And yet that can not be. The shepherd's crookIs not the golden sceptre of a king.I have no doubt that she has long since ceasedTo think of youthful dreams. She rules the king,And what more does a woman want?MordecaiI didNot hope to make her understand at once.My reasons were too subtle for her heart.And so I kept my counsel, for I knewNo girl would ever sacrifice her loveTo save the remnant of a nation's life.Zeresh[Justifying.]And why might even Esther not forgetWhen once she felt the spell of royal power—The tinsel show and glamour of the court?No woman lives that would not be a queen.MordecaiI knew Ahasuerus was a brute,But what of that? Through Esther I have savedA half a million souls.Zeresh[Aside.]Through Esther youHave slain a million souls.MordecaiWhen Jepthah vowedA vow unto the Lord he kept his pledgeAnd slew the only daughter of his fleshFor a burnt offering unto God, becauseThe Ammonites, his enemy, had beenDelivered to the hands of Israel.Now Esther was my only child.Zeresh[A little sarcastically.]You haveNot sacrificed, but elevated her.Although she does not understand your heart,She can but bless her uncle Mordecai.MordecaiBut why should Esther weep? She risked her lifeAt my behest, but did she not obtainGreat favor with the king?ZereshAnd Esther's lifeWas forfeit then through Haman's wicked hate.MordecaiI wear the royal robe of blue and white.ZereshDoes Esther think because her vanityIs flattered by the jewels of a queenThat Mordecai is moved by pomp and show?Mordecai'Tis not the kingly trappings but the seal—Not sceptre merely but the signet ring,Not rank, but rule that Mordecai would have.I can not understand her tears no moreThan she knows why I wear the crown. But IAm justified. Jehovah wrought through me.[Exit Mordecai.]Zeresh[Bursting into fury.]Jehovah wrought through him! Hell wrought through him!I marvel that his tongue is not consumedBy blasted lies. Wait till he feels the flameThat rages in my heart. Hell may not burnA Jew, but even he can not withstandThe simoon of a fiery dragon's breath!ParshandathaBut Zeresh, was the Jew not justified?ZereshJustified! gratified! satisfied! Parshandatha,Justified in Jepthah; gratifiedThat he is like the meek and lowly sonOf Amram; satisfied that now the crownOf Persia presses only Hebrew brows.Parshandatha[Sarcastically.]You do forget my lord, Darius' son.You can not think the blood of Jacob flowsThrough Xerxes' veins? Does he not wear the crown?Zeresh[With contempt.]Ahasuerus wears a pigeon's heart.The Persian robe's a Jewish gabardine;The crown, a Hebrew priest's phylactery.But did you say forget? Have you been soLong with me, dear, and doubt my memory?Forget Ahasuerus, did you say?That minion of a Jewish girl, who sealedThe death of Haman and his sons? His faceIs seared upon my heart, his image burntInto my brain. I tell you Xerxes isNo longer king.ParshandathaBut is not Esther queen?ZereshParshandatha, why do you taunt me thus?Have I not proved your friend? Do I deserveYour mockery?ParshandathaI do but speak to stingYou to revenge.ZereshLet fly your venom then.The Persian empire is in arms. To-nightThe king does hold a great carouse. The JewWill sit in state beside the profligate.This blade I have prepared against that hour.The queen, I understand, will be a blazeOf gems. Ahasuerus boasts this nightWould all but wreck a petty kingdom.ParshandathaHeShould never live to see the rising sun.ZereshThe rising sun! My dear, he shall not seeThe Pleiades again, and they are upAt nine. When cornet and the trumpet bruitThe entry of the queen, a hundred bladesLike this [disclosing dagger] shall be unsheathed.Parshandatha,You know whose blood my blade shall drink!My hour has come! Ah, Esther, you shall supOnce more with Haman and your drunken lord,While Zeresh keeps her lonely watchBeneath the silent, glittering stars. Come on![Exeunt Zeresh and Parshandatha.][Curtain.]Scene IIPlace—Outer hall to throne room, curtain back.Time—The following evening.[Enter Vashti and Esther from opposite sides of the stage.]EstherAh, here already, Vashti, at my poorRequest, who dared defy a despot king'sCommand to come before him and his lords?Your beauty, radiant and spotless, growsEach hour of exiled life more potent stillThan when it hurled an oriental crown,With all its flashing jewels, in the faceOf brutal Xerxes rather than unveilUnto a drunken court of lustful eyes.Uncrowned, deposed, you are, yet thrice a queen!VashtiThe sting, the sting of your envenomed words!EstherForgive me, dear, I do not mock your fate;No word of mine is spoke in scorn. I wouldExchange the royal robe and crown I wearFor just one hour of virtuous freedom thatBelongs to you.VashtiI can not understand!EstherI know; 'tis my misfortune, and I calledYou to the palace that I might explain.Yet every word seems cruel mockery.I do not blame you that your cheek, as chasteAs lilies, blushes at my seeming shame.Yet, Vashti, can you not believe I needYour sympathy? I crave your high respect?VashtiYou must an explanation.EstherWell, did youNot sacrifice a queenship for the gemThat every woman holds above a throne?How can we estimate your loss? The pompThat follows majesty; the crooking knee;Ten thousand minions at your beck and call;A thousand sycophantic, fawning lords;A hundred gleaming jeweled chandeliers;The radiance and rich magnificenceOf court; long hours of revel and of wine;And then above the splendor and the showGod's finger writing on the wall! Is thisThe precious price that you have paid?VashtiThis isThe price.EstherSweet friend, I thank you. Yes, your lossHas been my gain! Yet what reward have I?How I do hate the crown that you did spurn!O how I love the pearl of greatest price!God pardon my great sin!Vashti, I amA daughter of Rebecca and the bloodOf Rachel pulses in my veins! BeyondThe northern hills, within a valley green,A shepherd watches o'er his flocks to-nightBeside a starlit stream, and dreams of herWho gave the promise of her hand when lifeWas young and all the earth was pure and fair.His love was constant as the northern star,And mine was like the needle pointing true.That day is but a sad remembrance now.I never knew the ones who gave me life.My uncle, Mordecai, who sits in stateBeside the king instructed me in loveAnd knowledge of my people. Every night,As well as every day, like Daniel, IWas taught to pray, my window open towardJerusalem. God softened Cyrus' heartBecause of Daniel's prayer. But, Vashti, youMust know from Persian Gulf to Caspian Sea,The sons of Jacob still in exile groanBeneath a tyrant's yoke. I hear the wailOf Rachel weeping for her children still;I hear my lover playing on his flute,Who waits the coming of a faithless bride!But Mordecai has stayed the hand of Death!VashtiAnd you did eat your heart to save your blood?EstherYou comprehend at last? Your sympathy,O Vashti, I must have, if not respect,Else can I not return unto the king.[Vashti weeps.]There, there, I thank you, sister, friend, proud queen!The tears that glitter on your cheeks are worthA diadem of sparkling Indian stones.But weep no more—your hand—for Esther's heartCan now endure, since Vashti understands!The stars are twinkling in the northern skies;They shimmer on the stream beyond the hills;The shepherd's reed is wailing on the breeze;The revels in the palace now begin;The call has come; I must no longer stay.The daughter of a Benjamite will layHer heart upon the altar of her blood.Hear you the crimson riot in my veins?'Tis Rachel's voice! I would that you could know!