poem: The Rich Boy’s Christmas by Ellis Parker Butler
And now behold this sulking boy,
His costly presents bring no joy;
Harsh tears of anger fill his eye
Tho’ he has all that wealth can buy.
What profits it that he employs
His many gifts to make a noise?
His playroom is so placed that he
Can cause his folks no agony.
MORAL:
Mere worldly wealth does not possess
The power of giving happiness.poem by Ellis Parker Butler
poem: The Romance Of Patrolman Casey by Ellis Parker Butler
There was a young patrolman who
Had large but tender feet;
They always hurt him badly when
He walked upon his beat.
(He always took them with him when
He walked upon his beat.)
His name was Patrick Casey and
A sweetheart fair had he;
Her face was full of freckles—but
Her name was Kate McGee.
(It was in spite of freckles that
Her name was Kate McGee.)
“Oh, Pat!” she said, “I’ll wed you when
Promotion comes to you!”
“I’m much-obliged,” he answered, and
“I’ll see what I can do.”
(I may remark he said it thus—
“Oi’ll say phwat Oi kin do.”)
So then he bought some new shoes which
Allowed his feet more ease—
They may have been large twelves. Perhaps
Eighteens, or twenty-threes.
(That’s rather large for shoes, I think—
Eighteens or twenty-threes!)
What last they were I don’t know, but
Somehow it seems to me
I’ve heard somewhere they either were
A, B, C, D, or E.
(More likely they were five lasts wide—
A, B plus C, D, E.)
They were the stoutest cowhide that
Could be peeled off a cow.
But he was not promoted
So
Kate wed him anyhow.
(This world is crowded full of Kates
That wed them anyhow.)poem by Ellis Parker Butler
poem: The Tearful Tale Of Captain Dan by Ellis Parker Butler
A sinner was old Captain Dan;
His wives guv him no rest:
He had one wife to East Skiddaw
And one to Skiddaw West.
Now Ann Eliza was the name
Of her at East Skiddaw;
She was the most cantankerous
Female you ever saw.
I don’t know but one crosser-grained,
And of this Captain Dan
She was the wife at Skiddaw West—
She was Eliza Ann.
Well, this old skeesicks, Captain Dan,
He owned a ferryboat;
From East Skiddaw to Skiddaw West
That vessel used to float.
She was as trim a ferry-craft
As ever I did see,
And on each end a p’inted bow
And pilothouse had she.
She had two bows that way, so when
She went acrost the sound
She could, to oncet, run back ag’in
Without a-turnin’ round.
Now Captain Dan he sailed that boat
For nigh on twenty year
Acrost that sound and back ag’in,
Like I have stated here.
And never oncet in all them years
Had Ann Eliza guessed
That Dan he had another wife
So nigh as Skiddaw West.
Likewise, Eliza Ann was blind,
Howas she never saw
As Dan he had another wife
Acrost to East Skiddaw.
The way he fooled them female wives
Was by a simple plan
That come into the artful brain
Of that there Captain Dan.
With paint upon that ferry-craft,
In letters plain to see,
Upon the bow— to wit, both ends—
Her name he painted she.
Upon the bow toward East Skiddaw
This sinful Captain Dan
He painted just one single word—
The same which it was “Ann”;
And on the bow toward Skiddaw West
He likewise put one name,
And not no more; and I will state
“Eliza” was that same.
Thus, when she berthed to Skiddaw West
Eliza Ann could see
How Dan for love and gratitood
Had named her after she;
And likewise when to East Skiddaw
That boat bow-foremost came,
His Ann Eliza plain could see
The vessel bore her name.
Thuswise for nigh on twenty year,
As I remarked before
Dan cumfuscated them two wives
And sailed from shore to shore.
I reckon he might, to this day,
Have kept his sinful ways
And fooled them trustin’ female wives,
Except there come a haze:
It was a thick November haze
Accompanied by frost,
And Dan, in steerin’ ‘crost the sound,
He got his bearin’s lost.
