The farmer and mechanic. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 18??-19??, 1906-02-13

WAS not H. Ny enemy IN close 1'4t43a
me today l cannot wait or ne vii
be upon me
doubted fo longer that the poor
fellow was demeuted ana while con
-idered how best 10 restrain and sootE
him Marx spoke in her quiet way
Sir you nave run over the whole
lWorld and changed but your sky. H.
never conquors who fees. 40 warrior
was ever yet laurel-crowned who mad
not locke into the guns OF his enc
lmy. Go back. Meet your enemy in
the road and fight it there TO n finish
For a moment ne looked at her 81
tleutIy ara then silently Went as she
thad bid. and I saw him No more.
IN the winter time il Is 4 pleasure
10 recall the soft days Of mann when
the corn rustIed and the wind Irotsck-
ed over the ripcning wheat fields.
We remember the long cotton rows
vanishing in blue haze against the pine
itOpS. the call OF negro voices IN lar
off nelds. the fragrance Of ~ripenins
fruit and tasselIing corn. while oyer
lall. laying his spell upon the sum-
mcr day. comes the wild love song OF
the hooking bird.
His nest i in your rose bush. or in
your apple trees perhaps. but ne -
not mindful Of listeners. Ie sings be-
cause there Is a song IN his heart
which must be sung ana cares not
what -ou and all the birds may think
OF say. The charm Of the hooking
| bird Is in his uuconsciousness ana ut
ter self abandonment. His melody
flows as water from a fountain, with
out effort, eXhaustlessiy.
Do we not everywhere love him best
who thinks his own thought and fol-
lows his own impulses, be they kind
and noble, rather than that poor re-
flex Of what he thinks somebody else
thinks he ought TO think or say or do
But if you seek sucll 60 to the woods
and fields for you are not like to find
him in the places OF men. Where men
gather we become s-elf-consciouS and
fear to speak our WI thoughts or
act upon our Vn impulses. Lord
Somebody Nigh. smile or froWn, might
think something or say something!
Dreadful possibility.
And so we become hand-me-downs,
one just like the other, thinking only
conventional thoughts and speaking
nothing which has nor been sanctioned
by long usage. But when by happy
nance we find one who moving among
men does think his own thoughts, does
sing the song which nature has given
him to sing, joyfully. fearlcssly, and
without Self-consciouSness, We bid him
welcome and love HIM as we did 1cb
Vance and as we do the mocking
bird.
AS / sat at my caDin window the
other winter day, dreaming Of sum
mer time and chewing this philosophic
cud. l remembered that certain bird
which for more than one spring has
returned With his mate to my garden
tree, known by the peculiar cry of
the little lost chick and the crealling
Windmill which he initiates 50 clev-
erly. and then this fancy came to me.
Like a flower bewitched in some
strange way
With soul and WondrOus minstrclsy,
Through oon night and soft sum
mer day
A mocking birds sings from my old
apple tree.
Grey is his coat, with whitening bars.
Slender and graceful the wide
spreading wings,
Light as a butterfly that floats on the
He poises and rises and falls as he
sings.
Oh sweet is life and the umlner is
long.
Oh love, owe! Now list to my
SOngi
Rest you there on the rosebush nest
While my heart sings love from its
tremulous breast,
Sing, oh heart to the soft blue Sky
The song of love, For my love rests
nigh,
Carol thy song, Thy love notes triIl,
Love touches my heart with its rap
turous thrill, !
Per-di-ta. Pcr-di-ta, Pc-wce! Pe-wee,
Bob White, Peas ripe, Chicadee.
Chicadeei
Now blue birds MARBLE, now sad whip,
Then creak Of the rusty tall windmill.
The sc~reech-oWIs call from grey tWi-
light,
The blackguard jay in noisy fight,
Little lost biddy-chick's wocful wall,
Redbreast Robins matin trill, !
The Whistling scream Of the hawk in
flight ;
From narrowing crows to some far
height. !
The fc-lark's plant, Wills-widow, and
then
The rollicking call of some merry
house wren. I
From woods and hedgeroW. field and
sky,
Each tender note and startled cry
In melody pour from this marvellous
throat I
With never a pause nor a faItering
on distant pines the soft blue haze
Like smoke from some mystical CEN
SOr seems /
Lifting the fields and the travelled ways
Into q far-off land of dreams,
And all through this azure ~slumbrous
The fields nave hushed. No sound is
heard |
Blu this raDturOuS song OF the Warb-
Ter king
Telling his love to q nesting bird.
FARMERS IN EARNEST.