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Paul laurence dunbar

Paul Laurence Dunbar

POEMS
FOLLOWERS
6

Fling out your banners, your honors be bringing,
Raise to the ether your paeans of praise.
Strike every chord and let music be ringing!
Celebrate freely this day of all days.

Few are the years since that notable blessing,
Raised you from slaves to the powers of men.
Each year has seen you my brothers progressing,
Never to sink to that level again.

Perched on your shoulders sits Liberty smiling,
Perched where the eyes of the nations can see.
Keep from her pinions all contact defiling;
Show by your deeds what you’re destined to be.

Press boldly forward nor waver, nor falter.
Blood has been freely poured out in your cause,
Lives sacrificed upon Liberty’s alter.
Press to the front, it were craven to pause.

Look to the heights that are worth your attaining
Keep your feet firm in the path to the goal.
Toward noble deeds every effort be straining.
Worthy ambition is food for the soul!

Up! Men and brothers, be noble, be earnest!
Ripe is the time and success is assured;
Know that your fate was the hardest and sternest
When through those lash—ringing days you endured.

Never again shall the manacles gall you
Never again shall the whip stroke defame!
Nobles and Freemen, your destinies call you
Onward to honor, to glory and fame.

In the east the morning comes,
Hear the rollin’ of the drums
On the hill.
But the heart that beat as they beat
In the battle’s raging day heat
Lieth still.
Unto him the night has come,
Though they roll the morning drum.

What is in the bugle’s blast?
It is: ‘Victory at last!
Now for rest.’
But, my comrades, come behold him,
Where our colors now enfold him,
And his breast
Bares no more to meet the blade,
But lies covered in the shade.

What a stir there is to—day!
They are laying him away
Where he fell.
There the flag goes draped before him;
Now they pile the grave sod o’er him
With a knell.
And he answers to his name
In the higher ranks of fame.

There’s a woman left to mourn
For the child that she has borne
In travail.
But her heart beats high and higher,
With the patriot mother’s fire,
At the tale.
She has borne and lost a son,
But her work and his are done.

Fling the flag out, let it wave;
They ‘re returning from the grave—
’Double quick!'
And the cymbals now are crashing,
Bright his comrades’ eyes are flashing
From the thick
Battle—ranks which knew him brave,
No tears for a hero’s grave.

In the east the morning comes,
Hear the rattle of the drums
Far away.
Now no time for grief’s pursuing,
Other work is for the doing,
Here to—day.
He is sleeping, let him rest
With the flag across his breast.

Seen my lady home las’ night,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Hel’ huh han’ an’ sque’z it tight,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Hyeahd huh sigh a little sigh,
Seen a light gleam f’om huh eye,
An’ a smile go flittin’ by –
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Hyeahd de win’ blow thoo de pine,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Mockin’—bird was singin’ fine,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
An’ my hea’t was beatin’ so,
When I reached my lady’s do’,
Dat I could n’t ba’ to go –
Jump back, honey, jump back.

Put my ahm aroun’ huh wais’,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Raised huh lips an’ took a tase,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Love me, honey, love me true?
Love me well ez I love you?
An’ she answe’d, “'Cose I do” –
Jump back, honey, jump back.

When de fiddle gits to singin’ out a ol’ Vahginny reel,
An’ you 'mence to feel a ticklin’ in yo’ toe an’ in yo’ heel;
Ef you t’ink you got 'uligion an’ you wants to keep it, too,
You jes’ bettah tek a hint an’ git yo’self clean out o’ view.
Case de time is mighty temptin’ when de chune is in de swing,
Fu’ a darky, saint or sinner man, to cut de pigeon—wing.
An’ you could n’t he’p f’om dancin’ ef yo’ feet was boun’ wif twine,
When Angelina Johnson comes a—swingin’ down de line.

Don’t you know Miss Angelina? She 's de da’lin’ of de place.
W’y, dey ain’t no high—toned lady wif sich mannahs an’ sich grace.
She kin move across de cabin, wif its planks all rough an’ wo’;
Jes’ de same 's ef she was dancin’ on ol’ mistus’ ball—room flo’.
Fact is, you do’ see no cabin—evaht’ing you see look grand,
An’ dat one ol’ squeaky fiddle soun’ to you jes’ lak a ban’;
Cotton britches look lak broadclof an’ a linsey dress look fine,
When Angelina Johnson comes a—swingin’ down de line.

Some folks say dat dancin 's sinful, an’ de blessed Lawd, dey say,
Gwine to punish us fu’ steppin’ w’en we hyeah de music play.
But I tell you I don’ b’lieve it, fu’ de Lawd is wise and good,
An’ he made de banjo’s metal an’ he made de fiddle’s wood,
An’ he made de music in dem, so I don’ quite t’ink he 'll keer
Ef our feet keeps time a little to de melodies we hyeah.
W’y, dey’s somep’n’ downright holy in de way our faces shine,
When Angelina Johnson comes a—swingin’ down de line.

