African American Poetry (1870-1928): A Digital Anthology

James Edwin Campbell, "Echoes, From the Cabin and Elsewhere" (1895)

Echoes From The Cabin

CHICAGO, 1895.


Ol Doc' Hyar .....
Uncle Eph-Epicure......
Uncle Eph's Horse Trade....
De Sp'rise Pa'ty......
'Sciplinin' Sister Brown.
“ Linkum".
Song of the Corn....
Uncle Eph Backslides,
Negro Lullaby......
The Courting of Miss Lady-Bug.
The Church Rally...
Negro Serenade..
De Cunjah Man .....
When Ol' Sis' Judy Pray......


Bohemian Ups and. Downs.
Some Day Land.....
When the Fruit Trees Bloom..
O Sweetheart, Sweet ......
Saturday Night at Heinrich's..
With the Sunrise Gun......
My Friends in Bohemia..
Twice the Maple Blushes.
A Night in June...
A Memory Tone.....
My Fisher Lass ...
Before the Fire....
Richard III..
Mors et Vita ...
Compensazione .
Serenade Song.......
Amici Tres.......
Through October Fields...
The Hawk......
Mary of Magdala..
A Love Dream....
A Song....
The Point of View.....
The Pariah..


THE  evolution of the Negro is fast destroying the unique types of the race. Another quarter of a century of freedom and the Negro of slavery days, the Nugro of the log cabin and the corn field will be but cherished memories. To those who have known the solicitous care of a "black
mammy" and listened to the homely philosophy and quaint humor of the plantation darkey there is a touch of pathos in the transformation they are undergoing, relieved by u feeling of pride and pleasure in their progression. 

In his anti-bellum state the Negro was close to nature. He gave a language to the birds and beasts, and his simplicity and superstition formed the basis for a charming fiction. Melody sprang spontaneously within him, and his gravest utterances were gilded with the quaintest humor.
American literature has preserved few of these types. The efforts of the majority of writers to portray them have been failures.

The author of this volume has caught the true spirit of *the anti-bellum Negro, and in characteristic verse has portrayed the simplicity, the philosophy and the humor of the In no instance has he descended to caricature, which has made valueless so many efforts in this fertile field of
literary effort. These poems will awaken tender memories in all who have dwelt in the Southland; they will be an inspiration to the musician in adding to the melodies peculiar to the plantation black, for all of them are adapted to musical interpretation. To the captious critic who may be inclined to find fault with the varying dialect, the following incident will be valuable:

A member of a minstrel company who desired to thoroughly master the Negro dialect associated for months with the Negroes on a Virginia plantation. When he appeared upon the stage in Richmond, he made an instantaneous success. Later on, he appeared in Georgia and Alabama, and no one understood him. There are other than dialect poems in this volume, and they show a fine feeling and are of a high order of expression.

I regard "Echoes from the Cabin " as a valuable contribution to American literature. The Negro dialect poems have not been equalled for fidelity to character since the Sewanee River was written. 

Editor Chicago Sunday Times-Herald.



Ur ol' Hyar llb in ur bouno on do hill,
Ho bunnor yurs ol' an' nobber wuz Ill;
He yurs doo so long an' ho oyos so boog,
An' ho lalgs so spry dat ho dawnco ur joog;
Ilo llb so long dat ho know abilory tings
'Bout de masinos dat walkw an' (lo bu'ils dat singh
Die Ol' Doo' Hyar,
Whar llb up dar
Eon ur mighty ino houso on ur mighty high hlll.
He doctah fur all de beas'ses an' buldis-
He put on ho specs an' lo uso boog wu'ds,
Ho fool doo pu's' den he look mighty wiso,
Ho pull out he watch an' ho shot bofo eyes;
He grab up ho bat an' grab up lie cano,
Den—" blam!" go de do'-he gone lak de train,
Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high bill.
Mistah Ba'r fall sick_dee sont fur Doc' Hyar,
"O, Doctab, come queeck, an' see Mr. B'ar;
He mighty nigh daid des sho' ez you b'on!"
“Too much ur young peeg, too much ur green co'n,"
Ez he put on he hat, said Ol' Doc' Hyar;
“ I'll tek 'long meh lawnce, an' lawnce Mistal B'ar,"
Said Ol' Doc' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty bigh hill.

Mistab B'ar he groanod, Mistah B'ar he growled,
W'ile de ol' Mis' B'ar an' de chillen howled;
Doctal Hyar tuk out he sha'p li'l lawnce,
An' pyu'ced Mistah B'ar twel he med him prawnce
Den grab up he hat an' grab up Le cane
" Blam!" go de do' an' he gone lak de train,
Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hili.
But dle vay naix day Mistah B'ar he daid;
Wen dee tell Doc' Hyar, he des scratch he haid:
• Ef pashons git well ur paslons git wu's,
Money got ter come een de Ol’ Hyar's pu's;
Not wut folkses does, but fur wut dee know
Docs de folkses git paid "-an' Hyar larfed low,
Dis sma't Ol' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een de mighty fine house on de mighty biglı bill!


You kin talk erbout yo''lasses an' yo' steamin' buckwheat cakes,
'Bout yo' eisters fried in crackers, an' yo' juicy hot clam bakes;
'Bout yo’ beefsteak fried wid inguns, an' yo' ros'n yeahs ob'co'n,
But ol' possum wid sweet taters beats dem all, des sho's you bo'n.
Tek erway yo' Floyda eiange, tek erway yo' fig and date,
An' bring erlong my 'possum on dat bigges' ol' tin plate.
Turnip greens all biled wid bacon an' er co'n pone smokin hot,
I gw,' nebber scratch dat ticket caze it retch ur tender spot. !!
An' hot biscuits wid hot coffee mek ur mighty han'som pa'r,
W'ile ol' hen biled wid dumplin's, O yes, dat's parsin' fa'r.
But tek erway yo' greens an' bacon, tek erway yo' chicken biled,
An' bring 'possum an' sweet taters—besh yo' mouf, dey sets me wild!
Sta't him out'n pawpaw thicket, chase him up er 'simmon tree,
W'ile de music ob dat houn' pack sets de woods er-ring wid glee.
Roun' de bill an' troo de bottom, up de holler by de spring,
Ow! ow! owl owl des a whoopin'l how dat ol' lead-houn' do sing!

