Oklahoma and Other Poems by Freeman E. Miller
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Freeman E. Miller >> Oklahoma and Other Poems
Then sing for the willow, the wild weeping willow,
That droops in the smiles of the summer-born times,
And mourns in the kiss of the sweet-scented billow,
When beaming and gleaming are dripping with chimes!
While melodies move where their happiness lingers,
They surely will gladden the tear-laden sprays,
And music that flutters from fairy-like fingers
Will lighten and brighten the burdensome days.
AT THE MILL.
The water-wheel goes 'round and 'round
With heavy sighs of mournful sound,
While dismal cries and weary moans
Unite with sad and tearful groans,
And weeping waves of water throw
Afar the echoes of their sadness,
And cadences of plaintive woe
Dispel each little note of gladness.
My daily life goes 'round and 'round,
And rest for me is never found;
The sobbing dirges of distress
Are more than songs of happiness;
The shadows of despairing doom
Condemn to-day and curse to-morrow,
And muffled terrors fill the gloom
Which offers anguish to my sorrow.
But hope, O, heart, for future weal!
The waters rest beyond the wheel;
So life may sing when toil is done
And all its battles lost or won.
There lives a sweeter music there,
Of gentle and melodious measure,
Where weeping never comes and where
The ages perish into pleasure.
SHADOW AND SHINE.
They will find in this life who are grieved with its gladness
No songs for the heart and no hopes for the soul,
But will faint in the glooms where the dirges of sadness
In tremulous murmurs of wretchedness roll;
For the sweets of this earth never lavish their kisses
Where lives in the valleys of rapture repine;
In the tortures they mourn who denounce all the blisses,--
They weep in the shadow that rail at the shine.
In the fields that are fair with the blooms of the clover,
No garlands are grown for the arbors of shade
Where the woes of the wood in their darkness hang over
The grasses that wave with the winds of the glade;
From the chimes of the breezes there echo no measures
That gladden the gale with a music divine;
In the troubles they languish who shrink from the pleasures,
They weep in the shadow that rail at the shine.
Ah, the world is abounding with wonderful glories
And wild are the warbles that sweeten its ways
While the songs of the land sing their beautiful stories,
And scatter their melodies over the days!
There are smiles, there are joys, never mingled with sorrow,
O, man, in return for the tears that are thine,
And the soul never sobs that has hopes for the morrow,
Nor weeps in the shadow nor rails at the shine!
THE GROWTH OF SONG.
A tender song in shadows grew,
And humble hearts were homes it knew.
But through its wondrous music stole
The longings of the human soul;
The hopes of hosts unsatisfied
Within its numbers wandered wide;
And strangely wet with toilsome tears
It held the yearnings of the years;
Till millions with their woes oppressed,
Proclaimed the song of peace and rest;
Till nations in their troubled ways
Found comfort in the joyous lays,
And all the halting race of wrong
Exalts the loving might of song!
Ah, song that soothes our many cries
With fondness of thy lullabies,
We love, we bless, we scepter thee
Proud empress of the hearts that be!
SPRING AND MUSIC.
Spring, among her sylvan shades,
And the gladness of her glades,
Once in dreamy hours was straying,
Where sweet Music with her throngs
Of glad melodies and songs
In the happy vales was playing.
Pan beheld the fairy maids
As they gamboled in the shades,
And he swore they should not sever.
But that o'er the blooming land,
Heart to heart and hand in hand,
They should wander on forever.
Thus when come the gentle days
O'er the wildwood's tangled ways,
There is found no gloomy weather;
For among the leafy bowers
And the valleys bright with flowers
Spring and Music walk together!
COMPENSATION.
The softest beams of the stars are born in the farthest skies,
And fairest rays of the sun where evening shadows rise;
The sweetest songs of the bird are sung in the darkest days,
And rarest blooms of the spring are found in the wildest ways.
The brightest blush of the rose is blown as the petals fade.
The greenest grass of the earth is grown in the hidden glade;
The fondest rhyme of the rill is heard in the secret vale,
And lightest lays of the breeze are borne from the dying gale.
The highest hopes of the heart in saddest of sorrows grow,
The purest pleasures of joy arise in the wane of woe;
The gladdest smiles of the lips are seen in the hours of pain,
And proudest days of the free are spent by the broken chain.
