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'": ■ :. ---.■:.=:•,.- J' *"?."■ ,V "._.: %1^3^&^^S^i:*k!-"-f . 5 laMnaawniw c.ii'w.mwjBflMH'WM i iw Class _*£iL_!O-0-^ Book lS ts?— oy. ia ^-t-i.OL CK^t^.ci(^ Oi-^y , '* t>JL, RILEY FARM-RHYMES WITH COUNTRY PICTURES QBoofo 6g ♦ ♦♦ NEGHBORLY POEMS SKETCHES IN PROSE, WITH INTERLUDING VERSES AFTERWHILES PIPES O' PAN (Prose and Verse) RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT GREEN FIELDS AND RUN- NING BROOKS ARMAZINDY A CHILD-WORLD HOME-FOLKS OLD-FASHIONED ROSES (English Edition) THE GOLDEN YEAR (English Edition) POEMS HERE AT HOME RUBAIYAT OF DOC SIFERS CHILD-RHYMES, WITH HOOSIER PICTURES RILEY LOVE-LYRICS (Pictures by Dyer) RILEY FARM-RHYMES (Pictures by Vawter) As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock 3 :> RILEY FARM-RHYMES JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY WITH COUNTRY PICTURES WILL VAWTER INDIANAPOLIS THE BOW EN-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS \ o> Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 1897, 1898, 1901 by James Whitcomb Riley All rights reserved Bv Transfer P o. E>ept. iar23 06 INSCRIBED WITH ALL GRATEFUL ESTEEM TO THE GOOD OLD-FASHIONED PEOPLE THE deadnin* a?zd the thicket' 's j'es' a b'iliiz' full o' fune, From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yaller-hammer' ' s tune; And the catbird in the bottom and the sap-suck on the snag, Seems' 's ef they cain't — od-rot-eml — -Jes' do nothin* else but brag! There'' music in the twitter o' the bluebird and the jay, And that sassy little critter jes'' a-peckin' all the day ; There' music in the '•'• flicker" and there 1 music in the thrush, Aitd there'' music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush ! — There' music all around me I — And I go back — in a dream Sweeter y it than ever found me fast asleep : — And, in the stream That used to split the medder wher' the dandy lions growed, I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road. Page Brook Song, The 41 Canary at the Farm, A 76 Clover, The 105 Country Pathway, A 117 Griggsby's Station 83 How John Quit the Farm 59 June 164 Knee-Deep in June 91 "Milo Jones's Wife" 51 Old Fashioned Eoses 113 Old Man's Nursery Ehyme 159 Old October 109 Old Winters on the Farm 176 Orchard Lands of Long Ago, The 23 eomancin' 179 September Dark 101 Song of Long Ago, A 171 Tale of the Airly Days, A 152 Thoughts fee the Discuraged Farmer 46 Tree-Toad, The 167 Up and Down Old Beandywine 135 Wet Weather Talk 36 When Early March Seems Middle May 147 When the Frost is on the Punkin 27 When the Green Gits Back in the Trees 32 Where the Children Used to Play 79 WORTERMRLON TlME 127 (XV) Page As He Leaves the House, Bare-Headed, and Goes Out to Feed the Stock Frontispiece The Oechaed Lands of Long Ago— Title 23 Seas That Float and Overflow 25 When the Frost is on the Punkin— Title 27 The Husky, Busty Eussel of the Tossels of the Corn 29 And Your Cider-Makin' 's Ovek 81 When the Green Gits Back in the Trees— Title 32 Work is the Least o' my Idees 33 Wet-Weather Talk— Title 36 It Hain't no Use to Grumble and Complane 37 Wet- Weather Talk— Tailpiece 40 The Brook-Song— Title 41 Came a Truant Boy Like Me 43 The Brook-Song— Tailpiece 45 Thoughts fee the Discuraged Farmer— Title 46 Theyr Peaceabler in Pot-Pies Than Any Other Thing 47 "Mylo Jones's Wife"— Title 51 She's the Boss of Hee Own House! 52 "Mylo Jones's Wife"— Tailpiece 56 Back Whaee He'd Ruthee Be With His Team 57 How John Quit the Farm— Title 59 When Harvest-Time Come On 61 His Mother Clingin' to Him at the Gate 65 Sence Then the Old Home Here was Mighty Lonesome 69 And Putt His Arms Round Mother's Neck 73 (xvii) illustrations — Continued Page How John Quit the Faem 75 A Canary at the Faem 77 Wheee the Childeen Used to Play— Title 79 Winding Yondee to the Oechaed 81 Geiggsby's Station— Title 83 Evee' Neighboe Round the Place is Deae as a Relation 85 Geiggsby's Station— Tailpiece 88 I Want to See the Piece-Quilts the Jones Giels is Makin' 89 Knee-Deep in June— Title 91 Theough the Wavin' Leaves Above 93 Woek 'at Kindo Goes Ag'in my Convictions ! 97 Knee-Deep in June— Tailpiece 100 Septembee Daek— Title 101 The Low, Slow Moon, and Upwaed Deifts 103 The Clovee— Title 105 And So I Love Clovee 107 Old Octobee— Title 109 HlCKEENUTS A FELLEB HEAES Ill Old-Fashioned Roses— Title 113 Yit the Dooeway Heee, Without 'Em, Would be Lonesomee .... 115 A Countey Pathway— Title 117 I Take the Path That Leads Me as it May 119 Oe, at the Ceeek, Leads o'ee a Limpid Pool 123 Woeteemelon Time— Title .... 127 When You Split One Down the Back and Jolt the Halves in Two . 129 And the New-Moon Hangin' Oee Us Like a Yellee-Coeed Slice . . 133 Up and Down Old Beandywine— Title 135 In and on Betwixt the Teees 137 Same Old Ripple Lips Away 141 With a Dad-Buen Hook-and-Line 145 When Eaely Maech Seems Middle May— Title 147 And Choppees' Hands aee Baee 149 Eaely Maech— Tailpiece 151 (xviii) ILLtJSTit Ations — Continued Page A Tale of the Aiely Days—Title 152 The Times as They Ust To Be 153 A Tale of the Aiely Days 156 And the Children Gethees Home Onc't More * . . . 