So Dan he cast his anchor out,
And anchored on the sound;
And when the haze riz some next day,
His boat had swung clean round.
So, not bethinkin’ how it was,
Dan steered for Skiddaw West;
For he had sot up all that night,
And shorely needed rest.
Well, when into his ferry-slip
His ferry-craft he ran,
Upon the shore he seen his wife:
To wit, Eliza Ann.
Says he, “I’ll tie this vessel up
And rest about a week;
I need a rest,” and ‘t was just then
He heard an awful shriek.
“O Villyun!” shrieked Eliza Ann.
“Oh! What—what do I see?
You don’t not love me any more!
You’ve done deserted me!”
She pointed to that ferry-craft
With one wild, vicious stare.
Dan looked and seen the telltale name
Of “Ann” a-painted there!
What could he do? He done his best!
“Lost! Lost! Alas!” he cried;
And, kicking off his rubber boots,
Jumped overboard—and died!poem by Ellis Parker Butler
poem: The Twenty Hoss-Power Shay by Ellis Parker Butler
You have heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay
That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day.
And then, of a sudden, it up and bust,
And all that was left was a mound of dust?
Holmes—O. W.—told it well
In a rhyme of his—what there was to tell—
But the one-hoss shay wasn’t “one, two, three”
With a vehicle once belonged to me.
One hoss? No, sir! Not six nor nine—
Twenty there were in this rig of mine!
Twenty hosses as tough as rocks,
All caged up in a sort of box
That stood jist back of the forward wheels!
Right! She was one of those automobiles
With twenty hosses bottled inside—
Hosses that not only pull but ride!
Wonder what Holmes would have had to say
If the mare had rode in his one-hoss shay!
I reckon the shay would have logicked out
Before the century rolled about.
Well, this big touring car, I say,
Was built just like the one-hoss shay—
Some dependable, logical way—
Flipflaps, dujabs, wheels and things,
Levers, thing-gum-bobs and springs,
Hub, and felloe, and hoss-power chest—
One part just as strong as the rest;
So “logic is logic,” as Holmes would say,
And no one part could first give way.
Wonderful vehicle, you’ll admit,
With not one flaw in the whole of it;
As long as I had it, I declare
I hadn’t one cent to pay for repair,
It couldn’t break down because, you see,
It was such a logical symphony.
Now for my tale. We’re not so slow
These days as a hundred years ago,
And it’s like enough that the one-hoss shay,
Ambling along in its sleepy way,
Should creep a century ‘thout a break,
But nowadays we aim to make
A pace that is something like a pace,
And if that old shay got in our race
It would stand the pressure twenty days
And go to the home of played-out shays.
“Logic is logic.” Just figure this out—
For I know just what I’m talking about:—
If a one-hoss vehicle, genus shays,
Will stand our pressure twenty days,
Then, vice versa, a twenty-hoss shay
Should stand the pressure just one day;—
Well, mine is a logical automobile,
From rubber tire to steering wheel.
I bought it one morning at just 10.42,
And the very next morning what did it do,
Right on the second, but up and bust!
Talk of the old shay’s pile of dust—
That’s not logical; my mobile
Vanished completely! Brass and steel,
Iron and wood and rubber tire
Went right up in a gush of fire,
And in half a minute a gassy smell
Was all I had left by which to tell
I ever owned a touring car,—
And then that vanished, and there you are!
End of my twenty hoss-power shay.
Logic is logic. That’s all I say.poem by Ellis Parker Butler
poem: The Water Nymphs by Ellis Parker Butler
They hide in the brook when I seek to draw nearer,
Laughing amain when I feign to depart;
Often I hear them, now faint and now clearer—
Innocent bold or so sweetly discreet.
Are they Nymphs of the Stream at their playing
Or but the brook I mistook for a voice?
Little care I; for, despite harsh Time’s flaying,
Brook voice or Nymph voice still makes me rejoice.poem by Ellis Parker Butler