·······Forgive me, Vashti, for my brain's distraught!The lights die out beyond the palace walls.The stars are hid.... I can no longer hearThe wailing flute.... Return unto your hut.Ahasuerus calls with mantling wine.My place is yonder by the king. I go![Exeunt Esther and Vashti.][Enter Ahafid and Smerdis.]AhafidThe last word has been spokenThe last true song been sung;My country's heart is broken,The poet's harp unstrung.SmerdisAhafid seems to harp upon his strings.AhafidIt seems Ahasuerus means to drinkThe cup of revel to its bitter lees.SmerdisThe deeper in the cup he goesThe sweeter is the wine that flows;The closer to the lees, he thinks,The purer is the wine he drinks.AhafidMessengers from every province bringReports of mutterings and dangerousRevolt. But Xerxes, heedless still, declaresThis night shall dim the glories of the past.Smerdis[Sings.]The lower in the lamp the oilThe fewer are the days of toil.The brighter burns the wick of life,The sooner end the days of strife.'Tis not for oil that Xerxes cares,But brilliancy of flame that flares.AhafidI hate the Hebrews and their Jewish God;I hate Jehovah for his jealous love,But Mordecai refuses to attendThe feast. The God of Israel must saveUs now, or Persia perish utterly.My hand will pen no ribald verseThis revel to adorn;Ye gods, inspire my tongue to curseThe day the king was born.[Exit Ahafid.]SmerdisThe more he swears the less he sings,Then welcome is this news he brings;For listening to his song is worseThan hearing old Ahafid curse.[Exit Smerdis.][Re-enter Ahafid.]Ahafid[Sings.]Persia's heart is beating low,Thinking of the long ago,When the king that wore the crownWas a prince of great renown;When her name without a peerDid inspire the world with fear;But to-night her sovereign's lustTrails her banner in the dust.Now my life is ebbing fast,Dreaming of the glorious past;Feeling all the shame and smart,Dying of a broken heart.[Sinks to floor.][Curtain.]Scene III[Curtain rises on Ahasuerus and his court.]AhasuerusSha-ashgaz, keeper of the concubines,Ahasuerus drinks your healthAnd bids you bring immediately beforeThe court the serpents of the Orient!The king would have a night of revelry.[The court fool, Smerdis, dances out before the court.]Ahasuerus(Continues)What, Smerdis, is the office of a fool?SmerdisTo charm these serpents of the Orient![Aside] But more to furnish brains for idiot kings.AhasuerusNow tell the chief musicians every oneTo string his harp with golden wire and tuneHis finest Persian reed to touch the heartWith joy. To-night the emperor of the East,The monarch of the world from BabylonTo India, would show munificenceOf entertainment never seen withinThe palace walls before.SmerdisYou do forgetThat night six years ago. The palace wasA blaze of light. The air was fragrant withThe breath of spice from off the Indian seas.Ahasuerus, flushed with flatteryAnd wine, was mad with passion....Ahasuerus[Impetuously.]Smerdis, charmThese serpents, if you will, your glittering wordsAre meaningless to me. Carshena, letThe Jewish Esther come in Tyrian robe,In such a gown as never Vashti wore!Smerdis[Aside.]His orders have not always been obeyed.AhasuerusAnd I would have my queen adorned with gems,That diamond cluster from beyond the Ind,Which, sparkling in her aureole of gold, bedimsThe constellation of the Southern Cross.Smerdis[Aside.]And makes the Persian peasants mourn their loss!AhasuerusI say, Meheuman, this shall be a nightIn which Ahasuerus feasts his friends—A banquet for the soul, as well as flesh.Smerdis[Aside.]A famished soul such feasting would refresh!AhasuerusFor who does not delight to look uponThe rhythmic beauty of voluptuous form?Smerdis[Aside.]Cold-blooded heart a writhing snake can warm!AhasuerusWhose ear is not enthralled by luscious lute,Whose heart is not inspired by festive song!Smerdis[Aside.]The one bowed down by tyranny and wrong!AhasuerusBut why has Mordecai delayed to come?The hated sons of Haman are no more;That reprobate who would have slain the queenHerself to gratify his wounded prideHas long since festered in the rain and sun.No enemy remains alive who daresTo touch the people of the Jew that savedThe life of Persia's king. He wears my ring;The purple of my empire is a shieldAgainst the world. I do not understandWhy Mordecai is late. He should be here;The tabor and tymbrel sound anon.Smerdis[Dances and capers before the king, then speaks solemnly.]O king, I know why Mordecai is late,He sits once more beside the palace gate,In sackcloth and bemoans his fate.He sits and dreams of hills and streamsThat flow through pasture lands and fields.He sees a child of golden hair,As happy as the vibrant air,And hears the notes and pulse of songWhere birds and sheep and shepherds throng.And then he turns to banquet hallsAnd scenes like this in palace walls,Where lords and queens and fools and kings,And concubines and underlings,Made one with wine and passion's thrall,Throw dice with Death, nor heed the callThat comes from Persia's bleeding heart,[Aside] (A fool that can not play his part).And this explains why he is late,The Jew beside the palace gate.AhasuerusYou are a jester, not a bard. Your capAnd bells, or else Death wins his throw with you.Meheuman, call the poet of the court,The great Ahafid. Let him celebrateThis feast in song. This rhyming fool presumesToo much upon the patience of the king.SmerdisYour majesty, I did but rhyme becauseAhafid's dead.AhasuerusAhafid dead? What causedHis death?Smerdis[Aside.]A broken heart. [Aloud.] He broke his harpAnd died of grief. [Aside again.] The good gray poet couldRemember real kings.AhasuerusOf grief? The fool!Well, let the younger minstrel, Saadi sing.Saadi[Sings.]Lift the voice and let us sing,The monarch's on his throne;Xerxes is the greatest kingThe world has ever known.Women, wine and happy song,Let the revels ring,Lift your voices loud and long,For Xerxes is our king.[Much revel and dancing. The trumpet sounds.]AhasuerusAhafid's death was only Persia's gain.[Meditatively.]Could Vashti look upon this gorgeous sceneThe bitter tears would scald her faded cheeksAt thoughts of her own folly.[Confusion and much disturbance. Ahasuerus, surprised, cries in angry passion.]Ho! What meansThis rude confusion? Who has dared disturbThe king in this unwonted way?[Enter messenger.]MessengerTidings,O king, of riot and revolt!AhasuerusRestoreThe court to order. I will hear no news!There is no news but this night's joy. What fearNeed Persia have? The world is safe;The emperor lives! Go put the messengers to death!This is no time to cloud the royal brow!Bring forth the vintage from the deepest vault.Here are a hundred irised pearls. They costA million sesterces. Let each man crushA lustrous shell and drink it to the healthOf Esther, beauteous queen of all the East.Arise! She comes! A blaze of splendor. NowLet every instrument be sounded.The revels shall continue till the dawn!Zeresh[Rushing in with uplifted dagger and thrusting it into the heart of Esther, crying as she flourishes it before the astonished court.]The dawn, O king, is breaking in the east![Curtain.]FinisPOEMS AND SONNETSToDOCTOR W. W. RAYPHYSICIAN, SCIENTIST, POET, MUSICIANTo WhomWhether in Art or NatureTruth is Beauty and Beauty Truth,To Whose Appreciation and Enthusiasm I Owed my IntellectualAwakening in Youth, and Whose Friendship and Lovehave Increased That Obligation Immeasureablyas the Years have Passed,I Dedicate these PoemsWith the Affection of a Full HeartCOTTON NOE"Then why not praise the tallow-dip, the dog irons and the crane, The kettle singing on the coals, or hanging to a chain?""Then why not praise the tallow-dip, the dog irons and the crane,The kettle singing on the