The Mysterious Cat
A chant for a children's pantomime dance, suggested by a picture
painted by George Mather Richards.
I saw a proud,
mysterious cat,
I saw a proud,
mysterious cat
Too proud to catch a mouse or rat --
Mew, mew, mew.
But catnip she would eat, and purr,
But catnip she would eat, and purr.
And goldfish she did much prefer --
Mew, mew, mew.
I saw a cat -- 'twas but a dream,
I saw a cat -- 'twas but a dream
Who scorned the slave that brought her cream --
Mew, mew, mew.
Unless the slave were dressed in style,
Unless the slave were dressed in style
And knelt before her all the while --
Mew, mew, mew.
Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
Oh, what a proud
mysterious cat.
Oh, what a proud
mysterious cat.
Oh, what a proud
mysterious cat.
Mew . . . mew . . . mew.
A Dirge for a Righteous Kitten
To be intoned, all but the two italicized lines, which are to be spoken
in a snappy,
matter-of-fact way.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
Here lies a
kitten good, who kept
A
kitten's proper place.
He stole no
pantry eatables,
Nor scratched the baby's face.
*He let the alley-cats alone*.
He had no yowling vice.
His shirt was always laundried well,
He freed the house of mice.
Until his death he had not caused
His little
mistress tears,
He wore his
ribbon prettily,
*He washed behind his ears*.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
Yankee Doodle
This poem is intended as a
description of a sort of Blashfield mural painting
on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a slower,
more orotund fashion. It is
presumably an exercise for an entertainment
on the evening of Washington's Birthday.
Dawn this morning burned all red
Watching them in wonder.
There I saw our spangled flag
Divide the clouds asunder.
Then there followed Washington.
Ah, he rode from glory,
Cold and
mighty as his name
And stern as Freedom's story.
Unsubdued by burning dawn
Led his continentals.
Vast they were, and strange to see
In gray old regimentals: --
Marching still with bleeding feet,
Bleeding feet and jesting --
Marching from the judgment throne
With
energy unresting.
How their merry quickstep played --
Silver, sharp, sonorous,
Piercing through with prophecy
The demons' rumbling
chorus --
Behold the ancient powers of sin
And
slavery before them! --
Sworn to stop the
glorious dawn,
The pit-black clouds hung o'er them.
Plagues that rose to blast the day
Fiend and tiger faces,
Monsters plotting
bloodshed for
The patient toiling races.
Round the dawn their
cannon raged,
Hurling bolts of thunder,
Yet before our spangled flag
Their host was cut asunder.
Like a mist they fled away. . . .
Ended wrath and roaring.
Still our
restless soldier-host
From East to West went pouring.
High beside the sun of noon
They bore our
banner splendid.
All its days of stain and shame
And
heaviness were ended.
Men were swelling now the throng
From great and lowly station --
Valiant citizens to-day
Of every tribe and nation.
Not till night their rear-guard came,
Down the west went marching,
And left behind the
sunset-rays
In beauty overarching.
War-god
banners lead us still,
Rob, enslave and harry
Let us rather choose to-day
The flag the angels carry --
Flag we love, but brighter far --
Soul of it made splendid:
Let its days of stain and shame
And
heaviness be ended.
Let its fifes fill all the sky,
Redeemed souls marching after,
Hills and mountains shake with song,
While seas roll on in laughter.
The Black Hawk War of the Artists
Written for Lorado Taft's Statue of Black Hawk at Oregon, Illinois
To be given in the manner of the Indian Oration and the Indian War-Cry.
Hawk of the Rocks,
Yours is our cause to-day.
Watching your foes
Here in our war array,
Young men we stand,
Wolves of the West at bay.
*Power, power for war
Comes from these trees divine;
Power from the boughs,
Boughs where the dew-beads shine,
Power from the cones --
Yea, from the
breath of the pine!*
Power to restore
All that the white hand mars.
See the dead east
Crushed with the iron cars --
Chimneys black
Blinding the sun and stars!
Hawk of the pines,
Hawk of the plain-winds fleet,
You shall be king
There in the iron street,
Factory and forge
Trodden beneath your feet.
There will proud trees
Grow as they grow by streams.
There will proud thoughts
Walk as in
warrior dreams.
There will proud deeds
Bloom as when battle gleams!
Warriors of Art,
We will hold council there,
Hewing in stone
Things to the
trapper fair,
Painting the gray
Veils that the spring moons wear,
This our revenge,
This one
tremendous change:
Making new towns,
Lit with a star-fire strange,
Wild as the dawn
Gilding the bison-range.
All the young men
Chanting your cause that day,
Red-men, new-made
Out of the Saxon clay,
Strong and redeemed,
Bold in your war-array!
The Jingo and the Minstrel
An Argument for the Maintenance of Peace and Goodwill
with the Japanese People
Glossary for the uninstructed and the hasty: Jimmu Tenno,
ancestor of all the Japanese Emperors; Nikko, Japan's loveliest shrine;
Iyeyasu, her greatest
statesman; Bushido, her code of knighthood;
The Forty-seven Ronins, her
classic heroes; Nogi, her latest hero;
Fuji, her most beautiful mountain.
# The
minstrel speaks. #
"Now do you know of Avalon
That sailors call Japan?
She holds as rare a chivalry
As ever bled for man.
King Arthur sleeps at Nikko hill
Where Iyeyasu lies,
And there the broad Pendragon flag
In deathless
splendor flies."
# The jingo answers. #
*"Nay,
minstrel, but the great ships come
From out the
sunset sea.
We cannot greet the souls they bring
With
welcome high and free.
How can the Nippon nondescripts
That weird and
dreadful band
Be aught but what we find them here: --
The blasters of the land?"*
# The
minstrel replies. #
"First race, first men from anywhere
To face you, eye to eye.
For *that* do you curse Avalon
And raise a hue and cry?
These toilers cannot kiss your hand,
Or fawn with hearts bowed down.
Be glad for them, and Avalon,
And Arthur's
ghostly crown.
"No doubt your guests, with sage debate
In grave things gentlemen
Will let your trade and farms alone
And turn them back again.
But why should brawling braggarts rise
With hasty words of shame
To drive them back like dogs and swine