An' you hurry troo de briabs an' you tumble ober logs,
Nebber knowin', nebber cyarin' ez you chyuh dem blessed
An' w'en dey all sees you comin', how dem dogs sing wid
new grace,
Fum de young houn's sweet, cla'r tenah ter de ol' houn's
mighty bass,
An' dar on ur lim' er grinnin' wid his tail quoiled mighty
Hangs my fren', ol' Mistah- 'Possum-bow dem dogs bowl
wid delight.
An' you crawl out furder, furder, twel you hyuh dat ol' lim'
An' you shake er loose his tail holt, an' you put him in yo'
Den you tote him home an' feed him twel he fat des ez you
Den you kill him an' you hang him out er frosty night ter
Den you stuff him wid sweet taters an 'put butter all ur roun',
Den you put him in de oven an' you bake him twel he's brown.
Oom! all swimmin' in his graby an' ur drippin' in his fat
Talk erbout yo' milk an' honey, wut's de hebbenly food ter
Let dnt show-ban' play its londes', let dat 'cession des marcu
I wouldn't stop my eatin' ef ol' Gab'ul blowed his horn!


(Aunt Susun sends Uncle Eph to town to sell the cow. Meet.
ing Farmer Johnson with a dan mulo, he makes a trade.)
• Come out lyub, Thomas 'Rastus, an' seo wut Daddy got-
Woa dar, you long yurd debbil, yo' lega too full ur trot!
Git out de way, you chillun, he mighty full ur fah,
His mammy was ur Mo'gan, ur jackass wus his siah.
Stop dat you Gineral Jackson! (De Voodoo's in dis mule!)
Say, chillun, whar yo' mamasy? (I spec' I been ur fool.")
Ob cose he summat spavin' an' stone blin' in one eye,
An' his ha'r all off in places—dat come all right bimeby.
(Fo' de Lawd, dar Susan--now how I gwine ter 'splaiu
Urbout dis debblish hoss trade--hit gwinc go 'ginst de
Des look ur hyah, 'ol' oman, I'se traded off de cow;
You bet I med ur bawgin, an' dat youse boun' ter 'low.
De cow was mighty scrawny an' den sho mos' wuz dry';
Do price ur lay am ruisin' dar's no green in my eye.
I met ol' Fa'mah Jolinsing ur ridin' in tor town,
I 'marbed dis mulo's fine action an'axed de gompmun dowa.
I led him foruds, backudis-his action mighty free,
His mouf I zaminated-his nge des tirty-trce.
An' den I mek ur offal- é cow fur Jolinsing's mule,
He cussed urroun' ur little-I nebber wuz ur fool.
So Jolinsing dribo de cow off, ur wa'kin' doan' you 800,
While I come hoino ur ridin' om big om big kin bo.

Des watch him trot, ol' 'oman, dat motion's Mo'gan true
Fine blood gwine tell in muleses ex well ez hosses, too.
I needs him fur de plowin' w'en gyardenin' time come 'roun",
My back donc got rheumatics an' I cyawn' spade de groun."


* You all den boncs ur hoss trade? You allus wuz fool!
Tuck my cow an' triled fur ur knock-kneed spavin' mule!
Dat bloou do tell in muieses; hit tells in niggahs mo'-
Me Browns muz alles triflin', an' Efum, youse mo' so.
I wucked bad all lars' summah, w'en you wuz loafin' roun'
Spen'in' yo' lars' nickel in dem dram shops in de town,
Ur sweatin' and ur gruntin' in dat ol' washin' tub
Ter buy dat Jussey heffah an' keep you all in grub).
Des como ur littic closah, you triflin' lim' ob Hain!
Vom, hoo! I smell de liquah, I knowcd you hed er dram.
You long-legged tu'key trottin', . black, good fur nothin' fool
Ur tradin' off my heffah fur yo' match-ur spavin' mule!
Ef I des hed hot watah, I'd scal' you bofe, I 'clar,
You ring bone, kuoc-kneed, triflin', ol' saddle-culled pa'r!
Des clam back in dat saddle an' fo' dat sun go down,
You hunts up ol' man Johnsing ez sho's yo name am Brown,
An' gits dat Jussey leffaliI doan' cyal how hits done;
And Ephraim and the clun mule of Morgan blood descent,
Went galloping down the reci road for Farmer Jolinson'o bent.
At five o'clock next morning when the Shanghai rooster crowed,
The yellow Jersey heifer in Susan's back yard lowce.

Bring out my bawnjer, Susan, and Rastus shek de Aah,
De coons am all flockin' in, ur Daddy am ur liah.
Hyuh's some dat's f'um de Bottom an' some dat's f'um de Ridge,
An' bress my soul! dar's Unker Nat f'um way 'yan Maybo, Bridge!
Dar's Tempie wid dat nizyah whar waits at de St. Cla'r;
Des watch him how he hol' his cane, an' anbe us, wut a a'r!
Dar's Jinky an' dar’s ’Lindy; dar's Reuben and dar’s Jane;
Dar's Mandy wid ur niggab whar po'tahs on de train.
Hyuh's niggabs f'um de country and niggahs f'um de town,
l'r comin' wid ur pa'ty ter s'prise de fambly Brown.
Go git my bawnjer, Susan; you 'Rastus, chunk dat coal!
Gib me yo' paw, you niggahs—Ise happy, bress my soul!
Susan doan' 'low no dawncin', she jined de chu'ch, you ;
l'r pillow in Mt. Zion, an' wut sbe say gwine go.
B'en haptized in Ol' Mud Creek, by Reb'ren Pa’son Snowtr.
jouse "lowed ter tu'n de plate an' «Chase de Bufferlo.'
Kin play “Hyuh goes de blue-bud” an' « Honey lub, my
An “ Junnon Bridge is bu'nin' down "_but doan you cross
dem feet,
For Susan orful 'ligions an' mighty 'tic'lar, too
Kyahful 'bout dem crossin' fcct wutebber else you do!