coals, or hanging to a chain?"Poems and SonnetsTHE OLD DOG IRONSOh, the old, old dog irons! How the picture thrills my soul,As I stir the ashes of the past and find this living coal:When I blow the breath of memory it flashes into flame,That seems to me far brighter than the most undying fame.Will you listen to the story of my early childhood daysWhen I read the mystic symbols in the embers and the blazeOf the old wide-open fireplace, where the backlog, all aglowWith its shifting scenes of fancy, was a motion picture show?I know about your natural gas, your stoves and anthracite,Your phonograph and telephone and incandescent light;I've heard about the comforts and the use of gasoline,And the educative value of a Pathe photo-scene;The future of the biplane and the wonders of the press,And the blessings of the wireless when a ship is in distress.I marvel at invention and its all but magic art,But the things that make for happiness concern the human heart.Then why not praise the tallow dip, the dog irons and the crane,The kettle singing on the coals, or hanging to a chain?The children gathered round the hearth to hear of early days—The wildcat and the panther, the redman's sneaking ways;The bravery of our fathers, the scalping knife and gun,The courage of the women folks; I tell you, boys, 'twas fun.We roasted sweet potatoes and we talked of Marion's men,How they routed all the redcoats, or slew them in the fen.We learned to love our country and we swore to tell the truth,And do no deed of treachery and never act uncouth;To guard the honor of our name, and shield a virtuous home,To read the Proverbs and the Psalms and love the sacred tome.I know our home was humble then—rag carpet on the floor—But the stranger found a welcome there, the latch-string on the door.The well-sweep and the woodpile and the ox team in the shed,Dried apples hung around the walls, and pumpkins overhead—Not sanitary, I'll admit, nor stylish-like, nor rich,But health and comfort and content; now tell me, which is which?Then who can blame me that I love the good old dog iron days,When men had hearts and character that fortune couldn't faze;The years before the slitted skirts and the Turkish cigarettes,When women wove their linsey clothes instead of devilish nets;When children did the chores at night, nor ever heard of gym,Or movements such as boy scouts, yet kept in health and trim.We spent our evenings all at home, and read and sang and played,Or talked of work and feats of strength, or what our crops had made;And when we mentioned quilting bees and apple-peeling time,We had in mind our sweethearts and we sometimes made a rhyme:'Twas then I read my future in the embers and the blaze,And this is why I celebrate the good old dog iron ways.THE AGE ELECTRICThe glory of the good old days has passed from earth away,The lumbering loom, the spinning wheel, Maud Muller raking hay;The old rail fence, the moldboard plough, the scythe and reaping hook,Corn shuckings, and Virginia reel, and young folks' bashful look.Now poor old father limps behind his motorcycle sonAnd sees the world go whizzing by and knows his race is run.With rheumatism in his joints and crotchets in his brain,He finds that he can hardly catch th' accommodation train.Two dozen bottles of the oil of Dr. Up-To-DateWould put to flight the rheumatiz and straighten out his pate;But fogy folks don't have the faith, nor interest in the race,They'd rather drive a slow coach horse than go at such a pace.Efficiency! efficiency! In business, church and school,Where Culture in a dunce's cap sits grinning on a stool,And wondering where the thing will end, and what the prize will be,When Intellect, all geared and greased, is mere machinery.Old Homer and the Iliad, the Trojan and the Greek,The Parthenon and Phidias, not ancient, but antique.Great Cæsar and the Gallic War and Virgil with his rhyme,And Cicero have all gone down beneath the wheel of time.And Dante now lies buried deep beneath the art debris,Where Michael Angelo once wrought for immortality.The Swan of Avon's not in school, but on the movie screen,The Prince of Denmark can not talk but still he may be seen.All history and literature, philosophy and truthWould take about three evenings off of any modern youthTo master through the picture art if he the time could spare,From vaudeville shows and joy rides and tango with the fair.The problem is to find an hour so busy is the age,And so important is the work and tempting is the wage.Then what's the use of poetry or history anyhow?Best turn your back upon the past and face the presentnow!Get busy, and be on the job, the world will pay for skill.It says: "Deliver me the goods, and then present your bill."The family circle and the talk around the old hearth stone,The sage advice, when backlogs glowed and grease lamps dimly shone,Are mouldy pictures of the past, mere myths of long ago,When grandsires had found out some things that children didn't know.How many bushels can you raise upon your plot of ground?How many blades of grass now grow where once just one was found?Oh! Nature is the proper theme, but better Wordsworth drop,San Jose scale and coddling moth will get your apple crop.Ben Johnson and Will Shakespeare and Goldsmith all are dead.Put nodules in alfalfa roots not dramas in your head.Tomato canning's orthodox if done with due dispatch,Don't let your daughter dream of fame, just show her how to patch.The laws of sanitation soon will put the fly to flight,Then stop tuberculosis next and win the hookworm fight.If man could live a century it may be in the strife,He'd learn to make alivingif he didn't make alife!What matter if the primrose is beside the river's brim,A yellow primrose growing there and nothing more to him,He's caught the trick of sustenance (but lost his taste for rhyme),Though the oxen in the clover fields have had that all the time!GRANDMOTHER DAYS
And yet that can not be. The shepherd's crookIs not the golden sceptre of a king.I have no doubt that she has long since ceasedTo think of youthful dreams. She rules the king,And what more does a woman want?
And yet that can not be. The shepherd's crookIs not the golden sceptre of a king.I have no doubt that she has long since ceasedTo think of youthful dreams. She rules the king,And what more does a woman want?
Mordecai
I didNot hope to make her understand at once.My reasons were too subtle for her heart.And so I kept my counsel, for I knewNo girl would ever sacrifice her loveTo save the remnant of a nation's life.
I didNot hope to make her understand at once.My reasons were too subtle for her heart.And so I kept my counsel, for I knewNo girl would ever sacrifice her loveTo save the remnant of a nation's life.
Zeresh
[Justifying.]
And why might even Esther not forgetWhen once she felt the spell of royal power—The tinsel show and glamour of the court?No woman lives that would not be a queen.
And why might even Esther not forgetWhen once she felt the spell of royal power—The tinsel show and glamour of the court?No woman lives that would not be a queen.
Mordecai
I knew Ahasuerus was a brute,But what of that? Through Esther I have savedA half a million souls.
I knew Ahasuerus was a brute,But what of that? Through Esther I have savedA half a million souls.
Zeresh
[Aside.]
Through Esther youHave slain a million souls.
Through Esther youHave slain a million souls.
Mordecai
When Jepthah vowedA vow unto the Lord he kept his pledgeAnd slew the only daughter of his fleshFor a burnt offering unto God, becauseThe Ammonites, his enemy, had beenDelivered to the hands of Israel.Now Esther was my only child.