The grandest deeds of the race are writ on the faded scroll,
The truest rivers of good from villainous fountains roll;
The perfect raptures of life are reared in the arms of care,
And Hope with her joys dispels the darkness of our despair.
MY MOLLIE, O!
'Twas in the summer's sweet perfume,
When roses bloomed and holly, O,
That in the brightness of her bloom,
I first did meet my Mollie, O.
Although she said for lives to love
Was nothing but pure folly, O,
My heart was lit with light above,
And I true loved my Mollie, O.
O, swift and fast the days did flee
And seemed most bright and jolly, O,
For evermore was near to me
My fair and lovely Mollie, O.
Now I doth sit through all the day
And nurse my melancholy, O,
For from me she has turned away,
O, false and fickle Mollie, O!
SING NOT OF BEAUTY.
Sing not of beauty's grace to me;
Its very name a story tells
Of doubly dark inconstancy,
Love falser than a hundred hells.
Its face is often but a screen
To hide a devil's heart of guile,
Of thoughts and deeds of shameful mien,
By winning looks of heartless wile.
Its laughing smile is but the gleam
That springs from dross of foulest make;
It stirs a sweet but idle dream,
Then leaves the trusting heart to break.
Sing not of beauty's grace to me;
I can not bear to hear the name;
For, oh! Too oft in it I see
A soul of falsehood and of shame!
AT EVENTIDE.
At eventide, when glories lie
In crimson curtains hung on high,
And all the breast of heaven glows
With mingled wreaths of flowers and snows,
The dearest dreams of life draw nigh.
The pleasures in their soft robes fly
With angel wings adown the sky,
And rapture lulls to sweet repose,
At eventide.
Ah, well-a-day! Life's weary cry,
And all its curse and care shall die,
When Age on downy couches throws
His weary limbs and only knows
The tender dreams of bye-and-bye,
At eventide!
WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES.
When Christmas comes, what pleasures spring
From drooping hearts on happy wing,
Like joyous birds that soaring rise
From hidden coverts to the skies.
And echo in the chimes that ring!
Glad millions in wild rapture sing
Hosannaed hopes of welcoming,
While praises blend in harmonies,
When Christmas comes.
Ah, happy hours! Around them cling
The dearest joys that life may bring,
And all the world's despairing cries
Are soothed to sleep with lullabies
That banish every bitter thing,
When Christmas comes!
WHEN THOU ART NEAR.
When thou art near, with gladdest grace
My heart is held in fond embrace,
For laughing lips with raptures bless
The toils and tears of my distress,
And woes within me have no place.
The halting hours with hurried pace
Whirl wildly on through happy space,
And life is light with happiness,
When thou art near.
Like mortals whom an angel race
Renews with gladness face to face,
I thrill with Love's unseen caress
That holy hands upon me press,
And Heaven's pleasures all I trace,
When thou art near.
HE SLEEPS AT LAST.
He sleeps at last! The vales of rest
Are waiting for the war-worn breast,
And glorious angels fondly spread
The sweetest roses for his bed.
While countless millions call him blest.
Fame welcomes him with glad behest,
While garlands on his brow are pressed,
And laurels cluster o'er his head;
He sleeps at last.
O, deep the sorrows here confessed,
Where Freedom makes eternal quest!
The wondrous chief that proudly led
The long, blue lines that fought and bled,
In peace is now no more distressed;
He sleeps at last!
WHEN FORTUNES FROWN.
When fortunes frown, the woes, bedight
With brooding shadows, bring the night,
While dismal sorrows darkness dole,
And disappointments rise and roll
Above the longings for the light.
Despair, with hands that curse and blight,
Sows weakness in the hearts of might
Until they falter near the goal,
When fortunes frown.
But onward still! The valleys white
With Heaven's blossoms are in sight;
The Holy Mountains, knoll on knoll,
Are waiting for the Master Soul,
And he shall conquer for the right,
When fortunes frown!
WHEN WE SHALL MEET.
When we shall meet, I strangely know
The mad emotions that shall flow
Across my heart all quivering,
Beneath the raptures he shall bring
From angel years that gladdened so.