Dar's possum on de table an'coon dar on de she'f,
Dar's cidah in dat brown jug, each niggah be'p hisse'f.
Dar's pie an' cake an' dunauts an' aig nogg in ur bowl;
Des eat an' drink, youse welcomeIde happy, bress my soul!
Now, while I chune dis bawnjer, you 'Rastus, git yo' ha'p!
Mek music fur de comp'ny; now, niggab, look right sha'p!
Plunk! plunk! plunk! plunk! plunkety! plunk! plunkety!
plunk! plunk!
Plunk! plunkety! plunk! plunk! plunk! plunk! pluukety!
plunk! plunk!
“ Neah-row my Gawd ter Dee“ (now dat chune's fur yo'
W’en we gits her moll and tim*, we gwine to play an urr)
Now ic Rock ob Ages," sof* an' sweet; sing, you niggahs,
Des byuh dat tenah an' dut bass! Lawd, how dem raftahs
Hyuh Susan's cla'r supranah lif' dem tall notes on high!
She tink'n bout de great white t'rone' an' " Mansions in de
Now Susan's in de kitchen ur sottin' out de grub; .
erway dat spinnin' wheel an' tote out do's dat tub.
You hyuu dis bawnjer singin'? You reckernize de chune?
" Town gnls all come out ternight an' dawnce by light de moon."
You niggahs git yo' pa'ilnahs an' lead (lem on de flo'-
Des byuh dis bawnjer callin'—I cyawn' hol' in no mo'!
"Noll and tim" la n negro expression that ineuns u igreat many thiogs,
As used here. It inengs "in a remarkably good humor." I have heard it unod
thus: "He nee:in' look so moll nn' tim," signifying that some one was put
ting on an extra ploun nir.

“ All 'beedyunce ter yo'pa'dnaho!" an' “Co'nals all de same!"
Des nebber min' 'bout Susan—I gwine tek all de blame.
Now, “ Fo'wa'd ter de centah!” an' " Ladies, swing right bac'!"
Deo watch de dus' ur raisin' an' byuh de ol' flo' crac'!
Now fastah, fustah, 'Rastus! (De debbil's in dis string)
Des • Balance all!" you niggabs--Lawd, see dat pidgin wing!
-Fo' Gawd! who dat jr dawncin' wid' lat niggah f'um do town!
W'y bress my soul an' buddy ef dat ain' Susan Brown!
O fastab, fustah, 'Rastus, youse playin' fur yo' Mam,
She done furgot her 'ligion an' dus'n' cyalı ur-
You Ike! Come tek dis bawnjer! I gwine ter hab ur fling!
Play fastah, FastAH, 'Rastus! Now “Ebbrybuddy swing!"

Shet up dat noise, you chillen! Dar's some one at de do'.
Dribe out dem dogs; you 'Rastus, tek Linkum off de flo'!
Des ma'ch yo’se'f right in sah! (Jane, tek dem ashes out!
Dis house look lak ur log-pen; you M'randy, jump erhout!)
W'y bress my soul, bit's Ef'um-w'y, Ef'um, how you do?
An' Tempie an' do chillen?. I hopes dey's all well too.
Hyuh, M'randy, bresh dat stool otl; now, Ef'um, des sot
Wut's de news f'um ott de Ridge an' wut's de news in town?
Now dran' you l'ink dem niggalis hed Susan 'fo de chu'ch
'Bout dawncin' at de pa'ly--dey call dat sinnin' much.
Dey up an' call ur meetin' ter 'scipline Sistah Brown,
But de night dey hol' de mectin' she tuk herse'f to town.
Ney sont de Bo'd on Deaconis, de pabstahi at de head,
Ter wait urpon de sistahi an' pray wid her, dey said,
But Susan mighty stubbo'n, an' wen dey lif' ur pra'r
She up an' tell de deacons she des wawn' gwine ter cyar.
An' wen de Reb'ren' Pa’son pruyal 'bout ur "sheep wuz
An' 'bout de “po bac'slidali," she gin her head ur toss!
I seed de debbil raisin' in de white ob Susan's eyes —
Fyeah she blow dat deacon-bo'd ter "mansions in de skies,”
I des tuk down my bawnjer an den I 'gins an' plays;
“Come dy fount ob ebbry blessin', chune my ha't ter sing
dy praise."

De pa’son au' de deacons dey jined me pooty soon;
Lawd! Dat bawnjer shuk itse'f ur-playin' ob do chune!
An' wen dey mos' wuz shoutin', I tightened up er string,
Drapped right inter "Money Musk ” an' gin de chune full
De “ Debbil's Dream come arter-de debbil wuz tor pay,
Dem niggahs fell ter pattin'- I lart mos' ebbry day!
Deacon Jones got on his feet, de pa'non pulled him down;
I playeıl ur little fastalı, an' sho's my namo am Brown,
De pa'son an' de deacons jinod han's right on dis flo',
Su’cled right and su'cled lef'--it sutny wuz er sbow.
Dey 'naded up an' down de flo' an' w'en lit come ter swing,
De pa'son gin hissc'f a flirt an'cut de pidgin-wing!
An' we'n urfo' de mcctin' dat 'mittee med its 'po't
'Bout Sistah Susan’s dawncin', dey cut it mighty sho't.
De chyulisman, Mr. l'a’son, said in tones so mil' an' sweet:
“Sistal Brown wu'n't guilty, caze--BILE NEBBER CROAAKD


