been so sadly given to grog, I wonder I've not lost the respect (Here's to you, Sir !) even of my dog. THE VAGABONDS. But he sticks by, through thick and thin; He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. There isn't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, To such a miserable, thankless master! No, sir!-see him wag his tail and grin! By George! it makes my old eyes water! That is, there's something in this gin That chokes a fellow. But no matter! We'll have some music, if you're willing, And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!) Shall march a little.-Start, you villain! Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer! Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle! (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, To aid a poor old patriot soldier! March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes Now tell us how many drams it takes To honor a jolly new acquaintance. Five yelps, that's five; he's mighty knowing! Why not reform? That's easily said; But I've gone through such wretched treatment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, And scarce remembering what meat meant, That my poor stomach's past reform; And there are times when, mad with thinking, I'd sell out heaven for something warm, To prop a horrible, inward sinking. 179 180 THE VAGABONDS.. Is there a way to forget to think? At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, If you had seen her, so fair and young, Whose head was happy on this breast! If you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed That ever I, Sir, should be straying From door to door, with fiddle and dog. Ragged and penniless, and playing To you to-night for a glass of grog! She's married since,-a parson's wife: Than a blasted home and a broken heart. But little she dreamed, as on she went, Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped! You've set me talking, Sir; I'm sorry; It makes me wild to think of the change! Is it amusing? you find it strange? I had a mother so proud of me! 'Twas well she died before Do you know If the happy spirits in heaven can see Another glass, and strong, to deaden This pain; then Roger and I will start. |