What use de wheel, when hub and spokes is warped and split, and rotten?

What use dis dried-up cotton-stalk, when Life done picked my cotton?

I'se like a word dat somebody said, and den done been for

gotten.

But, Dinah! Shuh dat gal jes' like dis little hick'ry tree,
De sap 's jes' risin in her; she do grow owdaciouslee—
Lord, ef you's clarin' de underbrush, don't cut her down, cut
me!

I would not proud persume-but I'll boldly make reques'; Sence Jacob had dat wrastlin'-match, I, too, gwine do my

bes';

When Jacob got all underholt, de Lord he answered Yes!

And what for waste de vittles, now, and th'ow away de

bread,

Jes' for to strength dese idle hands to scratch dis ole bald head?

T'ink of de 'conomy, Marster, ef dis ole Jim was dead!

Stop ;-ef I don't believe de Debble 's gone on up de stream! Jes' now he squealed down dar;-hush; dat's a mighty weakly scream!

Yas, sir, he's gone, he's gone ;-he snort way off, like in a dream!

O glory hallelujah to de Lord dat reigns on high!

De Debble's fai'ly skeered to def, he done gone flyin' by ;
I know'd he couldn' stand dat pra'r, I felt my Marster

You, Dinah; ain't you 'shamed, now, dat you didn' trust to

grace?

I heerd you thrashin' th'u' de bushes when he showed his face!

You fool, you think de Debble couldn't beat you in a race?

I tell you, Dinah, jes' as shuh as you is standin' dar, When folks starts prayin', answer-angels drops down th’u' de a'r.

Yas, Dinah, whar'ould you be now, jes' 'ceptin' fur dat pra'r?

BALTIMORE, 1875.

UNREVISED EARLY POEMS.

These unrevised poems are not necessarily exponents of Mr. Lanier's later teaching, but are offered as examples of his youthful spirit, his earlier methods and his instructive growth. To many friends they present in addition a wealth of dear associations. But, putting Mr. Lanier upon trial as an artist, it is fair to remember that probably none of these poems would have been republished by him without material alterations, the slightest of which no other hand can be authorized to make.

THE JACQUERIE-A FRAGMENT.

CHAPTER I.

ONCE on a time, a Dawn, all red and bright
Leapt on the conquered ramparts of the Night,
And flamed, one brilliant instant, on the world,
Then back into the historic moat was hurled
And Night was King again, for many years.
—Once on a time the Rose of Spring blushed out
But Winter angrily withdrew it back

Into his rough new-bursten husk, and shut
The stern husk-leaves, and hid it many years.
-Once Famine tricked himself with ears of corn,
And Hate strung flowers on his spiked belt,
And glum Revenge in silver lilies pranked him,
And Lust put violets on his shameless front,
And all minced forth o' the street like holiday folk
That sally off afield on Summer morns.

-Once certain hounds that knew of many a chase,
And bare great wounds of antler and of tusk

That they had ta'en to give a lord some sport,

-Good hounds, that would have died to give lords sport-
Were so bewrayed and kicked by these same lords
That all the pack turned tooth o' the knights and bit

As knights had been no better things than boars,

And took revenge as bloody as a man's,

Unhoundlike, sudden, hot i' the chops, and sweet.
-Once sat a falcon on a lady's wrist,

Seeming to doze, with wrinkled eye-lid drawn,
But dreaming hard of hoods and slaveries

And of dim hungers in his heart and wings.