You axlo' wab 'bout Linkum-w'y slo'ly youso boun toll
'Bout my po' chil.-Gawd bless him--ho dlod whon ton yoaba ol'.
llo was ouah younges' baby, you 'min'm lilm won ur tot,
Ur crawlin' in do ushes an' obbry blesscd spot.
He wuz do sma'tos' baby, an' we des lub him som
Hit tuk urway do sunshine wen Linkum hcd ter go.
W''y, cbberybuddy lub him-le w'ite folks an' de black',
He so perlitely mannaleihe gempman, dats ur fac'.
Fur chile kin be ur gempman ez well cz folks dat's grown,
An' bit was so wid Linkum, hit des brol in de bone.
Yit spite ob all his gooiiness lic wa'n' no stupid chile-
He 'roun dc house ur singin' an' whis'lin all de w’ile.
An' saiks how he coulil whis'le! No red bu'd sing so cl'ar;
He could des morck ur pa'tridye twel pu'tridge come right dar.
I nebber lyula de red bu'd ur pu'tridge wen dey call,
'Less den I t'inks 'bout Linkum-liis song, his larf an' all-
Ur 'scrise desc teahs now loncy, some how dey's 'blegeil ter come
Wen I tinks 'bout iny baby. Up dar you see his drum.
I brung hit from. Pint Gladness de Chris’mas 'fo' he died.
Jawd, how be uster thump it, ur ma chin' full ob pride!
Er-wut urhout his clef, sab? I begs yo' pa'tlon, sah,
Ise back dar wid my baby, ur ma chin' too I clah.
You sce Mis' Bradley hiau'd lim ter do de cho's an' sech
She lib in dat fine buildin', ale niix one ter de Che'cu.

Her husban' he do dootab, an' mighty Anos doy any;
Dey ou'y bab ona baby-doy call hor Helen Fay;
Dey t'ink so much de baby-ob co'se, de on'y chile;
She po'ty ez ur picchab—her eyes des fall ob smile.
She all time foll'n Llokum, des ebberywhar he go,
Pre chile des lub de po' chile-yes sab, dat sutny so.
One clay ber mammy leab her, ur sleepin' fars' an' soun',
An' in de cyar oh Linkum, while she wen' vis'tin' 'roan'.
W'ile Linkuin sottin' watchin' de buby sleepin' fars'
Holoyu'd de xwectos' music-Ur ban' wus ma'chin' pars'.
He hyu'd de ho'ns, de cym'uls, óle boomin big buss drum-
He knowod des in a minit do mninst'ul show donc como.
Ali' clonal, clonah, CLOHANI, do inumic acemed tor come,
An' loudub, loulah, LOUDAH, die hyu'd de big bass drum!
Dle chile furgot de baby an' wo't Mis' Bradley said,
He crazy wid dat music ur playin' in his head.
So out de do' wen' Linkum lak wings wuz on his feet
Luk race hose on de home stretch ur flyin' down de street.
Guwd knows he couldn' holp it—dc music set him wil';
Hit allus so wid Linkum-hie des de stranges' chile.
De fiah bells wuz janglin', de crowd wus rushin' roun',
De smoke hed filled de sta'rway-hit (Iruv de bes' man down.
De women all wuz screamin', an' men ur shoutin' loud,
W'en lak ur flash ob lightnin' ur boy to' froo de crowd.
Rigbt up de blazin' sta'rway; right froo de smoke an' flame,
Arter det sleepin' baby-He put dem men ter shame!
He wropped her in ur blankit an' down de blazin' sta'r
He brung dat.blessed baby widout ur flame teched ha r!
Out ob dat fi'ry fu'nace like Hebrew chillen t'ree,
Whose comperny wus Jesus, dat ol' King 'Rius see!

Out ob de flames dat sco'ched him-out ob de stranglin' smoke,
Urlown de flame-wropped sta'rway dat 'neaf de bu’nt feet broke!
Out ob de flames ob Hell-flah in ter de sweet, pyo' a'r
My po' chile brung de baby, an' fallin', drapped her dar!
He on'y des lib one houab-he call me ter de bed-
“ I-ort'n'-gone-de-music" an' my po' chile wuz dead!
Ober dar am his grabe, sah; Mis' Bradley buy de stone
Ter put up ober Linkum-Miss Helen, now mos' grown,
She had dem cat dese lettahs on de stone 'bove his grabe:



0, bits time fur de plantin' ur de co'n;
De groun'am wa'm, de furrers made-
(“Caw! caw!" de black crow larf,)
Put ur ban'le in yo' olhoo blade-
(“Caw! caw!") de black crow larf)
O, hits time fur de plantin' ur de co'n.
0, hits time fur de plantin' ur de co'n,,
De chipmunk sot on top ur clod -
(“Chent! cheat!" de raliskil say)
He Airt his tail an' wink an' nod-
(“Cheat! chcat!” de ralskil say,)
O, hits time fur de plantin' ur de co'n
O, hits time fur de boein' ur de co'n,
De co'n am up an' full ur gruss-
(Hot, hot, de sun hit shine,)
Hit beat de wu'l' low weeds grow fas'
(Hot, hot, de sun hit shine,)
O, hits time fur de hocin' ur do co'n.
O, bits time fur de hocin’ ur de co’n,
Hit stan'in' knee-high in de row-
(Hot, hot, de sun hit shine,)
One mno' tine an' we'll let hit go
(llot, hot, clo sun lit shine,)
O, hits time fur de hocin' ur de co'n.
O, hits time fur de cuttin'
de co'n,
De blades am dry, de milk am ba'd-:
(Hack, hack, de co'n knives say,)
De hawgs am killed an' ren’nerod laid,
(Hack, hark, de co'n knives say,)
O, hits time fur de cuttin' ur de co'n.
O, hits time fur de cuttin' ur de co'n,
Dars w'ite fros' in de still night a'r-
(Hack, hack, de co'n knives say,)
Come urlong, Sam, le's grin' ur pa'r-
(Hack, back, de co'n knives say,)
O, hits timc fur de cuttin' ur de co'n.
O, hits time fur de huskin' ur de co'n,
De boys an' gyurls am all come out
(Rip, rip, de brown peys go,)
You hyuh 'em sing an' larf an' shout-
(Rip, rip, de brown pegs go,)
O, hits time fur de buskin' ur de co'n.
O, hits time fur de huskin' ur de co'n,
Dar's Reuben's side am a'mos' froo-
(Rip, rip, de brown pegs go,)
Hurry up, Sam, deys leabin' you-
(Rip, rip, de brown pegs go,)
O, hits timè fur de huskin' ur de co'n.
O, bits time fur ce grin'in' ur de co'n,
Run 'long, honey, an' git yo' sack-
(“Clack, clack, de mill wheel say,)
An' put hit on ol’ Betsy's back-
(“Clack, clack,” de mill wheel say,)
O, hits time fur de grin'in' ur do co‘n.
O, hits time fur do grin'in' ur dc co'n,
Des ride five milc ur roun' de hill
(“Clack, cluck," de mill wheel say,)
Den dump yo' load at Thompson's mill-
(“Clack, clack,” de mill wheel say,)
O, hits time fur de grin'in' ur de co'n.

