An American PoemCasey at the Bat.There wae pride in Casey’s bearing'. As he stepped into his place,Thera was ease in Casey's manner* And a smile on Casey's face.And when responding” to the cheers.He lightly duFCed his hat;No stranger in the crowd could doubt*T\vas Casey^it the bat.Ten thousand eyes wore on him.As he wiped his hands with dirt. Five thousand tongues applauded*As he rubbed them on his shirt.And now the writhing- pitcher. Grinds the ball into his grip. Defiance danced lit Casey's eyes,A sneer on Casey's lip.And now the leather-cove re cl sphere. Conies hurtling through the air. But Casey stood a-watch ins it*In haughty grandeur there.Close by the sturdy batsman The ball unheeded sped,That hain’t my style/’ said Casey; Strike one/’ the umpire said.MMob him! Mob liim' Kill the umpire/’Shouted some one from the stand. And it's likely they’d have killed him.Had-but Casey raised his hand*With a smile of Christian charity, Great Casey’g vision• shone.He stilled the rising tumult.And bade the game go on.He signaled to the pitcher.And once more the ball it flew; But Casey still ignored it,Audi the umpire said, Strike two/*Fraud I cried the maddened thousands, ——An the echo answered fraud. But one scornful look from Casey, And the audience was awed.They saw his face grow stern and white.They saw his muscles strain.And they knew that mighty Casey Would not let that ball go by again.The smile is gone from off his lips, His teelh are clenched with hate; And he beat a with cruel violence.His bat upon the plate.‘And now the pitcher holds the ball. And now h£ lets it go:And the very air is shattered.By the force of Casey's blow.Oh, somewhere In this favored tand, Th* sun i» shining bright;The band is playing somewhere,And somewhere hearts are light.Somewhere men are singing,And somewhere children shout;But there is no jay in Mudvllle.. Mighty Casey has struck out.ERNEST B. THAYER.