Angelina steps so gentle, Angelina bows so low,
An’ she lif huh sku’t so dainty dat huh shoetop skacely show:
An’ dem teef o’ huh’n a—shinin’, ez she tek you by de han’—
Go 'way, people, d’ ain’t anothah sich a lady in de lan’!
When she 's movin’ thoo de figgers er a—dancin’ by huhse’f,
Folks jes’ stan’ stock—still a—sta’in’, an’ dey mos’ nigh hol’s dey bref;
An’ de young mens, dey 's a—sayin’, ‘I ’s gwine mek dat damsel mine,'
When Angelina Johnson comes a—swingin’ down de line.

Out of my heart, one day, I wrote a song,
With my heart’s blood imbued,
Instinct with passion, tremulously strong,
With grief subdued;
Breathing a fortitude
Pain—bought.
And one who claimed much love for what I wrought,
Read and considered it,
And spoke:
‘Ay, brother,—’t is well writ,
But where’s the joke?'

1

When August days are hot an’ dry,
When burning copper is the sky,
I ‘d rather fish than feast or fly
In airy realms serene and high.

I ’d take a suit not made for looks,
Some easily digested books,
Some flies, some lines, some bait, some hooks,
Then would I seek the bays and brooks.

I would eschew mine every task,
In Nature’s smiles my soul should bask,
And I methinks no more could ask,
Except—perhaps—one little flask.

In case of accident, you know,
Or should the wind come on to blow,
Or I be chilled or capsized, so,
A flask would be the only go.

Then could I spend a happy time,—
A bit of sport, a bit of rhyme
(A bit of lemon, or of lime,
To make my bottle’s contents prime).

When August days are hot an’ dry,
I won’t sit by an’ sigh or die,
I 'll get my bottle (on the sly)
And go ahead, and fish, and lie!

The moon begins her stately ride
Across the summer sky;
The happy wavelets lash the shore,—
The tide is rising high.

Beneath some friendly blade of grass
The lazy beetle cowers;
The coffers of the air are filled
With offerings from the flowers.

And slowly buzzing o’er my head
A swallow wings her flight;
I hear the weary plowman sing
As falls the restful night.

Oh for the breath of the briny deep,
And the tug of the bellying sail,
With the sea—gull’s cry across the sky
And a passing boatman’s hail.
For, be she fierce or be she gay,
The sea is a famous friend alway.

Ho! for the plains where the dolphins play,
And the bend of the mast and spars,
And a fight at night with the wild sea—sprite
When the foam has drowned the stars.
And, pray, what joy can the landsman feel
Like the rise and fall of a sliding keel?

Fair is the mead; the lawn is fair
And the birds sing sweet on the lea;
But the echo soft of a song aloft
Is the strain that pleases me;
And swish of rope and ring of chain
Are music to men who sail the main.

Then, if you love me, let me sail
While a vessel dares the deep;
For the ship ‘s my wife, and the breath of life
Are the raging gales that sweep;
And when I ’m done with calm and blast,
A slide o’er the side, and rest at last.

Duck come switchin’ 'cross de lot
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Hurry up an’ hide de pot
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Duck’s a mighty 'spicious fowl,
Slick as snake an’ wise as owl;
Hol’ dat dog, don’t let him yowl!
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!

Th’ow dat co’n out kind o’ slow
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Keep yo’se’f behin’ de do’
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Lots o’ food’ll kill his feah,
Co’n is cheap but fowls is deah—
‘Come, good ducky, come on heah.’
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!

Ain’t he fat and ain’t he fine,
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Des can’t wait to make him mine.
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
See him waddle when he walk,
'Sh! keep still and don’t you talk!
Got you! Don’t you daih to squawk!
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!

HELLO, ole man, you’re a—gittin’ gray,
An’ it beats ole Ned to see the way
'At the crow’s feet’s a—getherin’ aroun’ yore eyes;
Tho’ it oughtn’t to cause me no su’prise,
Fur there’s many a sun 'at you’ve seen rise
An’ many a one you’ve seen go down
Sence yore step was light an’ yore hair was brown,
An’ storms an’ snows have had their way—
Hello, ole man, you’re a—gittin’ gray.
Hello, ole man, you’re a—gittin’ gray,
An’ the youthful pranks 'at you used to play
Are dreams of a far past long ago
That lie in a heart where the fires burn low—
That has lost the flame though it kept the glow,
An’ spite of drivin’ snow an’ storm,
Beats bravely on forever warm.
December holds the place of May—
Hello, ole man, you’re a—gittin’ gray.
Hello, ole man, you’re a—gittin’ gray —
Who cares what the carpin’ youngsters say?
For, after all, when the tale is told,
Love proves if a man is young or old!
Old age can’t make the heart grow cold
When it does the will of an honest mind;
When it beats with love fur all mankind;
Then the night but leads to a fairer day—
Hello, ole man, you’re a—gittin’ gray!

