‘Twas
Springtime in the quaint old town tho’ somewhat raw and bleak,
And
strong winds still beat the panes with dismal howl and shriek;
And,
from the Northward mountain peaks the snow was melting down,
Which
swelled the river to a race and madly passed the town.
A
youth warm clad in fashion’s garb alighted from the stage, –
An
invalid he claimed to be, of wealthy parentage
Who
sought to find a boarding place within the town remote,
Where
to restore his failing health in forest, field and boat.
The
countrymen were hearty folk and kindly as a rule,
But
looked on fashion as a thing to hate and ridicule.
So,
when the flashy college chap at front doors did appear,
He
met the same decisive words: “No dudes are wanted here.”
The
day grew faint, the rain still beat, while far above the town
A
dam gave way and in the rush large floating wrecks came down;
And
in the gloom someone beheld a house of smallish size,
On
which a child lay helplessly, with soft and mournful cries.
An
anxious crowd rushed to the bank, no boat was near at hand,
And
no one durst to venture out in all that sturdy band;
But
lo, a stranger from the rear, with lightning movements shed
His
outer clothes and plunged the stream with naught of fear or dread.
With
rapid strokes he reached the child the while the people cheered,
A
score of hands were reaching down when he the dark shore neared;
And
when drew him upon the bank beneath the torchlight rude,
A
cry of great surprise went up – it was the college dude!
Strong,
loving hands bore him away and by his side for weeks
Kind
hearts held watch till once again the health-glow lit his cheeks;
And
when he enters that fair town where he sojourns each year,
They
press his hand and nobly say: “Such dudes are wanted here.”
Nov.
7, ‘93
Sent
to the Conn. Valley Ad. prize contest for best
poem
on a “Dude”. Cosmopolitan for one year.
Pub.
Dec.
2,
1893
Prize
one Dec. 2, 1893
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