A Spray of Kentucky Pine | Page 3

The Farm--one-while?your constant Companion, in work most?Congenial, all-while your Faithful Friend--rejoices.?and is exceeding Glad, That All Is Well With You!?For no one knew, better than you,?the Wisdom, the Beauty, of Death!?No one the more fully realized?the Folly, the Futility, of human Grief!?You firmly believed, that he, who follows The Christ;?that he, who, in all Humility, bears the Cross; that?he, who, in all Gratitude, wears upon his unworthy brow,?the imprint of the Kiss Divine!--the Kiss of Forgiveness?Complete--you firmly believed, that he ought to be?brave enough, strong enough, to meet the Call,?whensoever, wheresoever, it may chance to come.?You firmly believed that the Call always?comes at the Right Moment: that Incompletion?Here, finds its Completement There: that every?human Life holds--like the Palace of Aladdin--its?unfinished Window: that the finite mind,?hampered by its mortality, is a clog to any?Completion, to any Earthly Perfection.?Therefore, feeling, believing, as you did Here,?now knowing, as you must know There,?this Man rejoices, and is exceeding Glad,?That All Is Well With You!
O! James Whitcomb Riley?Your Nature-on the surface--was?Simple, Honest, Open, Direct.?It was all of that but--it was More!?It was deeper than Tears!?It was wider than Laughter!?It was more profound, more subtle,?than either your spoken Word.?or, your written, your printed Thought.?You were infinitely better than the?Very Best that you ever did!?High Praise, but True!?Your nature was strangely Complex:
There was the Man!?There was the Poet!?There was the Mystic!
The Man could be known--and was--of all men.?The Poet could be read--as he was--and he understood.?He could Sing--as he did--Songs?which caught the Hearts of the?People--from the Cradle to the Grave!?The Mystic!
O! James Whitcomb Riley!?That Mystic Element in your Nature!?It was held under a Strong Curb:?It was constantly held in Check:?But it was never Overcome!?It was a Mood--not a Madness.?It seldom made an Outward Sign.?Then, it was brief, spasmodic, eratic.?It was known to but few, even of those?who came with you, in constant contact.?To this Man, that Mystic Element in your Nature,?made a most wonderful Appeal, deep, strong.?To him, it was the real James Whitcomb Riley!?You were a Mystic, but never a Reformer.?You cheerfully rendered unto Ceasar all things?that were his just due.?You had no desire to overturn Natural Law,?Human Regulation.?You accepted, without question, the Established?Order of Things.?But so strong was this touch of the Mystic?that, it you had desired, you could have,?quickly, thickly, populated some far off Smiling Isle,?of the Fair Summer Seas, with a Band of?Cultured Men, of Cultured Women, ready,?eager, to follow you--that Mystic You! into?the Creation of a New Cult, of a New Religion!?In your Poems there is but a trickle of the Mystic?--a flash a dash--as the falling of a Star!?That Edgar Allen Poe Episode, is the Answer.?You were unduly humiliated by that Incident--?--and it was but as Nothing?But your Super-Sensitiveness, made you Suffer!
O! James Whitcomb Riley!?Death, hath yet other Compensations!?It has placed you Beyond the Cloy of Fulsome Praise:?Beyond the Sting of Cruel Blame: the One,?may not help You the Other, cannot hurt You!
O! James Whitcomb Riley!?Once, when under the Spell of a Mystic Mood,?you sought--as you had often sought before--that?Wise Wizard of White River.?He met you, when you came into that Peaceful?Indiana Valley--where dwells this Wizard--by the?Flowing Fountain of those Healing Waters.?He knew your need; he spoke no unnecessary word;?he quickly set his place in order, and was ready?to go with you--anywhere.?There had been, on your arrival, a clamor to have?you Read that afternoon--but the Wizard?quietly slipped you away.?Out into the Open you drove, in an old Barouche,?behind a Pair of Good Horses.?It was a long Drive; it was a beautiful Drive.?It was driven in Silence.?After several hours--the spell was still upon you--a?sharp turn brought you to the Banks of White River;?and there--under a Clump of the Sycamore, of the?Willow, in a deep, Shady Pool, an Eddy, undisturbed?by the current of the broad, shallow Stream--a?Batch of Boys, swimming, chattering, diving.?"Stop" you said to the driver; "Come here" you called to the Lads. They came trooping, dripping, out of the Pool.?A change came over you; flinging off your coat,?your hat, you arose to your feet.?There they stood before you, naked, unabashed, curious.?A complacent smile, flickered across the bearded?face of the Wise Wizard. He must have known!?He must have timed your arrival at that particular?spot, at that particular moment.?But even the Wizard could not have known what was to follow. Without a word of explanation, you gave them, that?crowd of naked Boys--gave it, as you had never?given it before, doubtless, as you never?gave it again--your
"Old Swimmin' Hole"
Oh! the old swimmin' hole! whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,?And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below?Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know?Before we could remember anything but the eyes?Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;?But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,?And its hard