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      When Zekel come a-bouncin’ in

      As furious as the law allows.

      He ‘d jest be’n up to Liza’s house,

      To find her gone, then come to church

      To have this end put to his search.

      I guess I laffed that meetin’ through,

      An’ not a mortal word I knew

      Of what the preacher preached er read

      Er what the choir sung er said.

      Fur every time I ‘d turn my head

      I could n’t skeercely help but see

      ‘At Zekel had his eye on me.

      An’ he ‘ud sort o’ turn an’ twist

      An’ grind his teeth an’ shake his fist.

      I laughed, fur la! the hull church seen us,

      An’ knowed that suthin’ was between us.

      Well, meetin’ out, we started hum,

      I sorter feelin’ what would come.

      We ‘d jest got out, when up stepped Zeke,

      An’ said, “Scuse me, I ‘d like to speak

      To you a minute.” “Cert,” said I—

      A-nudgin’ Liza on the sly

      An’ laughin’ in my sleeve with glee,

      I asked her, please, to pardon me.

      We walked away a step er two,

      Jest to git out o’ Liza’s view,

      An’ then Zeke said, “I want to know

      Ef you think you ‘re Eliza’s beau,

      An’ ‘at I ‘m goin’ to let her go

      Hum with sich a chap as you?”

      An’ I said bold, “You bet I do.”

      Then Zekel, sneerin’, said ‘at he

      Did n’t want to hender me.

      But then he ‘lowed the gal was his

      An’ ‘at he guessed he knowed his biz,

      An’ was n’t feared o’ all my kin

      With all my friends an’ chums throwed in.

      Some other things he mentioned there

      That no born man could no ways bear

      Er think o’ ca’mly tryin’ to stan’

      Ef Zeke had be’n the bigges’ man

      In town, an’ not the leanest runt

      ‘At time an’ labor ever stunt.

      An’ so I let my fist go “bim,”

      I thought I ‘d mos’ nigh finished him.

      But Zekel did n’t take it so.

      He jest ducked down an’ dodged my blow

      An’ then come back at me so hard,

      I guess I must ‘a’ hurt the yard,

      Er spilet the grass plot where I fell,

      An’ sakes alive it hurt me; well,

      It would n’t be’n so bad, you see,

      But he jest kep’ a-hittin’ me.

      An’ I hit back an’ kicked an’ pawed,

      But ‘t seemed ‘t was mostly air I clawed,

      While Zekel used his science well

      A-makin’ every motion tell.

      He punched an’ hit, why, goodness lands,

      Seemed like he had a dozen hands.

      Well, afterwhile they stopped the fuss,

      An’ some one kindly parted us.

      All beat an’ cuffed an’ clawed an’ scratched,

      An’ needin’ both our faces patched,

      Each started hum a different way;

      An’ what o’ Liza, do you say,

      Why, Liza—little humbug—dern her,

      Why, she ‘d gone home with Hiram Turner.

      THE LOVER AND THE MOON

      A lover whom duty called over the wave,

      –

      With himself communed: “Will my love be true

      If left to herself? Had I better not sue

      Some friend to watch over her, good and grave?

      But my friend might fail in my need,” he said,

      “And I return to find love dead.

      Since friendships fade like the flow’rs of June,

      I will leave her in charge of the stable moon.”

      Then he said to the moon: “O dear old moon,

      Who for years and years from thy thrown above

      Hast nurtured and guarded young lovers and love,

      My heart has but come to its waiting June,

      And the promise time of the budding vine;

      Oh, guard thee well this love of mine.”

      And he harked him then while all was still,

      And the pale moon answered and said, “I will.”

      And he sailed in his ship o’er many seas,

      And he wandered wide o’er strange far strands:

      In isles of the south and in Orient lands,

      Where pestilence lurks in the breath of the breeze.

      But his star was high, so he braved the main,

      And sailed him blithely home again;

      And with joy he bended his footsteps soon

      To learn of his love from the matron moon.

      She sat as of yore, in her olden place,

      Serene as death, in her silver chair.

      A white rose gleamed in her whiter hair,

      And the tint of a blush was on her face.

      At sight of the youth she sadly bowed

      And hid her face ‘neath a gracious cloud.

      She faltered faint on the night’s dim marge,

      But “How,” spoke the youth, “have you kept your charge?”

      The moon was sad at a trust ill-kept;

      The blush went out in her blanching cheek,

      And her voice was timid and low and weak,

      As she made her plea and sighed and wept.

      –

      “Oh, another prayed and another plead,

      And I could n’t resist,” she answering said;

      “But love still grows in the hearts of men:

      Go forth, dear youth, and love again.”

      But he turned him away from her proffered grace.

      “Thou art false, O moon, as the hearts of men,

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