His family he delighted all
By cooing sweetly in each key
Of _a_ or _b_ or _c_ or _d_.
Ere he had passed his ninth milestone
He played in public all alone.
As a composer he won fame
And for himself an artist's name.
His genius showed in his brown eyes
Large and lustrous, deep and wise,
And all who saw him loved him well;
On each he cast a happy spell.
His "Songs Without Words" we all love;
They carry us to realms above.
LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK
[_New Orleans--1829-1869._]
When I'm playing _The Last Hope_
It carries me away
To other realms than Mother Earth,
And sometimes I would stay
In Music Land with its sweet tones
That banish from our hearts
All petty horrid troubled cares
That stab us with their darts.
Gottschalk, I'm very proud to own,
Was a real Dixie lad,
And as I am a Dixie girl
This makes me very glad.
When he was only twelve years old
He went abroad to learn
How to make sweet music sounds
For which his soul did yearn.
And while abroad his parents lost
Their filthy lucre all,
And on his talents this young lad
Was then compelled to call
And ask their aid to earn his bread
And help his parents dear.
And he then traveled, so 'tis said,
In lands both far and near
Far more than any other man
In music circles known.
He gave his life to those who called,
No minutes were his own.
And so he wore out the good frame
Which nature to him gave
And when he was but forty
Was claimed by the cruel grave.
JOHANN STRAUSS
[_Austria--1804-1849._]
Oh, the good bandmaster Strauss
He is loved in every house
As he makes us, oh, so merry
With his cunning waltzing fairy,
And he drives away the blues
Putting dance sprites in our shoes.
When he was a little lad
He was neither good nor bad
But he ran away from home
And for years and years did roam.
When but fourteen years of age
He was loved by dunce and sage,
And great kings would kiss his hand
When they heard his wondrous band.
When dread Fever sealed his doom
Bandmen stood above his tomb
Playing farewell songs of love
Which they thought would go above,
To that far off mystic land
Where they hoped there was "a band."
ALESSANDRO SCARLATTI
[_Born in Sicily--1659-1725._]
Scarlatti dwelt upon this earth
Before the masters came.
In Sicily he had his birth
And gained an artist's name.
The Order of the Golden Spur
The Pope gave unto him,
And princes often did bestir
To satisfy his whim.
His famous work, _The Cat's Fugue_ dubbed,
He named for his pet cat.
One night her fur by dogship rubbed
The right way for a spat,
Upon the spinet keys she sprang,
Wild music made her feet;
And in Scarlatti's soul their rang
The tones for music sweet.
KARL CZERNY
[_Born in Vienna, Austria--1791-1857._]
Born in seventeen ninety-one,
Karl Czerny early honor won
As a master of technique
And to help those who are weak
And of striking notes afraid,
Many an exercise he made.
At nine he won an artist's name
Beethoven added to his fame,
From all artists of his day
Electing him his works to play.
King of teachers he is known,
Master of each fairy tone.
At fourteen he began to teach
And many pupils he saw reach
To heights of music masters' fame
As Liszt, who won a glorious name
When at sixty-six he died
All great music lovers cried,
But as a gift he left behind
Works of his great heart and mind,
Full nine hundred forty-nine
And every one the world calls fine.
ARE ALL ANGELS BLONDS?
"I want to be an angel and with the angels stand,"
So loudly sang the children in our church mission band,
But as I chanted with them this lovely little strain
I wished to ask the teacher if she could quite explain
Why all the angel pictures are painted with light hair,
And blue eyes soft and tender and skin so very fair,
While half the little children and grown-up people, too,
Have hair and eyes and even skin of very darkest hue?
And as I have such dark brown eyes and also dark brown hair,
Most naturally I feel quite sad to learn that only fair
And blue-eyed little children can ever angels be,
So now, alas, I'm thinking--what will become of me?
GOOD PEOPLE EVERYWHERE
Since coming to earth it has been my fate
Not to be able to cling to one state.
My birthplace, Virginia, we all know is fair
And when a wee kiddie I was happy there.
But when my good UNCLE sent us away
To Delaware's pastures, I was still gay.
And then to dear Hoosierland I went to dwell,
And, oh, how I loved it--alas too well.
I wept when I left my Evansville home
To Washington State I longed not to roam.
But there fairies helped me always to find
Flowers and friends both sweet and kind.
And so in "God's Country," the land of the rose
A real earthly heaven as everyone knows.
Again in far Georgia and Florida too
Pleasure were mine in landscapes quite new;
And though to Penn's country I wended my way
With dreadful misgivings in Pittsburgh to stay.
I found that sweet music and kindest of deeds
Conquered the smoke as salt kills the weeds.
In New York I found all life's stirring joys
For each of the grown-ups and all girls and boys.
And North Carolina, my present home state,
Proves to me truly that kind MOTHER FATE
Places good people in each spot on earth
To radiate kindness and sunshine and mirth.
FINIS
End of Project Gutenberg's Facts in Jingles, by Winifred Sackville Stoner