George W. Doneghy

“ And thrill with the touch when her lips set the seal
Of her love, as she spun on the old spinning-wheel!
Then through the shadows and mists of many long years
The old cottage home to the vision appears;
And though youth it has fled, and the hair it is gray,
I'm a bare-footed boy returned to his play—
Forgetting the present to dream once again
That life had no anguish, no sorrow, no pain ”

“ Are a-romping in the meadow and a-sliding down the hay.
V.
The busy bees are buzzing where the grapes with purple blush,
And the hanging bunches tempting with their weight the arbor crush,
And the blue jays are a-wrangling in the wood across the road,
Where the hickory boughs are bending 'neath an extra heavy load.
VI.
Let your poets keep a-singing about the Springtime gay,
And the blossoms and the flowers in the merry month of May—
But the early Autumn splendor, with its sweet September days,
Eclipses boasted Springtime in a thousand kind of ways! ”

“ Ne'er dreamt of in thoughts of Delmonico!
And you'll sit there and eat for an hour or more
With an appetite keen—and unheard of before!
Now bring out your pipe and fill up the bowl,
And loll there and smoke till it seems that the soul
Is wafted away like the ringlets that rise
As blue as the dome of the star-jeweled skies!
Then roll in a blanket with your feet to the blaze,
And the croak of the frogs and the ripple that plays
Will lull you to sleep with music as sweet
As that of the song when the angels you greet! ”

“ But what are all those to a feller who knows
Where the "Medical Spring" in its purity flows,
And has knelt at its brink and just drank his fill
Of the clear, sparkling fluid, from Nature's own still?
II.
How often I've strayed on a hot Summer's day
Where it gurgles and gushes, then flows on its way
With a ripple as sweet as the music that died
When the tones of loved voices are to us denied,
And mirrored my face in the "Medical Spring,"
Where the beetling old cliffs their cool shadows fling! ”

“ With fondest recollection the loving thoughts that start
Into being are but feelings from the bottom of my heart;
And to wear the new hats over is a luxury divine—
Till my truant fancy wanders with that old straw hat of mine.
IV.
Now I hear without my chamber, like a fluttering of wings,
The rustling of the autumn wind as through the trees it sings,
[Pg 104] And I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any scheme
That will bring to me a hat of which I now can only dream. ”

“ As they stretch in dim distance far, far away,
And on Fancy's swift pinions my spirit hath flown
To rest 'mid the scenes which my childhood has known—
Where the old Hanging Fork, with its silvery gleam,
Glides away 'tween the meadows like thoughts in a dream,
And far to the south, with their outlines so blue,
The rugged knobs blend into heaven's own hue! ”

“ 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. ”

“ Along the white pike to the old Hanging Fork?
[Pg 11]
SWEET SEPTEMBER DAYS.
I.
There's a something in the atmosphere, in sweet September days,
That mantles all the landscape with its languid, dreamy haze;
And you see the leaves a-dropping, in a lazy kind of way,
Where the maple trees are standing in their Summer-time array.
II.
There's a yellowish tinge a-creeping over Nature's emerald sheen,
And the cattle stand, half-sleeping, in the middle of the stream
Where the glassy pool is shaded by the overhanging limb,
And the pebbly bottom's glinting where the silvery minnows swim. ”

“ But what cares a feller in slippers and gown,
When wintry winds whistle and snow's pouring down,
With papers and books, and his feet near the fire,
Encircled with ringlets that curl high and higher?
III.
O rare are the fancies, contentment and bliss,
That drive away care in an hour such as this!
When the ills of this life and the things that provoke
Are lost for the while in the blue curling smoke
Of a pipe and tobacco that's yellow as gold,
And raptures supernal the senses unfold. ”

“ 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 full o' coal! ”

“ 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! ”

“ It's the white and the pink I dream of to-day,
And I walk 'neath the branches that just interlace
And shower their blossoms right down in my face
When the breeze that is laden with rarest perfume
Is wafted along where the apple trees bloom! ”

“ 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. ”

“ Legend says high-born and wealthy, seeking there in Nature's wilds
To forget a maiden fickle, basking in a rival's smiles.
Where the music of the wild birds, echoed from the cliffs around,
Blended with the voice of waters, flowing past with silvery sound;
Where in Springtime wild flowers blooming shed their incense day and night,
And the rugged cliff-sides wearing robes of dogwood, snowy white ”

“ Scarce quivered in the gentle wind, and when the dew
Lay sparkling on the grass, beneath the argent moon,
A tragedy took place—of which I'll tell you soon.
And ever and anon a fleecy, drifting cloud,
Meek Dian's face would veil with filmy shroud,
And lend to wood and field that softened ray
Unmatched in beauty from the glaring god of day!
But I will tell the story as 'twas told to me,
And vouched for by some others—two or three—
Whose word to doubt would be a heinous sin—
So, armed with truth, in confidence I will begin. ”

“ The sun might shine his level best—the sky seem molten brass—
The heat might dry up every stream, and burn up all the grass—
The evening come without a breeze—the morning have no dew—
If it wasn't for the 'moke' who asks
"Is it hot enough fer you?" ”