0, hits time fur de eatin' ur de co'n,
Mammy, bake us ur oo'n pone browa-
("Good, good," de chillen cry)
Draw up yo' chyuh an des sot down-
(“Good, good,” de chillen cry,)
O, bits time fur de eatin' ur de co'n.
O, bits time fur de eatin' ur de co’n,
Wid ham an' aigs an' coffee strong-
(“Good, good," de chillen vry,)
Dat big co'n pone hit woan' Jas' long-
(“Good, good." de chillen cry,)
0, hits time fur de eatin' ur de co'n.


W'y, Sam, I'se glad to see you, I sho' is fur ur fac';
W'y, man, hit teks de lameness right ontn' my ol' bac'.
How's Cindy an' de chillen? I'se glad ter hyuh hit, sho'-
0, Susan, she des tolbul an' I des sorter so.
She done gone ter dat meetin' up dar on Mayho's Creek;
Dem niggahs been ur shoutin' for nighi mos' on ur week.
An' Suann, she ur Jendler, wen dley call on Sistah Brown,
She des lif' np ur strong pra'r dat call de hebbins down.
W'y, she done got so 'ligious, I darsn't tek ur dram,
An', Sam, I des ex dry ez de upper Mill Creck dam!
Sho med mc burn my hnwnjer an' druv me in de cho'ch-
She wawn' gwine' hab nu bawnjer, no drinkin' an' all sech.
You say you'se got or bottle? Ur qua't ob fine ol' co'n?.
l'se gwinc ter mek ur finh an' put de kittle on.
Hyuh, tek dis bucket, honey, an' run 'long ter de spring,
Wile I goes fur some sugah an' fixes ebbry ting.
You hyul dat kittlc singin'; hit knows wat hit ain 'bout
llit All my soul wil 'joicinº; 0, Sam, l’se got ter shout!
Now, des put in dat sngah, sny, honey, nint dat ino?
Dis win' me ob die ol' time 'fo‘Susan fell in line.
Hyuh's luck ter you, my padnalı, hyun's luck ter you, my
Hyuh's long life in dis ol' wu'l, an' hebbin in de en'.
Nes All dat glass urgin, Sam, an' stir dat sugal 'roun-
I doan' cyah lat fur pa'sons an. Sistah Susan Brown.

Hyab's luck ler you, my pa'dnab, byuh's luck tor you, ol'
Hyub's long life in dis ol wal', an' bebbin in de en'.
Now ef I hed my bawnjer—you done brung yo‘se urlong?
Des ban' buh out byuh, honey, an' jine me in dis song:
Clean de ba'n an’sweep de flo',
Sing, my bawnjer, sing!
We's gwine ter dawnce dis eb’nin' sho',
Ring, my bawnjer, ring!
Den hits up do road an' down de lane,
Hurry, niggah, you miss de train;
De yaller gal she dawnce so nent,
De yaller gal she look so swoct,
Ring, my bawnjer, ring!
De moon come up, de sun go down,
Sing, my bawnjer, sing!
De niggnls am all come f'ma town,
Ring, my bawnjer, ring!
Den bits roun' de hill an' froo de fiel'-
Lookout dar, niggah, doan' you steal!
De milyuns on dem vines am green,
De moon am bright, O you'll be seen,
Ring, my bawnjer, ring!
Git out dat dock ob kyards, sah, an’ we'll des bab ur game
Nebber min' 'bout Susan, we'll play bit des de samo,
I'd hab you fur ter know, sah, ob dis house l’se de head,
An' Susan she de tail, sah, an' she de one dat's led.
Dar, I tu’ned de jack, sab; you’se beggin? Go or head;
I plays de deuce fur low, sah, an' now de ace am led.
Des fill-dat-glass-ergin S-Sain, dat liquab 8-sho-am-f-fine;
D-debbil-tek de meetin's an' S-Susan-n-nebber-min'.

Hyaba-luck-ter-you, ol'op-padnah, hyuhs-l-lack-ter-you, ol'. f-frien',
Hyuhs-l-long-l-lifo-in-dish ol' wa'l', an' hebbin' in d-de-en'.
'Dar, fo' de Lawd, como Susan, now somoſin' mus' be dono
Hide dem kyards, quick, niggah, an' do hit on de run!
An' frow dat bottle liqual in dem weeds out do do',
An' stick dis blamod ol' buwnjer dar un'neri.caf de flo'.
W'y, Susan, how's de meetin'? De sperrit ruuvin' high?
Brer' Johnsing stopped ter se me, ez bo wuz parsin' by;
You see, I med de fial an' put de kittle on-
I knowed dat you'd be tiahd; pra'r's wu’k, des sho's you
(Susan goes out to the wood pile.)
Sam, you tok dut bawnjer, an', niggal, dos you tly,
'Fo' Susan blows us bofe up tor mansions in do sky.