157 Old Man's Nueseey Rhyme— Title 159 Staetin' Out Rabbit-Huntin' Eaely as the Dawn 161 June— Title 164 Month of Indolent Eepose 165 The Teee-Toad— Title 167 Some Faemee Would Come A-Deivin' Past 169 A Song of Long Ago— Title 171 Theough the Pastuee-Baes , 173 As the Memoey May Know 175 Old Wintees on the Faem— Title 176 It 'Ud Keep a Town-Boy Hoppin' 177 Romancin'— Title 179 Whaee the Hazel-Bushes Tosses Down Theye Shaddees 181 Then's When I' B'en A-Fishin' 1 185 Romancin'— Tailpiece 187 End Pictuee 188 f ' RILEY FARM-RHYMES &i wm -.;*.. THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO THE orchard lands of Long Ago ! O drowsy winds, awake, and blow The snowy blossoms back to me, And all the buds that used to be ! Blow back along the grassy ways Of truant feet, and lift the haze Of happy summer from the trees That trail their tresses in the seas Of grain that float and overflow The orchard lands of Long Ago ! 23 THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO Blow back the melody that slips In lazy laughter from the lips That marvel much if any kiss Is sweeter than the apple's is. Blow back the twitter of the birds — The lisp, the titter, and the words Of merriment that found the shine Of summer-time a glorious wine That drenched the leaves that loved it so, In orchard lands of Long Ago ! O memory ! alight and sing Where rosy-bellied pippins cling, And golden russets glint and gleam, As, in the old Arabian dream, The fruits of that enchanted tree The glad Aladdin robbed for me ! And, drowsy winds, awake and fan My blood as when it overran A heart ripe as the apples grow In orchard lands of Long Ago ! 24 WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN W 1 'HEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence ; O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. 27 WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here — Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees ; But the air's so appetizin' ; and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock — When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn ; The stubble in the furries — kindo' lonesome-like, but still A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill ; The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed ; The hosses in theyr stalls below — the clover overhead ! — O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock ! 28 WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKlN Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps ; And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too ! . . . 1 don't know how to tell it — but ef sich a thing could be As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me — I'd want to 'commodate 'em — all the whole-indurin' flock- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock ! 31 WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES IN Spring, when the green gits back in the trees, And the sun comes out and stays, And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, And you think of yer bare-foot days ; When you ort to work and you want to not, And you and yer wife agrees It's time to spade up the garden-lot, When the green gits back in the trees Well ! work is the least o' my idees When the green, you know, gits back in the trees ! 32 « <*. WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN TH| TREES When the green gits back in the trees, and bees Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please Old gait they bum roun' in ; When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood, And the crick's riz, and the breeze Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, And the green gits back in the trees, — I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, The time when the green gits back in the trees ! When the whole tail-fethers o' Wintertime Is all pulled out and gone ! And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, And the swet it starts out on A feller's forred, a-gittin' down At the old spring on his knees — I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' When the green gits back in the trees — Jest a-potterin' roun' as I — durn — please — When the green, you know, gits back in the trees ! 35 WET-WEATHER TALK IT hain't no use to grumble and complane ; It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. — ■ When pod sorts out the weather and sends rain, W'y, rain's my choice. Men ginerly, to all intents — Although they're apt to grumble some — Puts most theyr trust in Providence, And takes things as they come — That is, the commonality Of men that's lived as long as me Has watched the world enugh to learn They're not the boss of this concern. 36 ;: " WET-WEATHER TALK With some, of course, it's different — I've saw young men that knowed it all, And didn't like the way things went On this terrestchul ball ; — But all the same, the rain, some way, Rained jest as hard on picnic day ; Er, when they railly wanted it, It mayby wouldn't rain a bit ! In this existunce, dry and wet Will overtake the best of men — Some little skift o' clouds'll shet The sun off now and then. — And mayby, whilse you're wundern who You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, And want it — out'll pop the sun, And you'll be glad you hain't got none ! It aggervates the farmers, too — They's too much wet, er too much sun, Er work, er waitin' round to do Before the plowin' 's done : And mayby, like as not, the wheat, Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat, 39 WET-WEATHER TALK Will ketch the storm — and jest about The time the corn's a-jintin' out. These-here cy-clones a-foolin' round — And back'ard crops ! — and wind and rain ! — - And yit the corn that's wallerd down May elbow up again ! — They hain't no sense, as I can see, Fer mortuls, sich as us, to be A-faultin' Natchur's wise intents, And lockin' horns with Providence ! It hain't no use to grumble and complane ; It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. — When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, W'y, rain's my choice. 