“ In that old swimmin' pool we had, up on the Hanging Fork!
IV.
Give me the wealth I used to have—a wealth of vast content—
The pockets that were always full—but in them not a cent—
And let me hear the music sweet the wild birds used to sing
In woods and fields I wandered o'er, beyond the Old Cove Spring!
[Pg 59]
V.
Give me—but what's the use of wishing for the days that won't return—
The vanished faces of the friends for whom we fondly yearn? ”

“ Are those that in the memory blow, along the meadow path!
[Pg 91]
THE FOX HUNTERS.
I.
With fleet-limbed steeds and baying pack
They follow close on Reynard's track,
And wake the slumbering echoes round
With music of the horn and hound;
Through wood and field, o'er hill and dale,
They course him in the moonlight pale,
And sport they find which brings delight—
These reckless riders of the night!
II.
The game is up! away, away!
Nor hedge nor fence their course can stay;
They clear them at a single leap,
And like the wind they onward sweep! ”

“ But never mind about 'em—just yer slip away and feel
That something so delectable that over yer will steal;
For it sets the pulses beatin' with a magic kind of thrill
When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill!
When yer 'gin to take the fever, and yer feel it comin' on,
Why yer boun' ter go a-fishin', just as shore as yer born;
Then ye'd better git yer trapping's in the proper kind o' fix,
And go and hear the music when yer reel a-spinnin' clicks;
For he rushes through the water at a pace that's fit ter kill
When yer hang a four-pound jumper at the dam below the mill! ”

“ 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, and to her garden spot,
Then wander wheresoe'er you will, it ne'er will be forgot—
For Nature's face is wreathed in smiles nor wears a single frown
To mar the beauty she has spread around old Shakertown!
[Pg 41]
MEMORIA IN ÆTERNA.
Sweet Memory! ”

“ If rightly lived and rightly spent, will bring rare, happy days,
That temper with their sunshine the frigid Winter's wrath,
When gathering storms are darkling o'er life's declining path,
And lend a ray celestial that hoarded gold ne'er gave
To lighten all thy journey, from the cradle to the grave."
[Pg 84]
FRANK L. STANTON.
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! ”

“ 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 voices sweet
Of loved ones now we ne'er can meet
Till earthly night shall pass away—
Supplanted by immortal day!
And thus in retrospective mood,
Alone with Nature's solitude
In some secluded sylvan dell,
Her myriad voices float and swell
[Pg 42] And flitting shadows softly tell
Of dear ones lost—yet loved so well! ”

“ About three nights in every week could Ephraim's yellow mare
Be found a-standing hitched outside, while he was courting there,
And so the boys, with envy mad and jealousy aroused,
To humble Eph. hit on a plan they heartily espoused.
VI.
If anything in all the world, beside sweet Tildy Ann,
Was dear to Ephraim's eye and heart, it was his claybank, Fan;
He boasted of her speed and looks, and of her pedigree—
Said more intelligence in a brute no man would ever see. ”

“ The morning of life, that was fresh with the dew
Distilled from the heart, as she taught me to kneel
Right down by her side, and the old spinning-wheel!
[Pg 33]
"RESTLAND." WRITTEN IN THE DANVILLE (KY.) CEMETERY.
I.
Within thy hallowed precincts on this sweet autumnal day,
We're wandering 'neath the cedar and the pine,
Where rests the sacred dust of loved ones passed away,
And bleeding hearts a melancholy pleasure find. ”

“ Of private soldier—than thy words that burn and thrill!
IV.
No treasured wrong within thy noble soul
Has tainted with its slimy trail of hate—
No broader love of country could embrace the whole,
Or bow more gracefully to iron hand of fate!
V.
Speak on! And scatter broadcast healing seed
That shall a harvest of good feeling yield—
And Peace, no less than War, shall lend her meed
And crown anew this hero of the bloody field!
[Pg 23]
UP AND DOWN OLD CLARK'S RUN.
Bright visions of childhood! ”

“ 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!
[Pg 112]
A TRUE STORY. (READ BEFORE A MEETING OF THE DANVILLE SCRIBBLER CLUB.) ”

“ Or you're tucked between the blankets from the frosty, nippin' air,
Why, your dreams will be the sweeter if you've helped some sufferin' soul
Whose larder's scant o' victuals, and his coal house minus coal! ”

“ And the soul drifts away in a swoon of delight,
Unanchored from care and from sorrow's cold blight!
III.
O the hills of old Lincoln!—my footsteps have trod
Up and down their green valleys, with shotgun and rod,
[Pg 110] And it seems to me now that the years that have fled
Around their old summits a halo have shed
That guides the fond fancy unerringly there
When backward it wanders with childhood to share
Sweet scenes such as these, inurned in the heart,
And which from fond memory can never depart! ”

“ An' 'fore ther 'lection day cum roun' I'd sold my wheat an' oats,
An' spent ther proceeds that I got in purchasin' uv votes.
[Pg 99]
V.
"I knowed 'twus wrong—agin ther law—ter do er thing like that—
But then ther boys all said, yer know, 'twould take er little 'fat,'
Fur ther feller that I run agin could have no earthly hope
Uv beatin' me if I'd use ther right amount uv 'soap.'
VI.
"I jocks I did—I won ther fight—I sarved er single term—
(But fur ther salary that I got I wouldn't give er durn) ”