A something gentle in thy mein, A something tender in thy voice, Has made my trouble so serene, I can but weep, from very choice. And even then my tears, I guess, Hold more of sweet than bitterness, And more of gleaming shine than rain, Because of thy bright smile, Dan Paine. The wrinkles that the years have spun And tangled round thy tawny face, Are kinked with laughter, every one, And fashioned in a mirthful grace. And though the twinkle of thine eyes Is keen as frost when Summer dies, It can not long as frost remain While thy warm soul shines out, Dan Paine. And so I drain a health to thee;-- May merry Joy and jolly Mirth Like children clamber on thy knee, And ride thee round the happy earth! And when, at last, the hand of Fate Shall lift the latch of Canaan's gate, And usher me in thy domain, Smile on me just as now, Dan Paine. OLD WINTERS ON THE FARM I have jest about decided It 'ud keep a _town-boy_ hoppin' Fer to work all winter, choppin' Fer a' old fire-place, like _I_ did! Lawz! them old times wuz contrairy!-- Blame backbone o' winter, 'peared-like, _Wouldn't_ break!--and I wuz skeerd-like Clean on into _Febuary_! Nothin' ever made we madder Than fer Pap to stomp in, layin' On a' extra fore-stick, sayin' "Groun'hog's out and seed his shadder!" AT UTTER LOAF. I. An afternoon as ripe with heat As might the golden pippin be With mellowness if at my feet It dropped now from the apple-tree My hammock swings in lazily. II. The boughs about me spread a shade That shields me from the sun, but weaves With breezy shuttles through the leaves Blue rifts of skies, to gleam and fade Upon the eyes that only see Just of themselves, all drowsily. III. Above me drifts the fallen skein Of some tired spider, looped and blown, As fragile as a strand of rain, Across the air, and upward thrown By breaths of hayfields newly mown-- So glimmering it is and fine, I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine. IV. Far-off and faint as voices pent In mines, and heard from underground, Come murmurs as of discontent, And clamorings of sullen sound The city sends me, as, I guess, To vex me, though they do but bless Me in my drowsy fastnesses. V. I have no care. I only know My hammock hides and holds me here In lands of shade a prisoner: While lazily the breezes blow Light leaves of sunshine over me, And back and forth and to and fro I swing, enwrapped in some hushed glee, Smiling at all things drowsily. A LOUNGER.