A Spray of Kentucky Pine | Page 2

Flowers:?clasping in her Beautiful Hand of Gentle Service,?the Lily of Fidelity: floating with the Mystic?Tide, to meet again--at Towered Camelot--?--her Gallant, her Waiting Knight!?For Love shares with the Soul its Precious Immortality!
III.
The Plea
--To The Relatives To The Intimate Friends of James Whitcomb Riley--
Let Lockerbie Street, in its Lovely Brevity,?be held--if you will--as a Perpetual Reservation?for the Children of your Great, your Growing City,?holding the House, which for many years was the?Happy Home of the Poet, as a Sacred Shrine.?Let your fine Civic Building, now rising in its?Majesty--like the Towers of Illion--made possible?by his Generous Gift of the Site, made Glorious?by the touch of his hand, on its Great Cornerstone:?let it--if you will--proudly bear his Name.?Let either one, or both, of these Noble Things?be done, for the sake of his memory.?Let this, that, or any other form of a Memorial wait upon the wisdom of your Choice: but no matter what is done;?how much is done; or how it is done; there is one Thing?which ought not to be left undone.?Every tender, slender needle, rising out of its?Globular Greenness, in this humble Spray of Kentucky Pine, harbors this One Thought, this Single Plea!?This is the Plea:
Let James Whitcomb Riley,?skillfully cast in Bronze, simply clad in the plain?blue garb of a Union Soldier Lad a Private--?let him stand fur all Time, in your Circle, in the Centre, in the Heart of your City, the beloved City of his adoption. Let him stand there, under the shadow of that?Mighty Shaft, the Tribute of your Grand Commonwealth,?to her Valiant Sons--the Soldier, the Sailor.?Let him stand there, on a one-piece Pedestal?of Indiana Stone; Simple, Massive.?Thereon carve his Name, the date of his Birth;?the date of his Death; and these Immortal words:
"Well, Goodby, Jim:
Take Keer of Yourse'f!"
Read, re-read, and read again, the Poem.?That Poem is an American Classic!?It is the Epitome of Self-Sacrifice?for the Sake of a Vital Cause!?It is the one Idyl of the Middle-West!?It is thoroughly America!?It is intensely Indiana!?Pardon the Plea!?But Prepare the Way!?Turn the Page--read the Poem!
The Poem
Old man never had much to say--?'Ceptin' to Jim.--?And Jim was the wildest boy he had--?And the old man jes' wrapped up in him!?Never heerd him speak but once?Er twice in my life,--and first time was?When the army broke out, and Jim he went,?The old man backin' him, fer three months;?And all 'at I heerd the old man say?Was jes' as we turned to start away,--?"Well, good-by, Jim:?Take keer of yourse'f!"
'Peared-like, he was more satisfied?Jes' lookin' at Jim?And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see??'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him!?And over and over I mind the day?The old man come and stood round in the way?While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim--?And down at the deepot a-heerin' him say,?"Well, good-by, Jim:?Take keer of yourse'f!"
Never was nothin' about the farm?Disting'ished Jim;?Neighbors all ust to wonder why?The old man 'peered wrapped up in him;?But when Cap. Biggler he writ back?'At Jim was the bravest boy we had?In the whole dern rigiment, white er black.?And his fighten' good as his farmin' bad--?'At he had led, with a bullet clean?Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag?Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen,?The old man wound up a letter to him?'At Cap. read to us, 'at said: "Tell Jim?Good-by,?And take keer of hisse'f!"
Jim come home jes' long enough?To take the whim?'At he'd like to go back in the calvery--?And the old man jes' wrapped up in him!?Jim 'lowed 'at he'd had sich luck afore,?Guessed he'd tackle her three years more.?And the old man give him a colt he'd raised,?And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade,?And laid around fer a week er so,?Watchin' Jim on dress-parade--?Tel finally he rid away,?And last he heerd was the old man say,?"Well, good-by, Jim:?Take keer of yourse'f!"
Tuk the papers, the old man did,?A-watchin' fer Jim--?Fully believin' he'd make his mark?Some way--jes' wrapped up in him!--?And many a time the word 'u'd come?'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum--?At Petersburg, fer instunce, where?Jim rid right into their cannons there,?And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t'other way,?And socked it home to the boys in gray,?As they scooted fer timber, and on and on--?Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone,?And the old man's words in his mind all day,--?"Well, good-by, Jim:?Take keer of yourse'f!"
Think of a private now, perhaps,?We'll say like Jim,?'At's clumb clean up to the shoulder-straps?And the old man jes' wrapped up in him!?Think of him--with the war plum, through.?And the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue?A-laughin' the news down over Jim,?And the old man bendin' over him--?The surgeon turin' away with tears?'At hadn't leaked for years and years,?As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to?His father's, the old voice in his ears,--?"Well, good-by, Jim:?Take keer of yourse'f!"
[Illustration]
The Spray of Kentucky Pine
O! James Whitcomb Riley!?This Man From Down On The Farm--one-while?your constant Companion,