40 THE BROOK-SONG L 1 ITTLE brook ! Little brook ! You have such a happy look — Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and curve and crook — And your ripples, one and one, Reach each other's hands and run Like laughing little children in the sun ! 41 THE BROOK-SONG Little brook, sing to me : Sing about a bumblebee That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled mum- blingly, Because he wet the film Of his wings, and had to swim, While the water-bugs raced round and laughed at him ! Little brook — sing a song Of a leaf that sailed along Down the golden-braided centre of your current swift and strong, And a dragon-fly that lit On the tilting rim of it, And rode away and wasn't scared a bit. And sing — how oft in glee Came a truant boy like me, Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody, Till the gurgle and refrain Of your music in his brain Wrought a happiness as keen to him as pain. 42 THE BROOK-SONG Little brook — laugh and leap ! Do not. let the dreamer weep : Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in softest sleep ; And then sing soft and low Through his dreams of long ago — Sine back to him the rest he used to know ! 45 THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER THE summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees ; And the clover in the pastur is a big day f er the bees, And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly, Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings ; And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, And the off -mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. 46 THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they f oiler up the plow — Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how ; So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing — But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing : And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller- jacket's nest ; And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right, Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite ! They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still ; It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt ; But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet ! 49 THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and dry Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky ? Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way, Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day ? Is the chipmuck's health a-failin' ? — Does he walk, er does he run? Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've alius done? Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice ? Ort a mortul be complanin' when dumb animals rejoice? Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot ; The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. Oh ! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away ! Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied ; Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you. 50 " MYLO JONES'S WIFE " MYLO JONES'S wife" was all I heerd, mighty near, last Fall — Visitun relations down T'other side of Morgantown ! Mylo Jones's wife she does This and that, and "those" and "thus" ! — Can't 'bide babies in her sight — Ner no childern, day and night, Whoopin' round the premises — Ner no nothin' else, I guess ! 5i MYLO JONES S WIFE Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows She's the boss of her own house ! — Mylo — consequences is — Stays whare things seem some like his, — Uses, mostly, with the stock — Coaxin' "Old Kate" not to balk, Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner Act, I s'pose, so much like her! Yit the wimmern-folks tells you She's perfection. — Yes they do ! Mylo's wife she says she's found Home hain't home with men-folks round When they's work like hem to do — Picklin' pears and butchern, too, And a-rendern lard, and then Cookin' fer a pack of men To come trackin' up the flore She's scrubbed tel she'll scrub no more! — Yit she'd keep things clean ef they Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day ! Mylo Jones's wife she sews Carpet-rags and patches clothes 52 MYLO JONES S WIFE Jest year in and out! — and yit Whare's the livin' use of it ? She asts Mylo that. — And he Gits back whare he'd ruther be, With his team; — jest plows — and don't Never sware — like some folks won't ! Think ef he'd cut loose, I gum ! 'D he'p his heavenly chances some ! Mylo's wife don't see no use, Ner no reason ner excuse Fer his pore relations to Hang round like they alius do! Thare 'bout onc't a year — and she — She jest ga'nts 'em, folks tells me, On spiced pears ! — Pass Mylo one, He says "No, he don't chuse none !" Workin' men like Mylo they 'D ort to have meat ev'ry day ! Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife ! Ruther rake a blame caseknife 'Crost my wizzen than to see Sich a womern rulin' me! — 55 MYLO JONES S WIFE Ruther take and turn in and Raise a fool mule-colt by hand ! Mylo, though — od-rot the man ! — Jest keeps ca'm — like some folks can- Arid 'lows sich as her, I s'pose, Is Man's he'pmeet ! — Mercy knows ! 56 HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM NOBODY on the old farm here but Mother, me and John, Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time come on, — And then, I want to say to you, we needed he'p about, As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops turned out! 59 HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM A better quarter-section ner a richer soil warn't found Than this-here old-home place o' ourn fer fifty miles around ! — The house was small — but plenty-big we found it from the day That John — our only livin' son — packed up and went away. You see, we tuk sich pride in John — his mother more'n me — That's natchurul; but both of us was proud as proud could be ; Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon bright, And seemed in work as well as play to take the same delight. He alius went a-whistlin' round the place, as glad at heart As robins up at five o'clock to git an airly start ; And many a time 'fore daylight Mother's waked me up to say — "Jest listen, David ! — listen ! — Johnny's beat the birds to-day !" 60 .- -J^v HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM High-sperited from boyhood, with a most inquirin' turn, — He wanted to learn ever'thing on earth they was to learn : He'd ast more plaguy questions in a mortal-minute here Than his grandpap in Paradise could answer in a year ! And read! w'y, his own mother learnt him how to read and spell ; And "The Childern of the Abbey" — w'y, he knowed that book as well At fifteen as his parents ! — and "The Pilgrim's Progress," too — Jest knuckled down, the shaver did, and read 'em through and through ! At eighteen, Mother 'lowed the boy must have a better chance — That we ort to educate him, under any circumstance ; And John he j 'ined his mother, and they ding-donged and kep' on, Tel I sent him off to school in town, half glad that he was gone. But — I missed him — w'y, of course I did ! — The Fall and Winter through I never built the kitchen-fire, er split a stick in two, 63 HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARiw Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung- up a gambrel-pin, But what I thought o' John, and wished that he was home ag'in. He'd come, sometimes — on Sund'ys most — and stay the Sund'y out; And on Thanksgivin'-Day he 'peared to like to be about : But a change was workin' on him — he was stiller than before, And didn't joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any more. And his talk was all so proper ; and I noticed, with a sigh, He was tryin' to raise side-whiskers, and had on a striped tie, And a standin'-collar, ironed up as stiff and slick as bone ; And a breast-pin, and a watch and chain and plug-hat of his own. But when Spring-weather opened out, and John was to come home And he'p me through the season, I was glad to see him come ; But my happiness, that evening, with the settin' sun went down, When he bragged of "a position" that was offered him in town. 64 HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM "But," says I, "you'll not. accept it ?" "W'y, of course I will," says he. — "This drudgin' on a farm," he says, "is not the life fer me; I've set my stakes up higher," he continued, light and gay, "And town's the place fer me, and I'm a-goin' right away And go he did ! — his mother clingin' to him at the gate, A-pleadin' and a-cryin' ; but it hadn't any weight. I was tranquiller, and told her 'twarn't no use to worry so, And onclasped her arms from round his neck round mine — and let him go ! I felt a little bitter feelin' foolin' round about The aidges of my conscience ; but I didn't let it out ; — I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuk the boy's hand, And though I didn't say a word, I knowed he'd under- stand. And — well ! — sence then the old home here was mighty lonesome, shore! With me a-workin' in the field, and Mother at the door, 6 7 / HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM Her face ferever to'rds the town, and fadin' more and more — Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin' in a store ! The weeks and months dragged by us ; and sometimes the boy would write A letter to his mother, savin' that his work was light, And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit — Though his business was confinin', he was gittin' used to it. And sometimes he would write and ast how / was gittin' on, And ef I had to pay out much fer he'p sence he was gone ; And how the hogs was doin', and the balance of the stock, And talk on fer a page er two jest like he used to talk. And he wrote, along 'fore harvest, that he guessed he would git home, Fer business would, of course, be dull in town. — But didn't come : — We got a postal later, sayin' when they had no trade They filled the time "invoicin' goods," and that was why he stayed. 