I.
AH, yes, ‘t is sweet still to remember,
Though ’t were less painful to forget;
For while my heart glows like an ember,
Mine eyes with sorrow’s drops are wet,
And, oh, my heart is aching yet.
It is a law of mortal pain
That old wounds, long accounted well,
Beneath the memory’s potent spell,
Will wake to life and bleed again.
So ‘t is with me; it might be better
If I should turn no look behind, —
If I could curb my heart, and fetter
From reminiscent gaze my mind,
Or let my soul go blind —go blind!
But would I do it if I could?
Nay! ease at such a price were spurned;
For, since my love was once returned,
All that I suffer seemeth good.
I know, I know it is the fashion,
When love has left some heart distressed,
To weight the air with wordful passion;
But I am glad that in my breast
I ever held so dear a guest.
Love does not come at every nod,
Or every voice that calleth ’hasten;'
He seeketh out some heart to chasten,
And whips it, wailing, up to God!
Love is no random road wayfarer
Who Where he may must sip his glass.
Love is the King, the Purple—Wearer,
Whose guard recks not of tree or grass
To blaze the way that he may pass.
What if my heart be in the blast
That heralds his triumphant way;
Shall I repine, shall I not say:
‘Rejoice, my heart, the King has passed!’
In life, each heart holds some sad story —
The saddest ones are never told.
I, too, have dreamed of fame and glory,
And viewed the future bright with gold;
But that is as a tale long told.
Mine eyes have lost their youthful flash,
My cunning hand has lost its art;
I am not old, but in my heart
The ember lies beneath the ash.
I loved! Why not? My heart was youthful,
My mind was filled with healthy thought.
He doubts not whose own self is truthful,
Doubt by dishonesty is taught;
So loved! boldly, fearing naught.
I did not walk this lowly earth;
Mine was a newer, higher sphere,
Where youth was long and life was dear,
And all save love was little worth.
Her likeness! Would that I might limn it,
As Love did, with enduring art;
Nor dust of days nor death may dim it,
Where it lies graven on my heart,
Of this sad fabric of my life a part.
I would that I might paint her now
As I beheld her in that day,
Ere her first bloom had passed away,
And left the lines upon her brow.
A face serene that, beaming brightly,
Disarmed the hot sun’s glances bold.
A foot that kissed the ground so lightly,
He frowned in wrath and deemed her cold,
But loved her still though he was old.
A form where every maiden grace
Bloomed to perfection’s richest flower, —
The statued pose of conscious power,
Like lithe—limbed Dian’s of the chase.
Beneath a brow too fair for frowning,
Like moon—lit deeps that glass the skies
Till all the hosts above seem drowning,
Looked forth her steadfast hazel eyes,
With gaze serene and purely wise.
And over all, her tresses rare,
Which, when, with his desire grown weak,
The Night bent down to kiss her cheek,
Entrapped and held him captive there.
This was Ione; a spirit finer
Ne’er burned to ash its house of clay;
A soul instinct with fire diviner
Ne’er fled athwart the face of day,
And tempted Time with earthly stay.
Her loveliness was not alone
Of face and form and tresses’ hue;
For aye a pure, high soul shone through
Her every act: this was Ione.
II.
'TWAS in the radiant summer weather,
When God looked, smiling, from the sky;
And we went wand’ring much together
By wood and lane, Ione and I,
Attracted by the subtle tie
Of common thoughts and common tastes,
Of eyes whose vision saw the same,
And freely granted beauty’s claim
Where others found but worthless wastes.
We paused to hear the far bells ringing
Across the distance, sweet and clear.
We listened to the wild bird’s singing
The song he meant for his mate’s ear,
And deemed our chance to do so dear.
We loved to watch the warrior Sun,
With flaming shield and flaunting crest,
Go striding down the gory West,
When Day’s long fight was fought and won.
And life became a different story;
Where’er I looked, I saw new light.
Earth’s self assumed a greater glory,
Mine eyes were cleared to fuller sight.
Then first I saw the need and might
Of that fair band, the singing throng,
Who, gifted with the skill divine,
Take up the threads of life, spun fine,
And weave them into soulful song.
They sung for me, whose passion pressing
My soul, found vent in song nor line.
They bore the burden of expressing
All that I felt, with art’s design,
And every word of theirs was mine.
I read them to Ione, ofttimes,
By hill and shore, beneath fair skies,
And she looked deeply in mine eyes,
And knew my love spoke through their rhymes.
Her life was like the stream that floweth,
And mine was like the waiting sea;
Her love was like the flower that bloweth,
And mine was like the searching bee —
I found her sweetness all for me.
God plied him in the mint of time,
And coined for us a golden day,
And rolled it ringing down life’s way