Mammy's baby, go ter sleep,
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my honey;
Cross de byarf de cricket oreep,
Husb-er-hy, hush-er-by, my honey.
Hoot owl callin' f'um de ol' sycamo'
'Way down yon'er in de holler;
While de whip-po'-will an’ de li'l' scrooob owl
Dey des try dey bes’ ter follor.
Husb-er-by, husb-er-by, hush-er-by, my deal,
Hush-er-by, hush-or-by, my honey;
Shot yo' eyes an' drop off ter sleep
O yo' eyes dey bright cz money!
Mammy's sugah, go ter sleep,
Husb-er-by, hush-er. by, my honey;
Baby stars done coasc ter peep,
Hush-er. by, hush er-by, my honey.
Do moon raiso slim froo do ol' mounting gap,
In hits cradlo hits boon ur rockin'
Do li'l' baby sturs all fars’ ur sloep-
You chiilen bettał stop ant knockin'!
Husb-er-by, husb-er-by, bush er-by, my deal,
Hush-er by, husb-er-by, my honey,
Noddin', noddin', nod--ur sleep at lars,
Sh-801-8h--sh--my honey


Dos come urlong, my honey chile an' sot down on my knee,
An' Unker Eph 'll tell you ob de Baid-Bug an' de Flea.
Dese gempmen wen’ ur co'tin' ob de sweet Miss Lady.Bug;
She lib at num'mer fo'ty in ur flat quite neat an' snug.
Marse Baid.Bug wo' his crimson ves', his beaver, how hit
De ladies at de winders smiled ez he parsed down de line.
Marse Flea, he wo' ur swaller.tail ob orful stylish gray;
He med Miss 'Skeeter's b'a't beat fas' whar libbed ur .cross
de way.
She envied sweet Miss Lady-Bug buh comperny so gran'-
She des de meanes' dried ol' maid an' ugly, sabe de lan'!
Marse Baid-Bug retch de reserdence an' “ting” he ring de
An' out dar come Miss Lady-Bug, hit gin bim quite ur spell.
He put his han' urpon his h’a't an' bowed so orful low,
Dat des ur leetle furder an' his nose 'ood tech de flo.'
She bowed him in de pa'lah fine an' took his hat an' cane;
Dat she wuz 'joiced ter see him, 0, she showed it mighty
He lemmed an' bawed ur leetle an' den he cross his laigs,
W'en "tingle” wen' de bell urgin an' knocked him off his
De do' wuz flung wide open by de butlah, Mistali Gnat,
An' in dar strutted Mistah Flea ur twirlin' ob his hat.

Marse Baid.Bug looked at Mistab Flea an' hato wuz in bis
W'ile Flea looked at Miss Lady.Bug ez dough he gwine ter
Dey sot an' sot an' looked an' looked an' neider one 'ood go;
Miss Lady-Bug she sot ur tween an' gawrped, des sorter so.
An' still dey sot an' sot an' stared wid eyes des full ob hate,
'Twel Missis Bug called down de sta'ns: “My deah, hits
growin' late.”
Dcy gmbhed deg lats an' grabbed dey canes an' out de do'
dey went;
At five ur clock dat mawnin' Mistah Flea ur chellenge sent.
Marse Baid-Bug choose bis secon', Mistal Ho'net wuz his
He bail f'um ol' Kaintucky an' dey say he sho' wuz game.
De Mud Wasp s'po'ted Mistah Flea, ur gempman tried an'
De secon's hed been dar urfo' an' knowed des wut ter do.
Dey met at fo’dat eb'nin' sha'p down byuh in Fire-Bug Lane,
Now Mistab Flea goes on ur Crutch an' Baid-Bug on ur cane.
An' Lady-Bug? W'y honey chile, de women's all de same;
Dey's built dat way, an' so I s'pose de creeturs ain'ter
Dey fit at fo' dat eb'nin' sha'p; at five de papal’s tol
How Lady Bug hed runned urway wid Captain Cock-Roach


O, come erlong, como erlong,
Wut's de use er bol'in' back;
O, bit it strong, er hit it strong,
Mek de ol' flo' ben' an' crack.
O, boop tee doo, ub, boop tee doo!,
Dat's de way ter knock it froo.
Right erlong, right crlong,
Slide de lef' foot riglit erlong.
Hoop too doo, O, loop tee doo,
See, my lub, I dawnce ter you.
Ho, boyl Ho, boy!
Well done, meb lady!
O, slide erlong, slide erlong-
Fas'ah wid dat pattin', Sam!
Dar's music in dis lef' heel's song,
Mis'ab right foot, doan' you sham!
0, hoop tee doo, oh, hoop tee doo!
Straight erlong I dawnce ter you.
Slide erlong, slide erlong,
Mek dat right foot hit it strong.
Hoop toe doo, 0, hoop tee doo,
See, my luh, I dawnce ter you.
Ho, boy! Ho, boy!
Well done, neh lady!
• The abovo is an attempt to catch the shuffling, Jerky rbythm of tho
famous Dexro dance, tho Mobllo-Buck. The author has watobed by tho
bour tho nogro roustabouts of Ohio and Mississippi rivor steamboats
“buok "against each other, to usc their own exprosslon. One roustabout
called on by the crew stepo out and begins tho shuffle. Suddonly ho make
a tremendous olido forward on one fout, like tho swift stroke of a skater,
whilo with the othor Posot ho bouts a perfect tattoo. Each dancer in sud-
conslon trics to outdo his predecessor, whilo all aro choerod on by the com-
ments and laughter of their rude but picturesque audionoo.-AUTHOR.