68 HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM And then he quit a-writin' altogether : Not a word — Exceptin' what the neighbers brung who'd been to town and heard What store John was clerkin' in, and went round to in- quire If they could buy their goods there less and sell their produce higher. And so the Summer faded out, and Autumn wore away, And a keener Winter never fetched around Thanksgivin'- Day! The night before that day of thanks I'll never quite fergit, The wind a-howlin' round the house — it makes me creepy yit! And there set me and Mother — me a-twistin' at the prongs Of a green scrub-ellum forestick with a vicious pair of tongs, And Mother sayin', "David! David!" in a' undertone, As though she thought that I was thinkin' bad-words unbeknown. "I've dressed the turkey, David, fer to-morrow," Mother said, A-tryin' to wedge some pleasant subject in my stubborn head, — 7i HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM "And the mince-meat I'm a-mixin' is perfection mighty nigh ; And the pound-cake is delicious-rich — " "Who'll eat 'em?" I-savs-I. "The cramberries is drippin'-sweet," says Mother, runnin' on, P'tendin' not to hear me; — "and somehow I thought of John All the time they was a-jellin' — fer you know they alius was His favorite — he likes 'em so !" Says I, "Well, s'pose he does ?" "Oh, nothin' much !" says Mother, with a quiet sort o' smile — "This gentleman behind my cheer may tell you after while !" And as I turnt and looked around, some one riz up and leant And putt his arms round Mother's neck, and laughed in low content. 7 2 HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM "It's me," he says — "your fool-boy John, come back to shake your hand ; Set down with you, and talk with you, and make you un- derstand How dearer yit than all the world is this old home that we Will spend Thanksgivin' in fer life — jest Mother, you : and me !" Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John, Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time comes on ; And then, I want to say to you, we need sich he'p about, As you'd admit, ef you could see the way the crops turns out! 75 A CANARY AT THE FARM FOLKS has be'n to town, and Sahry Fetched 'er home a pet canary, — ■ And of all the blame', contrary, Aggervatin things alive ! I love music — that's I love it When it's free — and plenty of it ; — ■ But I kindo' git above it, At a dollar-eighty-five ! Reason's plain as I'm a-sayin', — Jes' the idy, now, o' layin' Out yer money, and a-payin' Fer a wilier-cage and bird, When the medder-larks is wingin' Round you, and the woods is ringin' With the beautifullest singin' That a mortal ever heard ! Sahry's sot, tho'. — So I tell her He's a purty little feller, With his wings o' creamy-yeller, And his eyes keen as a cat ; And the twitter o' the critter 'Pears to absolutely glitter ! Guess I'll haf to go and git her A high-priceter cage 'n that ! 7 6 WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY THE old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, And filled it is with plenty and to spare, — But we are lonely here in life's decline, Though fortune smiles around us everywhere : We look across the gold Of the harvests, as of old — The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay ; But most we turn our gaze, As with eyes of other days, To the orchard where the children used to play. 79 WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY O from our life's full measure And rich hoard of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play. Our sloping pasture-lands are filled with herds ; The barn and granary-bins are bulging o'er ; The grove's a paradise of singing birds — The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door ; Yet lonely, lonely still, Let us prosper as we will, Our old hearts seem so empty everyway — We can only through a mist See the faces we have kissed In the orchard where the children used to play. O from our life's full measure And rich hoard of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play. 80 GRIGGSBY'S STATION PAP'S got his pattent-right, and rich as all creation ; But where's the peace and comfort that we all had before ? Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! The likes of us a-livin' here ! It's jest a mortal pity To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the stairs, And the pump right in the kitchen ! And the city ! city ! city ! — And nothin' but the city all around us ever'wheres ! 83 GRIGGSBY S STATION Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree ! And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' people, And none that neighbors with us or we want to go and see! Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — Back where the latch-string's a-hangin' from the door, And ever' neighbor round the place is dear as a relation — .Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin', A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday through ; And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-law's and pilin' Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do ! 