When Jepthah vowedA vow unto the Lord he kept his pledgeAnd slew the only daughter of his fleshFor a burnt offering unto God, becauseThe Ammonites, his enemy, had beenDelivered to the hands of Israel.Now Esther was my only child.
Zeresh
[A little sarcastically.]
You haveNot sacrificed, but elevated her.Although she does not understand your heart,She can but bless her uncle Mordecai.
You haveNot sacrificed, but elevated her.Although she does not understand your heart,She can but bless her uncle Mordecai.
Mordecai
But why should Esther weep? She risked her lifeAt my behest, but did she not obtainGreat favor with the king?
But why should Esther weep? She risked her lifeAt my behest, but did she not obtainGreat favor with the king?
Zeresh
And Esther's lifeWas forfeit then through Haman's wicked hate.
And Esther's lifeWas forfeit then through Haman's wicked hate.
Mordecai
I wear the royal robe of blue and white.
I wear the royal robe of blue and white.
Zeresh
Does Esther think because her vanityIs flattered by the jewels of a queenThat Mordecai is moved by pomp and show?
Does Esther think because her vanityIs flattered by the jewels of a queenThat Mordecai is moved by pomp and show?
Mordecai
'Tis not the kingly trappings but the seal—Not sceptre merely but the signet ring,Not rank, but rule that Mordecai would have.I can not understand her tears no moreThan she knows why I wear the crown. But IAm justified. Jehovah wrought through me.
'Tis not the kingly trappings but the seal—Not sceptre merely but the signet ring,Not rank, but rule that Mordecai would have.I can not understand her tears no moreThan she knows why I wear the crown. But IAm justified. Jehovah wrought through me.
[Exit Mordecai.]
Zeresh
[Bursting into fury.]
Jehovah wrought through him! Hell wrought through him!I marvel that his tongue is not consumedBy blasted lies. Wait till he feels the flameThat rages in my heart. Hell may not burnA Jew, but even he can not withstandThe simoon of a fiery dragon's breath!
Jehovah wrought through him! Hell wrought through him!I marvel that his tongue is not consumedBy blasted lies. Wait till he feels the flameThat rages in my heart. Hell may not burnA Jew, but even he can not withstandThe simoon of a fiery dragon's breath!
Parshandatha
But Zeresh, was the Jew not justified?
But Zeresh, was the Jew not justified?
Zeresh
Justified! gratified! satisfied! Parshandatha,Justified in Jepthah; gratifiedThat he is like the meek and lowly sonOf Amram; satisfied that now the crownOf Persia presses only Hebrew brows.
Justified! gratified! satisfied! Parshandatha,Justified in Jepthah; gratifiedThat he is like the meek and lowly sonOf Amram; satisfied that now the crownOf Persia presses only Hebrew brows.
Parshandatha
[Sarcastically.]
You do forget my lord, Darius' son.You can not think the blood of Jacob flowsThrough Xerxes' veins? Does he not wear the crown?
You do forget my lord, Darius' son.You can not think the blood of Jacob flowsThrough Xerxes' veins? Does he not wear the crown?
Zeresh
[With contempt.]
Ahasuerus wears a pigeon's heart.The Persian robe's a Jewish gabardine;The crown, a Hebrew priest's phylactery.But did you say forget? Have you been soLong with me, dear, and doubt my memory?Forget Ahasuerus, did you say?That minion of a Jewish girl, who sealedThe death of Haman and his sons? His faceIs seared upon my heart, his image burntInto my brain. I tell you Xerxes isNo longer king.
Ahasuerus wears a pigeon's heart.The Persian robe's a Jewish gabardine;The crown, a Hebrew priest's phylactery.But did you say forget? Have you been soLong with me, dear, and doubt my memory?Forget Ahasuerus, did you say?That minion of a Jewish girl, who sealedThe death of Haman and his sons? His faceIs seared upon my heart, his image burntInto my brain. I tell you Xerxes isNo longer king.
Parshandatha
But is not Esther queen?
But is not Esther queen?
Zeresh
Parshandatha, why do you taunt me thus?Have I not proved your friend? Do I deserveYour mockery?
Parshandatha, why do you taunt me thus?Have I not proved your friend? Do I deserveYour mockery?
Parshandatha
I do but speak to stingYou to revenge.
I do but speak to stingYou to revenge.
Zeresh
Let fly your venom then.The Persian empire is in arms. To-nightThe king does hold a great carouse. The JewWill sit in state beside the profligate.This blade I have prepared against that hour.The queen, I understand, will be a blazeOf gems. Ahasuerus boasts this nightWould all but wreck a petty kingdom.
Let fly your venom then.The Persian empire is in arms. To-nightThe king does hold a great carouse. The JewWill sit in state beside the profligate.This blade I have prepared against that hour.The queen, I understand, will be a blazeOf gems. Ahasuerus boasts this nightWould all but wreck a petty kingdom.
Parshandatha
HeShould never live to see the rising sun.
HeShould never live to see the rising sun.
Zeresh
The rising sun! My dear, he shall not seeThe Pleiades again, and they are upAt nine. When cornet and the trumpet bruitThe entry of the queen, a hundred bladesLike this [disclosing dagger] shall be unsheathed.Parshandatha,You know whose blood my blade shall drink!My hour has come! Ah, Esther, you shall supOnce more with Haman and your drunken lord,While Zeresh keeps her lonely watchBeneath the silent, glittering stars. Come on!
The rising sun! My dear, he shall not seeThe Pleiades again, and they are upAt nine. When cornet and the trumpet bruitThe entry of the queen, a hundred bladesLike this [disclosing dagger] shall be unsheathed.Parshandatha,You know whose blood my blade shall drink!My hour has come! Ah, Esther, you shall supOnce more with Haman and your drunken lord,While Zeresh keeps her lonely watchBeneath the silent, glittering stars. Come on!
[Exeunt Zeresh and Parshandatha.]
[Curtain.]
Place—Outer hall to throne room, curtain back.
Time—The following evening.
[Enter Vashti and Esther from opposite sides of the stage.]
Esther
Ah, here already, Vashti, at my poorRequest, who dared defy a despot king'sCommand to come before him and his lords?Your beauty, radiant and spotless, growsEach hour of exiled life more potent stillThan when it hurled an oriental crown,With all its flashing jewels, in the faceOf brutal Xerxes rather than unveilUnto a drunken court of lustful eyes.Uncrowned, deposed, you are, yet thrice a queen!
Ah, here already, Vashti, at my poorRequest, who dared defy a despot king'sCommand to come before him and his lords?Your beauty, radiant and spotless, growsEach hour of exiled life more potent stillThan when it hurled an oriental crown,With all its flashing jewels, in the faceOf brutal Xerxes rather than unveilUnto a drunken court of lustful eyes.Uncrowned, deposed, you are, yet thrice a queen!
Vashti
The sting, the sting of your envenomed words!
The sting, the sting of your envenomed words!
Esther
Forgive me, dear, I do not mock your fate;No word of mine is spoke in scorn. I wouldExchange the royal robe and crown I wearFor just one hour of virtuous freedom thatBelongs to you.
Forgive me, dear, I do not mock your fate;No word of mine is spoke in scorn. I wouldExchange the royal robe and crown I wearFor just one hour of virtuous freedom thatBelongs to you.
Vashti
I can not understand!
I can not understand!
