The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland. Various

I wonder at the taste of men

       Who wrote for future ages thus to spoil

       A tale to save time, paper, ink or oil.

      Our Persian lady, as I said,

       Decked out in costly jewels rare,

       A visit to a Grecian made—

       A lady of great worth, and fair

       To look upon, of great domestic merit

       Which from a noble race she did inherit.

      Puffed up with vanity and pride,

       The Persian flashing like a gem,

       Displayed her brilliants, glittering wide;

       The Grecian coldly looked at them:

       “Have you no jewelry at all, to wear?

       Your dress and person look so poor and bare.”

      She called her children to her side,

       Seven stalwart sons of martial mien;

       “These are my jewels,” she replied,

       “I’m richer far than you, I ween:

       These are the glory and the strength of Greece,

       Which all the gems on earth would not increase,”

      Let others shine in diamonds bright,

       Or hoard their greenbacks, bonds or gold,

       You have your jewels in your sight,

       And hearing, like the matron old;

       And should they still continue to increase,

       You’ll beat the model mother of old Greece.

      Then hail Columbia, happy land!

       While California yields her ore,

       May you increase your jewel band,

       By adding every year one more;

       And when you’re asked your jewels to display.

       Point to your score of sons saying “these are they.”

The Market-Man’s License,

       Table of Contents

Or The Farmer’s Appeal From a Jackass to the Mayor.

       Table of Contents

      The following poem grew out of a misunderstanding between Mr. Scott and the clerk of the Wilmington market. In the winter of 1868, Mr. Scott was in the habit of selling hominy in the market, and the clerk treated him rudely and caused him to leave his usual stand and remove to another one. From this arbitrary exercise of power Mr. Scott appealed to the Mayor, who reinstated him in his old place. Mr. Scott soon afterwards had several hundred of the poems printed and scattered them throughout the market. In an introductory note he says, “the lines referring to Mayor Valentine are intended as a compliment to that officer, as well as a play on his official title of Mayor.”

      I’ve horses seen of noble blood,

       And stopped to gaze and stare:

       But ne’er before to-day I stood

       In presence of a Mayor.

      I’ve talked with rulers, in and ex,

       With working man and boss;

       Mayor Valentine! they you unsex—

       You surely are a horse.

      For every blooded horse one meets,

       Or clever mare he passes,

       He finds in all the city streets

       A score of brainless asses.

      A Jackass, in the days of old,

       Dress’d in a lion’s skin,

       Went forth to ape the lion bold,

       And raised a mighty din:

      His ass-ship’s ears he could not hide;

       His roaring would not pass;

       The startled beasts his ears descried,

       And recognized the ass.

      The moral of this tale you’ll meet

       Each market day in town,

       With scales in hand, in Market street,

       Dress’d in the lion’s gown:

      He roars, ’tis true, but scan him well

       Whene’er you see him pass;

       Look at his ears and you can tell

       He’s but a braying ass.

Lines

       Table of Contents

On the death of Mrs. Elizabeth Scott.

       Table of Contents

      Ransom’d spirit, spread thy wings,

       Leave thy broken house of clay;

       Soar from earth and earthly things,

       To the realms of endless day.

      Weary pilgrim, take thy rest,

       Thine has been a tiresome road;

       Aching head and tortur’d breast,

       Added to thy galling load.

      Patient sufferer, dry thy tears,

       All thy sorrows now are o’er;

       Foes without, or inward fears,

       Never can afflict thee more.

      Faithful soldier of the cross,

       All thy conflicts now are done;

       Earthly triumphs are but loss,

       Thine is an immortal one.

      Palms of vict’ry thou shall bear,

       And a crown of fadeless light

       Will be given thee to wear,

       And a robe of spotless white.

      Thou shalt join the countless throng,

       Which, through tribulation, came:

       And repeat the angels’ song—

       “Worthy! worthy is His name

      Who hath conquered death and hell;

       Captive led captivity;

       Always doing, all things well;

       Giving us the victory!”

My Schoolboy Days.

       Table of Contents

      The following poem was read at the forty-fifth anniversary of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. James Swaney, on January 11th, 1883. Mr. and Mrs. Swaney’s residence is not far from the site of the school house where Mr. Scott first went to school.

      Dear friends and neighbors, one and all,

       I’m pleased to meet you here;