And I all shy and silent grow
Beneath his glance of gladness, though
Wild yearnings through my bosom spring,
When we shall meet.
Till joyful tears of passion show,
And to his kind embrace I throw
My heart unworthy, and I cling
With deathless fondness to the king
I worshipped in the Long Ago,
When we shall meet!
SWEET EYES OF BLUE.
Sweet eyes of blue! The stars by night,
That swoon the world with laughing light,
And touch the hills with tender glow
While all the vales are kissed below,
Beside you would no more be bright.
My worlds ye are, and while I throw
My heart to catch the beams that flow
From your fair shrine, my woes take flight,
Sweet eyes of blue!
Glad orbs of beauty! In your sight
My soul mounts up with secret might,
Till Eden's lovely bowers I know;
And as through Heaven's gates I go,
The pleasures all my sorrow smite,
Sweet eyes of blue!
HAD WE NOT MET.
Had we not met, the brooding woe
And all the griefs that greater grow,
Might not have been, and happy-wise
Our lives have laughed with lullabies
And quaffed such joys as few may know.
Our days beneath embittered skies
Where anguish moans and sorrow cries,
Might not have wept and wandered so,
Had we not met!
But ah, my darling! All we prize,--
Love and sweet trust that never dies,
Wild yearnings that with constant flow
From kindred heart to bosom go,--
Would never in our souls had rise,
Had we not met!
A SONNET.
We gentler grow by sorrow; not the breast
That never crouches in the nights of tears,
That never bends beneath the loads of years,
Has sympathies that are the kindliest.
There is a strength in agony that best
Can link the careless heart with human fears,
And teach it that fond kindness which endears
The millions that with sadness are oppressed.
Grief softens while it saddens; pleasure smites
The timid soul with harshness, till it knows
Small earnest of the great world's grievous woes
And little of its struggles; sorrow plights
Her troth with sorrow, and in tears unites
Man unto man and hatred overthrows.
OKLAHOMA,--A SONNET.
Here, through the ages old, the desert slept
In solitudes unbroken, save when passed
The bison herds, and savage hunters swept
In thund'ring chaos down the valleys vast;
But, lo! Across the barren margins stepped
Advancement with her legions, and one blast
From her imperial trumpet filled the last
Lone covert where affrighted wildness crept.
Full armed, full armored, at her wondrous birth,
Her shining temples wreathed with gorgeous dower,
She sits among the empires of the earth;
Her proud achievements o'er the nations tower,
Won by her people with their royal worth,
With lofty culture, wisdom, wealth and power.
ESTRANGED.
Though far apart, my darling, side by side
We wander still and our fond yearnings meet,
As when our hearts with highest raptures beat
Before our footsteps trod the paths of pride;
Our close companionship hath never died;
True love and trust are always fair and sweet,
And time from life's best hopes can never hide
A kindred soul that made its own complete!
So thou, dear one, shall come once more to me,
The sweeter grown for all thy years of pain;
My longing arms shall open wide for thee,
And thou shalt nestle on my breast again;
Then perfect love shall richly crown the years,
And both be better for our griefs and tears.
RECONCILED.
We meet again beyond the barren past,
Beyond the pride, the sorrows and the tears;
And yearnings leave the strife and hate of years
To flood our souls with perfect peace at last!
Our hearts forget the wrong so deep and vast,
The wounding words and all the cruel woe,
Till joy is all our bounding bosoms know,
And life is glad with happiness at last.
Love, deathless and forgiving, crowns with bays
The future and our hopes, as full of grace,
As youth had fondly dreamed in other days,
When first we knew how sweet was her embrace.
God's endless purpose guides the feet of men;
Beyond our pride we meet in love again!
THE DYING HERO.
His greatness hath not left him; till the years
Have won the nation from her children dead,
And robbed her of remembrance where she rears
Her monuments above the blood they shed,
Will his name want for homage; with sad fears
The Union winds her garlands o'er his head,
And fondly wreathes her love, bedewed with tears,
To bless the hero on his dying bed.
His luster lives untarnished; as he lies
Where Malady has bound him in wild pain,
And only Death can loose the heavy chain
That galls her captive while his nature dies,
He seems far greater in his country's eyes,
Than if an Appomattox spake again.