Esther
I know; 'tis my misfortune, and I calledYou to the palace that I might explain.Yet every word seems cruel mockery.I do not blame you that your cheek, as chasteAs lilies, blushes at my seeming shame.Yet, Vashti, can you not believe I needYour sympathy? I crave your high respect?
I know; 'tis my misfortune, and I calledYou to the palace that I might explain.Yet every word seems cruel mockery.I do not blame you that your cheek, as chasteAs lilies, blushes at my seeming shame.Yet, Vashti, can you not believe I needYour sympathy? I crave your high respect?
Vashti
You must an explanation.
You must an explanation.
Esther
Well, did youNot sacrifice a queenship for the gemThat every woman holds above a throne?How can we estimate your loss? The pompThat follows majesty; the crooking knee;Ten thousand minions at your beck and call;A thousand sycophantic, fawning lords;A hundred gleaming jeweled chandeliers;The radiance and rich magnificenceOf court; long hours of revel and of wine;And then above the splendor and the showGod's finger writing on the wall! Is thisThe precious price that you have paid?
Well, did youNot sacrifice a queenship for the gemThat every woman holds above a throne?How can we estimate your loss? The pompThat follows majesty; the crooking knee;Ten thousand minions at your beck and call;A thousand sycophantic, fawning lords;A hundred gleaming jeweled chandeliers;The radiance and rich magnificenceOf court; long hours of revel and of wine;And then above the splendor and the showGod's finger writing on the wall! Is thisThe precious price that you have paid?
Vashti
This isThe price.
This isThe price.
Esther
Sweet friend, I thank you. Yes, your lossHas been my gain! Yet what reward have I?How I do hate the crown that you did spurn!O how I love the pearl of greatest price!God pardon my great sin!Vashti, I amA daughter of Rebecca and the bloodOf Rachel pulses in my veins! BeyondThe northern hills, within a valley green,A shepherd watches o'er his flocks to-nightBeside a starlit stream, and dreams of herWho gave the promise of her hand when lifeWas young and all the earth was pure and fair.His love was constant as the northern star,And mine was like the needle pointing true.That day is but a sad remembrance now.I never knew the ones who gave me life.My uncle, Mordecai, who sits in stateBeside the king instructed me in loveAnd knowledge of my people. Every night,As well as every day, like Daniel, IWas taught to pray, my window open towardJerusalem. God softened Cyrus' heartBecause of Daniel's prayer. But, Vashti, youMust know from Persian Gulf to Caspian Sea,The sons of Jacob still in exile groanBeneath a tyrant's yoke. I hear the wailOf Rachel weeping for her children still;I hear my lover playing on his flute,Who waits the coming of a faithless bride!But Mordecai has stayed the hand of Death!
Sweet friend, I thank you. Yes, your lossHas been my gain! Yet what reward have I?How I do hate the crown that you did spurn!O how I love the pearl of greatest price!God pardon my great sin!
Vashti, I amA daughter of Rebecca and the bloodOf Rachel pulses in my veins! BeyondThe northern hills, within a valley green,A shepherd watches o'er his flocks to-nightBeside a starlit stream, and dreams of herWho gave the promise of her hand when lifeWas young and all the earth was pure and fair.
His love was constant as the northern star,And mine was like the needle pointing true.That day is but a sad remembrance now.I never knew the ones who gave me life.My uncle, Mordecai, who sits in stateBeside the king instructed me in loveAnd knowledge of my people. Every night,As well as every day, like Daniel, IWas taught to pray, my window open towardJerusalem. God softened Cyrus' heartBecause of Daniel's prayer. But, Vashti, youMust know from Persian Gulf to Caspian Sea,The sons of Jacob still in exile groanBeneath a tyrant's yoke. I hear the wailOf Rachel weeping for her children still;I hear my lover playing on his flute,Who waits the coming of a faithless bride!But Mordecai has stayed the hand of Death!
Vashti
And you did eat your heart to save your blood?
And you did eat your heart to save your blood?
Esther
You comprehend at last? Your sympathy,O Vashti, I must have, if not respect,Else can I not return unto the king.[Vashti weeps.]There, there, I thank you, sister, friend, proud queen!The tears that glitter on your cheeks are worthA diadem of sparkling Indian stones.But weep no more—your hand—for Esther's heartCan now endure, since Vashti understands!The stars are twinkling in the northern skies;They shimmer on the stream beyond the hills;The shepherd's reed is wailing on the breeze;The revels in the palace now begin;The call has come; I must no longer stay.The daughter of a Benjamite will layHer heart upon the altar of her blood.Hear you the crimson riot in my veins?'Tis Rachel's voice! I would that you could know!·······Forgive me, Vashti, for my brain's distraught!The lights die out beyond the palace walls.The stars are hid.... I can no longer hearThe wailing flute.... Return unto your hut.Ahasuerus calls with mantling wine.My place is yonder by the king. I go!
You comprehend at last? Your sympathy,O Vashti, I must have, if not respect,Else can I not return unto the king.[Vashti weeps.]There, there, I thank you, sister, friend, proud queen!The tears that glitter on your cheeks are worthA diadem of sparkling Indian stones.But weep no more—your hand—for Esther's heartCan now endure, since Vashti understands!The stars are twinkling in the northern skies;They shimmer on the stream beyond the hills;The shepherd's reed is wailing on the breeze;The revels in the palace now begin;The call has come; I must no longer stay.The daughter of a Benjamite will layHer heart upon the altar of her blood.Hear you the crimson riot in my veins?'Tis Rachel's voice! I would that you could know!·······Forgive me, Vashti, for my brain's distraught!
The lights die out beyond the palace walls.The stars are hid.... I can no longer hearThe wailing flute.... Return unto your hut.Ahasuerus calls with mantling wine.My place is yonder by the king. I go!
[Exeunt Esther and Vashti.]
[Enter Ahafid and Smerdis.]
Ahafid
The last word has been spokenThe last true song been sung;My country's heart is broken,The poet's harp unstrung.
The last word has been spokenThe last true song been sung;My country's heart is broken,The poet's harp unstrung.
Smerdis
Ahafid seems to harp upon his strings.
Ahafid seems to harp upon his strings.
Ahafid
It seems Ahasuerus means to drinkThe cup of revel to its bitter lees.
It seems Ahasuerus means to drinkThe cup of revel to its bitter lees.
Smerdis
The deeper in the cup he goesThe sweeter is the wine that flows;The closer to the lees, he thinks,The purer is the wine he drinks.
The deeper in the cup he goesThe sweeter is the wine that flows;The closer to the lees, he thinks,The purer is the wine he drinks.
Ahafid
Messengers from every province bringReports of mutterings and dangerousRevolt. But Xerxes, heedless still, declaresThis night shall dim the glories of the past.
Messengers from every province bringReports of mutterings and dangerousRevolt. But Xerxes, heedless still, declaresThis night shall dim the glories of the past.
Smerdis
[Sings.]
The lower in the lamp the oilThe fewer are the days of toil.The brighter burns the wick of life,The sooner end the days of strife.'Tis not for oil that Xerxes cares,But brilliancy of flame that flares.
The lower in the lamp the oilThe fewer are the days of toil.The brighter burns the wick of life,The sooner end the days of strife.'Tis not for oil that Xerxes cares,But brilliancy of flame that flares.