With love’s sweet music in its chime.
And God unclasped the Book of Ages,
And laid it open to our sight;
Upon the dimness of its pages,
So long consigned to rayless night,
He shed the glory of his light.
We read them well, we read them long,
And ever thrilling did we see
That love ruled all humanity, —
The master passion, pure and strong.
III.
TO—DAY my skies are bare and ashen,
And bend on me without a beam.
Since love is held the master—passion,
Its loss must be the pain supreme —
And grinning Fate has wrecked my dream.
But pardon, dear departed Guest,
I will not rant, I will not rail;
For good the grain must feel the flail;
There are whom love has never blessed.
I had and have a younger brother,
One whom I loved and love to—day
As never fond and doting mother
Adored the babe who found its way
From heavenly scenes into her day.
Oh, he was full of youth’s new wine, —
A man on life’s ascending slope,
Flushed with ambition, full of hope;
And every wish of his was mine.
A kingly youth; the way before him
Was thronged with victories to be won;
so joyous, too, the heavens o’er him
Were bright with an unchanging sun, —
His days with rhyme were overrun.
Toil had not taught him Nature’s prose,
Tears had not dimmed his brilliant eyes,
And sorrow had not made him wise;
His life was in the budding rose.
I know not how I came to waken,
Some instinct pricked my soul to sight;
My heart by some vague thrill was shaken, —
A thrill so true and yet so slight,
I hardly deemed I read aright.
As when a sleeper, ign’rant why,
Not knowing what mysterious hand
Has called him out of slumberland,
Starts up to find some danger nigh.
Love is a guest that comes, unbidden,
But, having come, asserts his right;
He will not be repressed nor hidden.
And so my brother’s dawning plight
Became uncovered to my sight.
Some sound—mote in his passing tone
Caught in the meshes of my ear;
Some little glance, a shade too dear,
Betrayed the love he bore Ione.
What could I do? He was my brother,
And young, and full of hope and trust;
I could not, dared not try to smother
His flame, and turn his heart to dust.
I knew how oft life gives a crust
To starving men who cry for bread;
But he was young, so few his days,
He had not learned the great world’s ways,
Nor Disappointment’s volumes read.
However fair and rich the booty,
I could not make his loss my gain.
For love is dear, but dearer, duty,
And here my way was clear and plain.
I saw how I could save him pain.
And so, with all my day grown dim,
That this loved brother’s sun might shine,
I joined his suit, gave over mine,
And sought Ione, to plead for him.
I found her in an eastern bower,
Where all day long the am’rous sun
Lay by to woo a timid flower.
This day his course was well—nigh run,
But still with lingering art he spun
Gold fancies on the shadowed wall.
The vines waved soft and green above,
And there where one might tell his love,
I told my griefs —I told her all!
I told her all, and as she hearkened,
A tear—drop fell upon her dress.
With grief her flushing brow was darkened;
One sob that she could not repress
Betrayed the depths of her distress.
Upon her grief my sorrow fed,
And I was bowed with unlived years,
My heart swelled with a sea of tears,
The tears my manhood could not shed.
The world is Rome, and Fate is Nero,
Disporting in the hour of doom.
God made us men; times make the hero —
But in that awful space of gloom
I gave no thought but sorrow’s room.
All —all was dim within that bower,
What time the sun divorced the day;
And all the shadows, glooming gray,
Proclaimed the sadness of the hour.
She could not speak —no word was needed;
Her look, half strength and half despair,
Told me I had not vainly pleaded,
That she would not ignore my prayer.
And so she turned and left me there,
And as she went, so passed my bliss;
She loved me, I could not mistake —
But for her own and my love’s sake,
Her womanhood could rise to this!
My wounded heart fled swift to cover,
And life at times seemed very drear.
My brother proved an ardent lover —
What had so young a man to fear?
He wed Ione within the year.
No shadow clouds her tranquil brow,
Men speak her husband’s name with pride,
While she sits honored at his side —
She is —she must be happy now!
I doubt the course I took no longer,
Since those I love seem satisfied.
The bond between them will grow stronger
As they go forward side by side;
Then will my pains be justified.
Their joy is mine, and that is best —
I am not totally bereft,
For I have still the mem’ry left —
Love stopped with me —a Royal Guest!

Anchored
IF thro’ the sea of night which here surrounds me,
I could swim out beyond the farthest star,
Break every barrier of circumstance that bounds me,
And greet the Sun of sweeter life afar,
Tho’ near you there is passion, grief, and sorrow,
And out there rest and joy and peace and all,
I should renounce that beckoning for tomorrow,
I could not choose to go beyond your call.