84 GRIGGSBY S STATION I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin' ; And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled hired hand, And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh a-takin', Till her Pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save his land. Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' any more, Shet away safe in the woods around the old location — Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! I want to see Marindy and he'p her with her sewin', And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead and gone, And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he's growin', And smile as I have saw her 'fore she putt her mournin' on. 87 GRIGGSBY S STATION And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower eighty, Where John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and burried — for His own sake and Katy's, — and I want to cry with Katy As she reads all his letters over, writ from The War. What's in all this grand life and high situation, And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin' at the door ? — Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! 88 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE I TELL you what I like the best — 'Long about knee-deep in June, 'Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine, — some afternoon Like to jes' git out and rest, And not work at nothin' else ! 91 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE II Orchard's where I'd ruther be — ■ Needn't fence it in fer me ! — Jes' the whole sky overhead, And the whole airth underneath — Sorto' so's a man kin breathe Like he ort, and kindo' has Elbow-room to keerlessly Sprawl out len'thways on the grass Where the shadders thick and soft As the kivvers on the bed Mother fixes in the loft Alius, when they's company ! Ill Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there — S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer Through the wavin' leaves above, Like a feller 'at's in love And don't know it, ner don't keer ! Ever'thing you hear and see Got some sort o' interest — Maybe find a bluebird's nest 92 4«J%* a ^ \j ^ Vv, KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE Tucked up there conveenently Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be Up some other apple-tree ! Watch the swallers skootin' past 'Bout as peert as you could ast ; Er the Bob-white raise and whiz Where some other's whistle is. IV Ketch a shadder down below, And look up to find the crow — Er a hawk, — away up there, 'Pearantly froze in the air ! — Hear the old hen squawk, and squat Over ever' chick she's got, Suddent-like ! — and she knows where That-air hawk is, well as you ! — You jes' bet yer life she do ! — Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, Waitin' till he makes a pass ! V Pee-wees' singin', to express My opinion, 's second class, 95 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE Yit you'll hear 'em more er less ; Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, Weedin' out the lonesomeness ; Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, In them base-ball clothes o' his, Sportin' round the orchard jes' Like he owned the premises ! Sun out in the fields kin sizz, But flat on yer back, I guess, In the shade's where glory is ! That's jes' what I'd like to do Stiddy fer a year er two ! VI Plague ! ef they ain't somepin' in Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' My convictions ! — 'long about Here in June especially ! — Under some old apple-tree, Jes' a-restin' through and through, I could git along without Nothin' else at all to do Only jes' a-wishin' you 96 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE Wuz a-gittin' there like me, And June was eternity ! VII Lay out there and try to see Jes' how lazy you kin be ! — Tumble round and souse yer head In the clover-bloom, er pull Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes And peek through it at the skies, Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, Maybe, smilin' back at you In betwixt the beautiful Clouds o' gold and white and blue !- Month a man kin railly love — June, you know, I'm talkin' of ! VIII March ain't never nothin' new ! — Aprile's altogether too Brash fer me ! and May — I jes' 'Bominate its promises, — Little hints o' sunshine and Green around the timber-land — - 99 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE A few blossoms, and a few Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, — Drap asleep, and it turns in 'Fore daylight and snows ag'in ! — But when June comes — Clear my th'oat With wild honey ! — Rench my hair In the dew ! and hold my coat ! Whoop out loud ! and th'ow my hat !- June wants me, and I'm to spare ! Spread them shadders anywhere, I'll git down and waller there, And obleeged to you at that ! ioo SEPTEMBER DARK THE air falls chill ; The whippoorwill Pipes lonesomely behind the hill The dusk grows dense, The silence tense ; And lo, the katydids commence. IOI SEPTEMBER DARK II Through shadowy rifts Of woodland, lifts The low, slow moon, and upward drifts, While left and right The fireflies' light Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night. Ill O Cloudland, gray And level, lay Thy mists across the face of Day ! At foot and head, Above the dead, O Dews, weep on uncomforted ! 