Ahafid
I hate the Hebrews and their Jewish God;I hate Jehovah for his jealous love,But Mordecai refuses to attendThe feast. The God of Israel must saveUs now, or Persia perish utterly.My hand will pen no ribald verseThis revel to adorn;Ye gods, inspire my tongue to curseThe day the king was born.
I hate the Hebrews and their Jewish God;I hate Jehovah for his jealous love,But Mordecai refuses to attendThe feast. The God of Israel must saveUs now, or Persia perish utterly.
My hand will pen no ribald verseThis revel to adorn;Ye gods, inspire my tongue to curseThe day the king was born.
[Exit Ahafid.]
Smerdis
The more he swears the less he sings,Then welcome is this news he brings;For listening to his song is worseThan hearing old Ahafid curse.
The more he swears the less he sings,Then welcome is this news he brings;For listening to his song is worseThan hearing old Ahafid curse.
[Exit Smerdis.]
[Re-enter Ahafid.]
Ahafid
[Sings.]
Persia's heart is beating low,Thinking of the long ago,When the king that wore the crownWas a prince of great renown;When her name without a peerDid inspire the world with fear;But to-night her sovereign's lustTrails her banner in the dust.Now my life is ebbing fast,Dreaming of the glorious past;Feeling all the shame and smart,Dying of a broken heart.
Persia's heart is beating low,Thinking of the long ago,When the king that wore the crownWas a prince of great renown;When her name without a peerDid inspire the world with fear;But to-night her sovereign's lustTrails her banner in the dust.
Now my life is ebbing fast,Dreaming of the glorious past;Feeling all the shame and smart,Dying of a broken heart.
[Sinks to floor.]
[Curtain.]
[Curtain rises on Ahasuerus and his court.]
Ahasuerus
Sha-ashgaz, keeper of the concubines,Ahasuerus drinks your healthAnd bids you bring immediately beforeThe court the serpents of the Orient!The king would have a night of revelry.
Sha-ashgaz, keeper of the concubines,Ahasuerus drinks your healthAnd bids you bring immediately beforeThe court the serpents of the Orient!The king would have a night of revelry.
[The court fool, Smerdis, dances out before the court.]
Ahasuerus(Continues)
What, Smerdis, is the office of a fool?
What, Smerdis, is the office of a fool?
Smerdis
To charm these serpents of the Orient![Aside] But more to furnish brains for idiot kings.
To charm these serpents of the Orient![Aside] But more to furnish brains for idiot kings.
Ahasuerus
Now tell the chief musicians every oneTo string his harp with golden wire and tuneHis finest Persian reed to touch the heartWith joy. To-night the emperor of the East,The monarch of the world from BabylonTo India, would show munificenceOf entertainment never seen withinThe palace walls before.
Now tell the chief musicians every oneTo string his harp with golden wire and tuneHis finest Persian reed to touch the heartWith joy. To-night the emperor of the East,The monarch of the world from BabylonTo India, would show munificenceOf entertainment never seen withinThe palace walls before.
Smerdis
You do forgetThat night six years ago. The palace wasA blaze of light. The air was fragrant withThe breath of spice from off the Indian seas.Ahasuerus, flushed with flatteryAnd wine, was mad with passion....
You do forgetThat night six years ago. The palace wasA blaze of light. The air was fragrant withThe breath of spice from off the Indian seas.Ahasuerus, flushed with flatteryAnd wine, was mad with passion....
Ahasuerus
[Impetuously.]
Smerdis, charmThese serpents, if you will, your glittering wordsAre meaningless to me. Carshena, letThe Jewish Esther come in Tyrian robe,In such a gown as never Vashti wore!
Smerdis, charmThese serpents, if you will, your glittering wordsAre meaningless to me. Carshena, letThe Jewish Esther come in Tyrian robe,In such a gown as never Vashti wore!
Smerdis
[Aside.]
His orders have not always been obeyed.
His orders have not always been obeyed.
Ahasuerus
And I would have my queen adorned with gems,That diamond cluster from beyond the Ind,Which, sparkling in her aureole of gold, bedimsThe constellation of the Southern Cross.
And I would have my queen adorned with gems,That diamond cluster from beyond the Ind,Which, sparkling in her aureole of gold, bedimsThe constellation of the Southern Cross.
Smerdis
[Aside.]
And makes the Persian peasants mourn their loss!
And makes the Persian peasants mourn their loss!
Ahasuerus
I say, Meheuman, this shall be a nightIn which Ahasuerus feasts his friends—A banquet for the soul, as well as flesh.
I say, Meheuman, this shall be a nightIn which Ahasuerus feasts his friends—A banquet for the soul, as well as flesh.
Smerdis
[Aside.]
A famished soul such feasting would refresh!
A famished soul such feasting would refresh!
Ahasuerus
For who does not delight to look uponThe rhythmic beauty of voluptuous form?
For who does not delight to look uponThe rhythmic beauty of voluptuous form?
Smerdis
[Aside.]
Cold-blooded heart a writhing snake can warm!
Cold-blooded heart a writhing snake can warm!
Ahasuerus
Whose ear is not enthralled by luscious lute,Whose heart is not inspired by festive song!
Whose ear is not enthralled by luscious lute,Whose heart is not inspired by festive song!
Smerdis
[Aside.]
The one bowed down by tyranny and wrong!
The one bowed down by tyranny and wrong!
Ahasuerus
But why has Mordecai delayed to come?The hated sons of Haman are no more;That reprobate who would have slain the queenHerself to gratify his wounded prideHas long since festered in the rain and sun.No enemy remains alive who daresTo touch the people of the Jew that savedThe life of Persia's king. He wears my ring;The purple of my empire is a shieldAgainst the world. I do not understandWhy Mordecai is late. He should be here;The tabor and tymbrel sound anon.
But why has Mordecai delayed to come?The hated sons of Haman are no more;That reprobate who would have slain the queenHerself to gratify his wounded prideHas long since festered in the rain and sun.No enemy remains alive who daresTo touch the people of the Jew that savedThe life of Persia's king. He wears my ring;The purple of my empire is a shieldAgainst the world. I do not understandWhy Mordecai is late. He should be here;The tabor and tymbrel sound anon.
Smerdis
[Dances and capers before the king, then speaks solemnly.]
O king, I know why Mordecai is late,He sits once more beside the palace gate,In sackcloth and bemoans his fate.He sits and dreams of hills and streamsThat flow through pasture lands and fields.He sees a child of golden hair,As happy as the vibrant air,And hears the notes and pulse of songWhere birds and sheep and shepherds throng.And then he turns to banquet hallsAnd scenes like this in palace walls,Where lords and queens and fools and kings,And concubines and underlings,Made one with wine and passion's thrall,Throw dice with Death, nor heed the callThat comes from Persia's bleeding heart,[Aside] (A fool that can not play his part).And this explains why he is late,The Jew beside the palace gate.
O king, I know why Mordecai is late,He sits once more beside the palace gate,In sackcloth and bemoans his fate.He sits and dreams of hills and streamsThat flow through pasture lands and fields.He sees a child of golden hair,As happy as the vibrant air,And hears the notes and pulse of songWhere birds and sheep and shepherds throng.And then he turns to banquet hallsAnd scenes like this in palace walls,Where lords and queens and fools and kings,And concubines and underlings,Made one with wine and passion's thrall,Throw dice with Death, nor heed the callThat comes from Persia's bleeding heart,[Aside] (A fool that can not play his part).And this explains why he is late,The Jew beside the palace gate.