Hil yil Now ain' I s'price 'em--sou Mistab Malo, git up!
Prince ob de Tribe of Zeb'lon, an' win de silbab cap!
Go long, you long-yurd debbil, an' lo' dem weeds urlono,
Urfo' I tek dis blackenaik an' wa'r you ter de bone.
W'y boney chile, you skyurd me; you did, sab, fur ur fac';
I'se tol'bul well, I tanks you, urscusin' dis ol' back.
You see, de che'ch am raisin' some money fer ter 'rec'
Ur mighty fine new buildin'; nuffin' but pride, l 'spec'.
Dats wut I tell de eldah w'en he come trapesin' 'roun'
Ur axin', “How much money you gwi' gib, Bru'r Brown?"
I des right up an' tells him 'twan' nufflin' 'tall but pride,
Ur tarin' down de ol' cbe'ch—de scriptur's on my side.
He mighty awgmendashus, an' use dem big wu'ds frec,
But dar waz only one t'ing dat settled hit wid me.
He said ez how dem Mefdis', up dar on Mayho's creek,
Hed laid de cornab stone ob dey ine new che'ch las' week.
I ain'gwi' bab no Mef'dis' waship in ur che'ch,
Wid ur great sky-pintin' steeple, ur westerbule an’ secb,
Wile Ise ur prayin' membah ob ur cho'ch, doun' you know,
Wid ur little mouse-trap balfry an' no glass 'bove de do'.
So dlats de low-conie-howdy, wen de meetin' come ur 'roun',
De motion fur new buildin' wuz med by Deacon Brown!
Dars twelb ob us ol' membalis fur heads ob tribes put up;
De one whar raise mos' money gwi' git ur silbah cup.

Dey med me Prince ob Zeb'lon, Bru'r Thomas, Prince ob
Bru'r Moses, Prince ob Reuben, an' Judah's Prince, Bru'r
De Reubitos gin ur fes’bul, Ashies ur bobbycue;
De Gaddites gin ur fan drill an’ Simyun gin one, too;
Naptolly gin ur foot race, an' Leebi, big cakewalk,
You orto seed dem niggahıs—go 'way, now, doan' you talk!
De prize dat Leebi offe'd wuz fine young Bucksheah slote;
He des ez fat ez buttah, an' right sha'p load ter tote.
De prize wuz won by Nimrod, whar lib on Mill Creek Dam-
Some niggabs said he won hit 'caze he promised me ur ham!
You see, I one de jedges, de contes' mighty close-
De niggnls fell to quawlin' an' lak to fit, nigh mos';
Dars fibe ob us wuz jodgin'; I heldo 'cidin' vote;
I cas' my voico fur Nimrod_80, cosc, bo got de shoto.
Naix day dat wife ob Johnsings des wen' de roun's an’sed:
(Ef 'twan' dat Ise ur Deacon, I'd bruk dat niggah's head)
Dat Nimrod secon' cousin ter Susan's sistah's son,
An' dat wuz one de reasons de slote by him wuz won;
Dat she come in ter borry some sody fur berse'f
An' seed ur bam ur layin', xhote size, dar on our she'f!
Er-wut ur 'bout de ham, sah? Well, now, 1 des do 'clar,
I ain' gwinc mek no ’niance-de ham wuz sholy dar.
Not 'caze bit wuz ur bawgin, but allus on de Dam
Wen dey kills bawgs dey sen's us some sparribs an' ur ham.
My tribe gin 'possum suppah-good Lawd, hit mek me
De niggahs come ur flockin' fur mo' 'an twenty mile;
De princes ob dem ur tribes, dey call fur 'possum roas',
Dey almos' bus' wid eatin', an'me wid larfin' mos'.

Bru'r Mann, de Prince ob Sudah, be eat ur.'possum wbolo-
Dat niggab's stammick rubbab-hit mus' be, bress my soul!
I knowed dem niggahs spen'in' de quarters an' de dimes
Dey raise at cake-walks, fes'buls, dem fan-drills an' sich
Fur wen ur man am hongry he bab no fuchah plan;
Hit allus so, from Esau cla'r down ter Brudder Mann.
W'en on de Rallyin' Sunday Mount Zion rocked wid song,
An' de Princes ob ol' Iz’zul wen' ma'chin right urlong,
Ur bringin' up de money dat ebbry tribe done raise,
Dey foun' de Tribe obľ Zeb’lon—de Lawd ob hosts be praise-
Hed brung de mostes' money-de eldah call me up,
Au'fo' de congregation gin me do silbah cup.
Right dar de Prince ob Judah, ho mod ur awful fuss-
Ho spoke right out in mootin'-ho mad ur 'nufr tor ouss,
“Bru'r Brown, he needn' swell out lak ur pa'tridge wen iloy
He didn' raise de money_dat 'possum done hit all."


O, de light-bugs glimmer down de lane,
Merlindy! Merlindy! .
O, de whip’-will callin' notes ur pain-
Merlindy, 0, Merlindy!
0, honey lub, my turkle dub,
Doan' you hyuh my bawnjer ringin,
While de night-dew falls an' de bo’n owl calls
By de ol' ba'n gate Ise singin'.
0, Miss 'Lindy, doan' you hyuh me chil',
Merlindy! Merlindy!
My lub fur you des dribe me will-
Merlindy, 0, Merlindy!
I'll sing dis night twel broad day-light,
Ur bu's' my froat wid tryin',
'Less you come down, Miss 'Lindy Brown,
An' stops dis ba't f'um sighin'!


O chillen run, de Cunjab man,
Him mouf ez beeg ez fryin' pan,
Him yurs am small, bim eyes am raid,
Him hab no toof een him ol' haid,
Him hab him roots, bim wu'k him trick,
Him roll him eye, him mek you sick-
De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
O chillen run, de Cunjalı man!
Him bab ur ball ob raid, raid ba'r,
Him hide it un' de kitchen sta'r,
Mam Jude hub pars urlong dat way,
An' now hub hab ur snaik, dey say.
Him wrop ur roun' huh buddy tight,
Huh eyes pop out, ur orful sight-
De Cunjah man, de Cunjab man,
O chillen run, de Cunjab man!
Miss Jane, hul dribe him f'um hub do',
An' now hub hens woan' lay no mo';
De Jussey cow huh done fall sick,
Hit all done by de cunjab trick.
Him put ur rộot un' 'Lijah's baid,
An' now de man bo sho' am daid
De Cunjah man, de Cunjab man,
O chillen run, de Cunjah man!
Me see him stan' de yudder night
Right cen de road een white moon-light;
Him toss him arms, him whirl him 'roun',
Him stomp him foot urpon de groun’;
Do snaiks como crawlin', one by one,
Me hyub un: hiss, me break an' run-
De Cunjnh man, de Cunjah man,
O chillon run, dc Cunjah man!