1,02 ^ -~ > x THE CLOVER SOME sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose, And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime throws In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days ; But what is the lily and all of the rest Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew ? 105 THE CLOVER I never set eyes on a clover-field now, Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow, But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again ; And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream, Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above. And so I love clover — it seems like a part Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart ; And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now ; And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die, To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye, And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume. 1 06 JgL OLD OCTOBER OLD October's purt' nigh gone, And the frosts is comin' on Little heavier every day — Like our hearts is thataway ! Leaves is changin' overhead Back from green to gray and red, Brown and yeller, with their stems Loosenin' on the oaks and e'ms ; And the balance of the trees Gittin' balder every breeze — Like the heads we're scratchin' on ! Old October's purt' nigh gone. 109 OLD OCTOBER I love Old October so, I can't bear to see her go — Seems to me like losin' some Old-home relative er chum — 'Pears like sorto' settin' by Some old friend 'at sigh by sigh Was a-passin' out o' sight Into everlastin' night ! Hickernuts a feller hears Rattlin' down is more like tears Drappin' on the leaves below — I love Old October so ! Can't tell what it is about Old October knocks me out ! — I sleep well enough at night — And the blamedest appetite Ever mortal man possessed, — Last thing et, it tastes the best ! — Warnuts, butternuts, pawpaws, 'lies and limbers up my jaws Fer raal service, sich as new Pork, spareribs, and sausage, too.- Yit, fer all, they's somepin' 'bout Old October knocks me out ! no ^i !K 7 fc JL OLD-FASHIONED ROSES THEY ain't no style about 'em, And they're sorto' pale and faded, Yit the doorway here, without 'em, Would be lonesomer, and shaded With a good 'eal blacker shadder Than the morning-glories makes, And the sunshine would look sadder Fer their good old-fashion' sakes. I like 'em 'cause they kindo'- Sorto' make a feller like 'em ! And I tell you, when I find a Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em, 113 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES It alius sets me thinkin' O' the ones 'at used to grow And peek in thro' the chinkin' O' the cabin, don't you know ! And then I think o' mother, And how she ust to love 'em — When they wuzn't any other, 'Less she found 'em up above 'em ! And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, Whispered with a smile and said We must pick a bunch and putt 'em In her hand when she wuz dead. But, as I wuz a-sayin', They ain't no style about 'em Very gaudy er displaying But I wouldn't be without 'em, — 'Cause I'm happier in these posies, And the hollyhawks and sich, Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses In the roses of the rich. 114 A COUNTRY PATHWAY I COME upon it suddenly, alone — A little pathway winding in the weeds That fringe the roadside ; and with dreams my own, I wander as it leads. Full wistfully along the slender way, Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine, I take the path that leads me as it may — ■ Its every choice is mine. 117 A COUNTRY PATHWAY A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail, Is startled by my step as on I fare — A garter-snake across the dusty trail Glances and — is not there. Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies, Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose When autumn winds arise. The trail dips — dwindles — broadens then, and lifts Itself astride a cross-road dubiously, And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts Still onward, beckoning me. And though it needs must lure me mile on mile Out of the public highway, still I go, My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file, Allure me even so. Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars, And was not found again, though Heaven lent His mother all the stars 118 A COUNTRY PATHWAY With which to seek him through that awful night. years of nights as vain ! — Stars never rise But well might miss their glitter in the light Of tears in mother-eyes ! So — on, with quickened breaths, I follow still — My avant-courier must be obeyed ! Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will, Invites me to invade A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile, And stumbles down again, the other side, To gambol there awhile In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead 1 see it running, while the clover-stalks Shake rosy fists at me, as though they said — ''You dog our country-walks "And mutilate us with your walking-stick ! — We will not suffer tamely what you do, And warn you at your peril, — for we'll sic Our bumblebees on you !" 