Ahasuerus
You are a jester, not a bard. Your capAnd bells, or else Death wins his throw with you.Meheuman, call the poet of the court,The great Ahafid. Let him celebrateThis feast in song. This rhyming fool presumesToo much upon the patience of the king.
You are a jester, not a bard. Your capAnd bells, or else Death wins his throw with you.Meheuman, call the poet of the court,The great Ahafid. Let him celebrateThis feast in song. This rhyming fool presumesToo much upon the patience of the king.
Smerdis
Your majesty, I did but rhyme becauseAhafid's dead.
Your majesty, I did but rhyme becauseAhafid's dead.
Ahasuerus
Ahafid dead? What causedHis death?
Ahafid dead? What causedHis death?
Smerdis
[Aside.]
A broken heart. [Aloud.] He broke his harpAnd died of grief. [Aside again.] The good gray poet couldRemember real kings.
A broken heart. [Aloud.] He broke his harpAnd died of grief. [Aside again.] The good gray poet couldRemember real kings.
Ahasuerus
Of grief? The fool!Well, let the younger minstrel, Saadi sing.
Of grief? The fool!Well, let the younger minstrel, Saadi sing.
Saadi
[Sings.]
Lift the voice and let us sing,The monarch's on his throne;Xerxes is the greatest kingThe world has ever known.Women, wine and happy song,Let the revels ring,Lift your voices loud and long,For Xerxes is our king.
Lift the voice and let us sing,The monarch's on his throne;Xerxes is the greatest kingThe world has ever known.Women, wine and happy song,Let the revels ring,Lift your voices loud and long,For Xerxes is our king.
[Much revel and dancing. The trumpet sounds.]
Ahasuerus
Ahafid's death was only Persia's gain.
Ahafid's death was only Persia's gain.
[Meditatively.]
Could Vashti look upon this gorgeous sceneThe bitter tears would scald her faded cheeksAt thoughts of her own folly.
Could Vashti look upon this gorgeous sceneThe bitter tears would scald her faded cheeksAt thoughts of her own folly.
[Confusion and much disturbance. Ahasuerus, surprised, cries in angry passion.]
Ho! What meansThis rude confusion? Who has dared disturbThe king in this unwonted way?
Ho! What meansThis rude confusion? Who has dared disturbThe king in this unwonted way?
[Enter messenger.]
Messenger
Tidings,O king, of riot and revolt!
Tidings,O king, of riot and revolt!
Ahasuerus
RestoreThe court to order. I will hear no news!There is no news but this night's joy. What fearNeed Persia have? The world is safe;The emperor lives! Go put the messengers to death!This is no time to cloud the royal brow!Bring forth the vintage from the deepest vault.Here are a hundred irised pearls. They costA million sesterces. Let each man crushA lustrous shell and drink it to the healthOf Esther, beauteous queen of all the East.Arise! She comes! A blaze of splendor. NowLet every instrument be sounded.The revels shall continue till the dawn!
RestoreThe court to order. I will hear no news!There is no news but this night's joy. What fearNeed Persia have? The world is safe;The emperor lives! Go put the messengers to death!This is no time to cloud the royal brow!Bring forth the vintage from the deepest vault.Here are a hundred irised pearls. They costA million sesterces. Let each man crushA lustrous shell and drink it to the healthOf Esther, beauteous queen of all the East.Arise! She comes! A blaze of splendor. NowLet every instrument be sounded.The revels shall continue till the dawn!
Zeresh
[Rushing in with uplifted dagger and thrusting it into the heart of Esther, crying as she flourishes it before the astonished court.]
The dawn, O king, is breaking in the east!
The dawn, O king, is breaking in the east!
[Curtain.]
Finis
To
DOCTOR W. W. RAY
PHYSICIAN, SCIENTIST, POET, MUSICIAN
To WhomWhether in Art or NatureTruth is Beauty and Beauty Truth,To Whose Appreciation and Enthusiasm I Owed my IntellectualAwakening in Youth, and Whose Friendship and Lovehave Increased That Obligation Immeasureablyas the Years have Passed,
I Dedicate these PoemsWith the Affection of a Full Heart
COTTON NOE
"Then why not praise the tallow-dip, the dog irons and the crane, The kettle singing on the coals, or hanging to a chain?""Then why not praise the tallow-dip, the dog irons and the crane,The kettle singing on the coals, or hanging to a chain?"
"Then why not praise the tallow-dip, the dog irons and the crane,The kettle singing on the coals, or hanging to a chain?"
Oh, the old, old dog irons! How the picture thrills my soul,As I stir the ashes of the past and find this living coal:When I blow the breath of memory it flashes into flame,That seems to me far brighter than the most undying fame.Will you listen to the story of my early childhood daysWhen I read the mystic symbols in the embers and the blazeOf the old wide-open fireplace, where the backlog, all aglowWith its shifting scenes of fancy, was a motion picture show?I know about your natural gas, your stoves and anthracite,Your phonograph and telephone and incandescent light;I've heard about the comforts and the use of gasoline,And the educative value of a Pathe photo-scene;The future of the biplane and the wonders of the press,And the blessings of the wireless when a ship is in distress.I marvel at invention and its all but magic art,But the things that make for happiness concern the human heart.Then why not praise the tallow dip, the dog irons and the crane,The kettle singing on the coals, or hanging to a chain?The children gathered round the hearth to hear of early days—The wildcat and the panther, the redman's sneaking ways;The bravery of our fathers, the scalping knife and gun,The courage of the women folks; I tell you, boys, 'twas fun.We roasted sweet potatoes and we talked of Marion's men,How they routed all the redcoats, or slew them in the fen.We learned to love our country and we swore to tell the truth,And do no deed of treachery and never act uncouth;To guard the honor of our name, and shield a virtuous home,To read the Proverbs and the Psalms and love the sacred tome.I know our home was humble then—rag carpet on the floor—But the stranger found a welcome there, the latch-string on the door.The well-sweep and the woodpile and the ox team in the shed,Dried apples hung around the walls, and pumpkins overhead—Not sanitary, I'll admit, nor stylish-like, nor rich,But health and comfort and content; now tell me, which is which?Then who can blame me that I love the good old dog iron days,When men had hearts and character that fortune couldn't faze;The years before the slitted skirts and the Turkish cigarettes,When women wove their linsey clothes instead of devilish nets;When children did the chores at night, nor ever heard of gym,Or movements such as boy scouts, yet kept in health and trim.We spent our evenings all at home, and read and sang and played,Or talked of work and feats of strength, or what our crops had made;And when we mentioned quilting bees and apple-peeling time,We had in mind our sweethearts and we sometimes made a rhyme:'Twas then I read my future in the embers and the blaze,And this is why I celebrate the good old dog iron ways.
