Thomas Ross, Jr.

THIS I saw with my own eyes: A cliff--swallow Made her nest in a hole of the high clay-bank There near Miller's Ford.

But no sooner were the young hatched Than a snake crawled up to the nest To devour the brood.

Then the mother swallow with swift flutterings And shrill cries Fought at the snake, Blinding him with the beat of her wings, Until he, wriggling and rearing his head, Fell backward down the bank Into Spoon River and was drowned.

Scarcely an hour pa.s.sed Until a shrike Impaled the mother swallow on a thorn.

As for myself I overcame my lower nature Only to be destroyed by my brother's ambition.

Rev. Abner Peet

I HAD no objection at all To selling my household effects at auction On the village square.

It gave my beloved flock the chance To get something which had belonged to me For a memorial.

But that trunk which was struck off To Burchard, the grog-keeper!

Did you know it contained the ma.n.u.scripts Of a lifetime of sermons?

And he burned them as waste paper.

Jefferson Howard

MY valiant fight! For I call it valiant, With my father's beliefs from old Virginia: Hating slavery, but no less war.

I, full of spirit, audacity, courage Thrown into life here in Spoon River, With its dominant forces drawn from New England, Republicans, Calvinists, merchants, bankers, Hating me, yet fearing my arm.

With wife and children heavy to carry-- Yet fruits of my very zest of life.

Stealing odd pleasures that cost me prestige, And reaping evils I had not sown; Foe of the church with its charnel dankness, Friend of the human touch of the tavern; Tangled with fates all alien to me, Deserted by hands I called my own.

Then just as I felt my giant strength Short of breath, behold my children Had wound their lives in stranger gardens-- And I stood alone, as I started alone My valiant life! I died on my feet, Facing the silence--facing the prospect That no one would know of the fight I made.

Albert Schirding

JONAS KEENE thought his lot a hard one Because his children were all failures.

But I know of a fate more trying than that: It is to be a failure while your children are successes.

For I raised a brood of eagles Who flew away at last, leaving me A crow on the abandoned bough.

Then, with the ambition to prefix Honorable to my name, And thus to win my children's admiration, I ran for County Superintendent of Schools, Spending my acc.u.mulations to win--and lost.

That fall my daughter received first prize in Paris For her picture, ent.i.tled, "The Old Mill"-- (It was of the water mill before Henry Wilkin put in steam.) The feeling that I was not worthy of her finished me.

Jonas Keene

WHY did Albert Schirding kill himself Trying to be County Superintendent of Schools, Blest as he was with the means of life And wonderful children, bringing him honor Ere he was sixty?

If even one of my boys could have run a news-stand, Or one of my girls could have married a decent man, I should not have walked in the rain And jumped into bed with clothes all wet, Refusing medical aid.

Yee Bow

THEY got me into the Sunday-school In Spoon River And tried to get me to drop Confucius for Jesus. I could have been no worse off If I had tried to get them to drop Jesus for Confucius.

For, without any warning, as if it were a prank, And sneaking up behind me, Harry Wiley, The minister's son, caved my ribs into my lungs, With a blow of his fist.

Now I shall never sleep with my ancestors in Pekin, And no children shall worship at my grave.

Washington McNeely

RICH, honored by my fellow citizens, The father of many children, born of a n.o.ble mother, All raised there In the great mansion--house, at the edge of town.

Note the cedar tree on the lawn!

I sent all the boys to Ann Arbor, all of the girls to Rockford, The while my life went on, getting more riches and honors-- Resting under my cedar tree at evening.

The years went on. I sent the girls to Europe; I dowered them when married.

I gave the boys money to start in business.

They were strong children, promising as apples Before the bitten places show.

But John fled the country in disgrace.

Jenny died in child-birth-- I sat under my cedar tree.

Harry killed himself after a debauch, Susan was divorced-- I sat under my cedar tree. Paul was invalided from over study, Mary became a recluse at home for love of a man-- I sat under my cedar tree.

All were gone, or broken-winged or devoured by life-- I sat under my cedar tree.

My mate, the mother of them, was taken-- I sat under my cedar tree, Till ninety years were tolled.

O maternal Earth, which rocks the fallen leaf to sleep.

Mary McNeely

Pa.s.sER-BY, To love is to find your own soul Through the soul of the beloved one.

When the beloved one withdraws itself from your soul Then you have lost your soul.

It is written: "l have a friend, But my sorrow has no friend."

Hence my long years of solitude at the home of my father, Trying to get myself back, And to turn my sorrow into a supremer self.

But there was my father with his sorrows, Sitting under the cedar tree, A picture that sank into my heart at last Bringing infinite repose.

Oh, ye souls who have made life Fragrant and white as tube roses From earth's dark soil, Eternal peace!

Daniel M'c.u.mber

WHEN I went to the city, Mary McNeely, I meant to return for you, yes I did.

But Laura, my landlady's daughter, Stole into my life somehow, and won me away.

Then after some years whom should I meet But Georgine Miner from Niles--a sprout Of the free love, Fourierist gardens that flourished Before the war all over Ohio.

Her dilettante lover had tired of her, And she turned to me for strength and solace.

She was some kind of a crying thing One takes in one's arms, and all at once It slimes your face with its running nose, And voids its essence all over you; Then bites your hand and springs away.

And there you stand bleeding and smelling to heaven Why, Mary McNeely, I was not worthy To kiss the hem of your robe!

Georgine Sand Miner

A STEPMOTHER drove me from home, embittering me.