121 A COUNTRY PATHWAY But I smile back, in airy nonchalance, — The more determined on my wayward quest, As some bright memory a moment dawns A morning in my breast — Sending a thrill that hurries me along In faulty similes of childish skips, Enthused with lithe contortions of a song Performing on my lips. In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth — Erratic wanderings through dead'ning-lands, Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth, Put berries in my hands : Or the path climbs a bowlder — wades a slough — Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags, Goes gayly dancing o'er a deep bayou On old tree-trunks and snags : Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool Upon a bridge the stream itself has made, With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool That its foundation laid. 122 A COUNTRY PATHWAY I pause a moment here to bend and muse, With dreamy eyes, on my reflection, where A boat-backed bug drifts on a helpless cruise, Or wildly oars the air, As, dimly seen, the pirate of the brook — The pike, whose jaunty hulk denotes his speed- Swings pivoting about, with wary look Of low and cunning greed. Till, filled with other thought, I turn again To where the pathway enters in a realm Of lordly woodland, under sovereign reign Of towering oak and elm. A puritanic quiet here reviles The almost whispered warble from the hedge, And takes a locust's rasping voice and files The silence to an edge. In such a solitude my sombre way Strays like a misanthrope within a gloom Of his own shadows — till the perfect day Bursts into sudden bloom, 125 A COUNTRY PATHWAY And crowns a long, declining stretch of space, Where King Corn's armies lie with flags unfurled, And where the valley's dint in Nature's face Dimples a smiling world. And lo ! through mists that may not be dispelled, I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams, Where, like a gem in costly setting held, The old log" cabin gleams. O darling Pathway ! lead me bravely on Adown your valley-way, and run before Among the roses crowding up the lawn And thronging at the door, — And carry up the echo there that shall Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay The household out to greet the prodigal That wanders home to-day. 120 WORTERMELON TIME OLD wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin — Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see. Oh ! it's in the sandy soil wortermelons does the best, And it's thare they'll lay and waller in the sunshine and the dew Tel they wear all the green streaks clean off of theyr breast ; And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them ; air you, 127 WORTERMELON TIME They ain't no better thing- in the vegetable line ; And they don't need much 'tendin', as ev'ry farmer knows ; And when theyr ripe and ready fer to pluck from the vine, I want to say to you theyr the best fruit that grows. It's some likes the yeller-core, and some likes the red, And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the best ; But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my head, Is the old "Edingburg Mounting-sprout," of the west. You don't want no punkins nigh your wortermelon vines — 'Cause, some-way-another, they'll spile your melons, shore ; — I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to the rines, Which may be a fact you have heerd of before. But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to with care, You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's pride and joy, And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a air As ef each one of them was your little girl er boy. 128 ■:^;,y,.,. ROMANCIN The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June, From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag, Seems ef they can't— od-rot 'em! — jest do nothin' else but brag ! They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the day; They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush, And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush ! They's music all around me ! — x\nd I go back, in a dream Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep, — and in the stream That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions growed, I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road. 183 ROMANCIN Then's when I' b'en a-fishin' ! — And they's other fellers, too, With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip- toein' bloom, As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney home. I kin see us, true to Natur, thum the time we started out, With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout" ! — I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam, And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam. I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill, And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growl- in' still ; And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do. W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane ; And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk" Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk. 184 ROMANCIN And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the old times, — I de-clare I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it !" jest as soft as any prayer 187