Oh, the old, old dog irons! How the picture thrills my soul,As I stir the ashes of the past and find this living coal:When I blow the breath of memory it flashes into flame,That seems to me far brighter than the most undying fame.Will you listen to the story of my early childhood daysWhen I read the mystic symbols in the embers and the blazeOf the old wide-open fireplace, where the backlog, all aglowWith its shifting scenes of fancy, was a motion picture show?I know about your natural gas, your stoves and anthracite,Your phonograph and telephone and incandescent light;I've heard about the comforts and the use of gasoline,And the educative value of a Pathe photo-scene;The future of the biplane and the wonders of the press,And the blessings of the wireless when a ship is in distress.I marvel at invention and its all but magic art,But the things that make for happiness concern the human heart.Then why not praise the tallow dip, the dog irons and the crane,The kettle singing on the coals, or hanging to a chain?The children gathered round the hearth to hear of early days—The wildcat and the panther, the redman's sneaking ways;The bravery of our fathers, the scalping knife and gun,The courage of the women folks; I tell you, boys, 'twas fun.We roasted sweet potatoes and we talked of Marion's men,How they routed all the redcoats, or slew them in the fen.We learned to love our country and we swore to tell the truth,And do no deed of treachery and never act uncouth;To guard the honor of our name, and shield a virtuous home,To read the Proverbs and the Psalms and love the sacred tome.I know our home was humble then—rag carpet on the floor—But the stranger found a welcome there, the latch-string on the door.The well-sweep and the woodpile and the ox team in the shed,Dried apples hung around the walls, and pumpkins overhead—Not sanitary, I'll admit, nor stylish-like, nor rich,But health and comfort and content; now tell me, which is which?Then who can blame me that I love the good old dog iron days,When men had hearts and character that fortune couldn't faze;The years before the slitted skirts and the Turkish cigarettes,When women wove their linsey clothes instead of devilish nets;When children did the chores at night, nor ever heard of gym,Or movements such as boy scouts, yet kept in health and trim.We spent our evenings all at home, and read and sang and played,Or talked of work and feats of strength, or what our crops had made;And when we mentioned quilting bees and apple-peeling time,We had in mind our sweethearts and we sometimes made a rhyme:'Twas then I read my future in the embers and the blaze,And this is why I celebrate the good old dog iron ways.
The glory of the good old days has passed from earth away,The lumbering loom, the spinning wheel, Maud Muller raking hay;The old rail fence, the moldboard plough, the scythe and reaping hook,Corn shuckings, and Virginia reel, and young folks' bashful look.Now poor old father limps behind his motorcycle sonAnd sees the world go whizzing by and knows his race is run.With rheumatism in his joints and crotchets in his brain,He finds that he can hardly catch th' accommodation train.Two dozen bottles of the oil of Dr. Up-To-DateWould put to flight the rheumatiz and straighten out his pate;But fogy folks don't have the faith, nor interest in the race,They'd rather drive a slow coach horse than go at such a pace.Efficiency! efficiency! In business, church and school,Where Culture in a dunce's cap sits grinning on a stool,And wondering where the thing will end, and what the prize will be,When Intellect, all geared and greased, is mere machinery.Old Homer and the Iliad, the Trojan and the Greek,The Parthenon and Phidias, not ancient, but antique.Great Cæsar and the Gallic War and Virgil with his rhyme,And Cicero have all gone down beneath the wheel of time.And Dante now lies buried deep beneath the art debris,Where Michael Angelo once wrought for immortality.The Swan of Avon's not in school, but on the movie screen,The Prince of Denmark can not talk but still he may be seen.All history and literature, philosophy and truthWould take about three evenings off of any modern youthTo master through the picture art if he the time could spare,From vaudeville shows and joy rides and tango with the fair.The problem is to find an hour so busy is the age,And so important is the work and tempting is the wage.Then what's the use of poetry or history anyhow?Best turn your back upon the past and face the presentnow!Get busy, and be on the job, the world will pay for skill.It says: "Deliver me the goods, and then present your bill."The family circle and the talk around the old hearth stone,The sage advice, when backlogs glowed and grease lamps dimly shone,Are mouldy pictures of the past, mere myths of long ago,When grandsires had found out some things that children didn't know.How many bushels can you raise upon your plot of ground?How many blades of grass now grow where once just one was found?Oh! Nature is the proper theme, but better Wordsworth drop,San Jose scale and coddling moth will get your apple crop.Ben Johnson and Will Shakespeare and Goldsmith all are dead.Put nodules in alfalfa roots not dramas in your head.Tomato canning's orthodox if done with due dispatch,Don't let your daughter dream of fame, just show her how to patch.The laws of sanitation soon will put the fly to flight,Then stop tuberculosis next and win the hookworm fight.If man could live a century it may be in the strife,He'd learn to make alivingif he didn't make alife!What matter if the primrose is beside the river's brim,A yellow primrose growing there and nothing more to him,He's caught the trick of sustenance (but lost his taste for rhyme),Though the oxen in the clover fields have had that all the time!
The glory of the good old days has passed from earth away,The lumbering loom, the spinning wheel, Maud Muller raking hay;The old rail fence, the moldboard plough, the scythe and reaping hook,Corn shuckings, and Virginia reel, and young folks' bashful look.Now poor old father limps behind his motorcycle sonAnd sees the world go whizzing by and knows his race is run.With rheumatism in his joints and crotchets in his brain,He finds that he can hardly catch th' accommodation train.Two dozen bottles of the oil of Dr. Up-To-DateWould put to flight the rheumatiz and straighten out his pate;But fogy folks don't have the faith, nor interest in the race,They'd rather drive a slow coach horse than go at such a pace.Efficiency! efficiency! In business, church and school,Where Culture in a dunce's cap sits grinning on a stool,And wondering where the thing will end, and what the prize will be,When Intellect, all geared and greased, is mere machinery.Old Homer and the Iliad, the Trojan and the Greek,The Parthenon and Phidias, not ancient, but antique.Great Cæsar and the Gallic War and Virgil with his rhyme,And Cicero have all gone down beneath the wheel of time.And Dante now lies buried deep beneath the art debris,Where Michael Angelo once wrought for immortality.The Swan of Avon's not in school, but on the movie screen,The Prince of Denmark can not talk but still he may be seen.All history and literature, philosophy and truthWould take about three evenings off of any modern youthTo master through the picture art if he the time could spare,From vaudeville shows and joy rides and tango with the fair.The problem is to find an hour so busy is the age,And so important is the work and tempting is the wage.Then what's the use of poetry or history anyhow?Best turn your back upon the past and face the presentnow!Get busy, and be on the job, the world will pay for skill.It says: "Deliver me the goods, and then present your bill."The family circle and the talk around the old hearth stone,The sage advice, when backlogs glowed and grease lamps dimly shone,Are mouldy pictures of the past, mere myths of long ago,When grandsires had found out some things that children didn't know.How many bushels can you raise upon your plot of ground?How many blades of grass now grow where once just one was found?Oh! Nature is the proper theme, but better Wordsworth drop,San Jose scale and coddling moth will get your apple crop.Ben Johnson and Will Shakespeare and Goldsmith all are dead.Put nodules in alfalfa roots not dramas in your head.Tomato canning's orthodox if done with due dispatch,Don't let your daughter dream of fame, just show her how to patch.The laws of sanitation soon will put the fly to flight,Then stop tuberculosis next and win the hookworm fight.If man could live a century it may be in the strife,He'd learn to make alivingif he didn't make alife!What matter if the primrose is beside the river's brim,A yellow primrose growing there and nothing more to him,He's caught the trick of sustenance (but lost his taste for rhyme),Though the oxen in the clover fields have had that all the time!