SONNET.
Somehow, someway, I can not see the light;
The giant hills of doubting reach the skies,
Abiding shadows bring eternal night,
And on my ways no suns of morning rise;
Dark mysteries across the years of might
Crush down my hopes, until each yearning dies,
Until my soul is weary, dim my sight,
And ghostly echoes mock my fainting cries.
Ah, I shall know beyond these narrow years,
The glorious mornings of eternal day,
Where perfect love and tender trust shall play,
And smiles and laughter banish all the tears,
And all the heavy mists of doubts and fears
Shall leave my longing soul somehow, someway!
GREATNESS LIVES APART.
Great natures live apart; the mountain gray
May call no comrade to his lonely side;
The giant ocean, wrapped in storm and spray,
Has no companion for her endless tide;
The forest monarch, where his parents died,
Can find no brother in his lofty sway,
And mighty rivers chafe their margins wide
Where infant rills and childish fountains play.
So heroes live; no raptured blossoms start
Where rugged heights of human glory end;
No tender songs of loving beauty blend
Their chorus in the great man's peerless heart;
Fate fills their souls with magnitude, and art
Supplies their lives with no congenial friend.
POEMS.
Poems are holy things. Eternal Truth,
Borrowing the robes of song and lovely grown,
In them her glory unto man proclaims
And fills his longing soul. They softly speak
Of Nature's beauty and the secrets old
Concealed behind the shadows of the hills,
And love on angel fingers borne to men,
Naming them over in so sweet a voice
That music leads their footsteps in the ways
Where God has walked; and with a lofty Harp,
As wondrous as the gentle harps of heaven,
Uplifts, ennobles, soothes and leads the race
Unto its last great ultimate of power,
To words of tenderness and goodly deeds.
SINGER AND SONG.
A singer sang in sorrow long
And breathed his life into his song.
Unknown, unheard, the song went wide,
Until the singer, starving, died.
Now in their hearts the nations write
And wear the singer's song of might.
Ah, singers fail and fall from view,
But songs are always, always new!
If garlands none to singers cling,
Bays wreathe above the songs they sing.
TO ONE WHO PLEDGED HER FRIENDSHIP.
Within this false world we may count ourselves blest,
If we have but one friend who is faithful and true;
And so in your friendship contented I'll rest,
And believe I have found that one blessing in you.
THE BANKS O' TURKEY RUN.
Like a thousan' birds o' brightness from the isles o' summer seas,
Rickollections, full o' gladness, come with songs and lullabies,
An' I listen to the carols that with gentle voices roll,
Full o' tenderness an' beauty, down upon my weary soul,
Fer thar's one thet keeps a-singin' with a song thet's never done,
An' I see the bendin' willers on the banks o' Turkey Run.
An' agin' I be a youngster with a youngster's foolin' dreams,
With his high-falutin' notions an' his fiddle-faddle schemes;
With the laughin' an' the cryin', with the sorrow an' the joy,
Thet is jumbled up together in the bosom o' the boy;
An' agin my arly fancies in a fairy loom are spun
Underneath the dancin' shadders on the banks o' Turkey Run.
An' agin I be a school-boy with the other merry lads,
When Joe an' Jerry, Bill an' I, wus only little tads,
When a half a dozen marvels an' a kivered ball was worth--
With a knife o' Barlow pattern--all the treasures o' the earth;
An' the soundin' sort o' thunder from a poppin' kind o' gun
Set our faces all a-giggle on the banks o' Turkey Run.
It 'ud tickle any feller but ter see the solemn look,
When the master was a-watchin', thet we fastened on the book,
But the mischief stickin' in us, like pertaters in a sack,
It wus never hard ter empty when the teacher turned his back;
O, the paper wads we tumbled thet 'ud weigh about a ton,
In thet crazy-cornered school-house on the banks o' Turkey Run!
How we used ter chase the robins an' the rabbits in the wood,
How we gethered bloomin' posies in the sighin' solitude!
How we wundered all the medders in our roamin's o'er an' o'er,
How we teetered in the branches o' the beech an' sycamore!
Or we watched the rompin' minners as they rasseled in their fun,
While we nearly bust a-laughin', on the banks o' Turkey Run!
