Alas for the loosened strings to-day,
  And the wounds of rift and scar
On a worn old heart, with its roundelay
  Enthralled with a stronger bar
That Fate weaves on, through a dull decay
  Like that of the old guitar!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

JOHN McKEEN

John McKeen, in his rusty dress,
  His loosened collar, and swarthy throat;
His face unshaven, and none the less,
His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness,
  And the wealth of a workman’s vote!

Bring him, O Memory, here once more,
  And tilt him back in his Windsor chair
By the kitchen-stove, when the day is o’er
And the light of the hearth is across the floor,
  And the crickets everywhere!

And let their voices be gladly blent
  With a watery jingle of pans and spoons,
And a motherly chirrup of sweet content,
And neighborly gossip and merriment,
  And old-time fiddle-tunes!

Tick the clock with a wooden sound,
  And fill the hearing with childish glee
Of rhyming riddle, or story found
In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-bound
  Old book of the Used-to-be!

John McKeen of the Past!  Ah, John,
  To have grown ambitious in worldly ways!—­
To have rolled your shirt-sleeves down, to don
A broadcloth suit, and, forgetful, gone
  Out on election days!

John, ah, John! did it prove your worth
  To yield you the office you still maintain? 
To fill your pockets, but leave the dearth
Of all the happier things on earth
  To the hunger of heart and brain?

[Illustration]

Under the dusk of your villa trees,
  Edging the drives where your blooded span
Paw the pebbles and wait your ease,—­
Where are the children about your knees,
  And the mirth, and the happy man?

The blinds of your mansion are battened to;
  Your faded wife is a close recluse;
And your “finished” daughters will doubtless do
Dutifully all that is willed of you,
  And marry as you shall choose!—­

But O for the old-home voices, blent
  With the watery jingle of pans and spoons,
And the motherly chirrup of glad content,
And neighborly gossip and merriment,
  And the old-time fiddle-tunes!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THROUGH SLEEPY-LAND

Where do you go when you go to sleep,
  Little Boy!  Little Boy! where? 
’Way—­’way in where’s Little Bo-Peep,
And Little Boy Blue, and the Cows and Sheep
  A-wandering ’way in there;—­in there—­
    A-wandering ’way in there!

And what do you see when lost in dreams,
  Little Boy, ’way in there? 
Firefly-glimmers and glowworm-gleams,
And silvery, low, slow-sliding streams,
  And mermaids, smiling out—­’way in where
    They’re a-hiding—­’way in there!