How we used ter go a-fishin' when the day wus gittin' late,
With a little line o' cotton an' a fish-worm fer a bait!
With a bent pin for a fish-hook an' a hazel fer a pole,
How we sought the softest places by the widest, deepest hole!
How we teehee-eed at the nibbles, caught the fishes one by one,
With the biggest kind o' prowess, on the banks o' Turkey Run!
When the sun was burnin' shavin's in the heatin' stove o' June,
An' the clock upon the mantle wus a-knockin' off the noon
When the beams in bunches blistered as they never did afore,
An' the sweat was drippin', droppin', from the mouth o' every pore,
How we skipped across the medder, how our swimmin' wus begun,
In the cool an' crystal waters 'tween the banks o' Turkey Run!
O, the smilin' days o' childhood! O, the loudly laughin' years!
When contentment brings the moments neither heaviness ner tears!
When the pleasures jine the longin's an' the fairy fingers roll
All the heaps o' angel music in upon the blazin' soul!
O, my Joe an' Bill an' Jerry! Trustin' comrades, you wus won
Whar my bare feet brushed the grasses on the banks o' Turkey Run!
But, alas! Thar wus another; she was fairer than the rest,
An' she allus had a hearin' fer the wishes o' my breast;
Allus wus a chunk o' sunshine an' a piece o' quiet glee,
Allus had a smile o' welcome an' a tender word fer me;
An' without her wus no shinin' an' o' happiness wus none
Ter bring gladness ter my bosom on the banks o' Turkey Run.
O, her home wus in a cottage whar the mornin'-glories hung,
An' the arly birds o' April with their sweetest music sung;
Thar wus roses 'round her winder, thar wus roses 'round her door,
Thet wus stickin' full o' blushes, but they allus blushed the more,
When her eyes wus seen a-peepin' an' her cheeks beamed like the sun,
From thet cosy little cottage on the banks o' Turkey Run!
Many an' many a time we wandered in the grassy medder-land
With our wishes right together an' our longin's hand in hand;
How we dreamed about the future when the world should give me fame,
An' when she would be thrice noble to be worthy o' my name!
Thus we talked an' thus we fancied; others might my boyhood shun,
But I found her kind, my sweetheart, on the banks o' Turkey Run.
But the times have been a-changin' sence them arly years o' joy,
When she wus but a little girl an' I a little boy;
When Joe an' Jerry, Bill an' I, together wus at play,
With our hearts as light as feathers, every minute of the day,
An' at twilight sunk ter slumber tell the mornin' wus begun,
In the gloomy silent forests on the banks o' Turkey Run.
Bill an' Joe have gone a-rovin' on a fortune-huntin' quest
Through the silver mines an' Injuns in the mountains o' the west;
But the janders came ter Jerry with a solemn sort o' call
Tell they painted him as yaller as a punkin in the fall;
An' to-day I saw his tombstone as it glittered in the sun,
Over in the little churchyard, on the banks o' Turkey Run!
An' alas, my precious sweetheart! Like a lily virgin white,
Did she slowly fade an' wither tell her spirit took its flight!
Like an angel into heaven did she sweetly, calmly creep,
An' her lovely life wus over an' her bosom went ter sleep;
An' the tollin', tollin' church-bells dropt the dirges one by one,
As we laid her 'neath the wilier on the banks o' Turkey Run.
Thar a little cross o' marble marks the sacred, silent shade,
Whar the fair an' laughin' beauty o' my ole sweetheart wus laid;
An' the summer has a sadness thet is cryin' through the years,
An' my heart is full o' sorrow, an' mine eyes is full o' tears,
Fer I've allus had a failin', sence her friendship first I won,
Fer thet little lovin' maiden on the banks o' Turkey Run!
But them days have past forever in the years o' long ago,
An' a wishin' ter be wealthy has enraptured Bill an' Joe;
Death has taken Jerry; only I, o' all the boys,
Am' remainin' ter remember all them arly angel joys;
But to-night I see their faces as they peep in full o' fun,
An' agin we're boys together, on the banks o' Turkey Run!
_ENVOY_.
_Oh, to be able to capture and bring_
_And bind in the bonds of control,_
_Some of the carols that warble and sing_
_Down in the depths of my soul._