I wus a nottin' by my winder
Lookin' out the othor day,
On the Airth all white with snowdrifts-
Look you ever which-a-way;
An' while it all wus cleanly
Like a soul that's washed from sin,
I could not help a longin'
Fur the robins an' the green.
I am tired of all this sollum white,
Bare boughs an' tongueless brook;
The Airth is like a shrouded corpse
No matter whur I look.
0, I want to see the robins
An' hear the bluebirds sing,
An' in the pon' below the barn
The bullfrog swear its Spring!
I want to see white turn to brown,
An' then the brown turn green,
The hillsides put their mournin' off
As fifty times I've seen.
0, I want to hear that tongue-tied brook
Go singin' on its way,
Ashoutin' as it runs along:
"The robins 've come to stay!"


When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
De teabs come stealin' down my cheek,
De voice ur God widin me speak';
I see myse'f so po' an' weak,
Down on my knces de cross I seek,
Whon ol' Sis' Judy pray.
When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
De thun'ers ur Mount Sin-a-i
Comes rushin' down f'um up on high-
De Debbil tu'n his back au' Ay
While sinnahs loud fur pa'don cry,
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.
When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
Ha'd sinnahs trimble in dey seat
Ter hyuh hul voice in sorrow 'peat:
(While all de chu'ch des sob an' weep)
"O Shepa'd, dese, dy po' los' sheep!"
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.
When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
De whole house hit des rock an' moan
Ter see huh teahs an' hyuh huh groan;
Dar's somepin' in Sis' Judy's tones
Dat melt all ba'ts dough med ur stones,
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.
When oli Sis' Judy pray,
Salvation's light comes pourin' down-
Hit all de chu'ch an' all de town
Why, angels' robes go rustlin' 'roun',
An' hebben on de Yurt am foun',
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.
When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
My soul go sweepin' up on wings,
An' loud de chu'ch wid “Glory!" rings,
An' wide de gates ur Jalspor swings
Twel you hyul hin'ps wid golding strings,
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.
When ol' Sis Judy die-
Froo triberlations justerfled,
I know do gates will des fly wide
An' wid King Jesus by hub side,
Straight froo dem gold-paved streets she'll ride,
Wben ol' Sis' Judy die!


'Way up in a gurret higli,
Just a few feet from the sky,
Dwell I in Boheinin.
What care I for aught below!
There have I nor friend nor foo;
l'ity I the struggling throng
While I live iny life of wong
l'p here in Boliomir.
"I'ween my toth iny briur root-
Best of friends, since always muto--
Ruru thing in Bohemia.
Upwurd as the thick sinoko curls
Whout curo I for simp'ring girls?
luovo in werk; iny pipes in mlrong,
Wlog for love, thos, lxs tloos monik
Sung loro in Bolieeniu?
Oft my little songs full tut.
llungry? What cure I for thut,
l'asting in Boheiniu?
Puit my only cont in porwal,
Live on that and still wing on;
Putt iny pipe and think I've clinoilc..
Burinccidul feusts ( tina
Often in Bolivinin.

Haply, then, my rhymelets tako,
With a clieck xay fast to brenk,
Feast we in Bohemia.
'Round the corner of the block,
Sign o'erhead a crowing cock,
Mug of beer and sandwich fine;
What care we how nabobs dine,
l'easting in Bohemia.
Friends have I, sono three or four-
Quite enough, for who has more,
In or out Bohemia?
With them joy is alway's young,
Grief is but a song that's sung;
Live wc, laugh we debonair,
Skies are bright and winds are fair
Always in Bohemia!

Man nerer is, but always to be hlcunod.
- Alcrander Pope
O, myslic Land of Some Day,
For thee our sails are sprend;
Thy mountains blue are looming
Above us just alcad;
“ Land ho!" the lookout's calling,
nown oars and sails are falling,
The land is just ahead !
O, ever just before us
Dim, hazy lies thy shore;
We see the breakers rolling,
We catch the mad surf's roar-
Yet vain the helmsman's stooring,
Despite our hoping, fearing-
Forever, just ahead!
We know, O Land of Some Day,
That on thy sun-kissed heights
Embodied dreams await us
That filled the long, long nights;
Thai face to face beholding,
With eager arms enfolding,
These visions we shall clasp.
We know in halls of marble
Play fountains icy cold;
On walls of alabaster
Hang pictures framed in gold;
That thro' the night time calling,
The bulbul’s notes are falling
Upon the ravished ear.

We kuow through thy dvoji vulleys
The purest streamlets tlow:
That ou thy southern hillsiden
The purplost vino-yaris glow;
That iu thy gule mouils rouping,
The l'uiront waids aru sweeping
Their sicklos 'round the grain.
Yo'l. never any neurir
Our vono comes to lanel,
Though by the porow-awaiting,
Right gerly we wland;
Though winds loluw never failing,
Still ever on we're sailing
To thee, (). Some Day Land!
O, wystic Land of Some Day,
Behold our sails spread wide,
As toward thy' azure mountuins
Verth softest skies we glide;
"Land ho!" the lowkout's calling,
Downı ours and sails are falling-
Forever, just ahead!


When the fruit trvos bileww,
Pink of ponch and white of plum,
And the peur-troes' cones of snow
In the olad huck orchari blow-
Plantal Bfty years ago!
And the cherries' long white row
Gives the sweetest prophecy
Of the banquet that will be,
When the suns and winds of June
Shall bave kissed to fruit the bloom-
Then Falstaffian buible-becs
Drain the blossoms to the lees,
When the fruit trees bloom.
When the fruit trees bloom,
Pink the apple, white the plum,
Underneath the knotted boughs
I am holding full carouse:
Drunken with the wine that drips
Downwarıl from each blossoin's lips,
Wbile the cathird's strident calls
Seern the laugh of bacchanals
Ringing through these winy halls;
Serenadeel by the bees,
Lullabies in minor keys,
Soon I sink in drunken drowse",


O, sweetheart, sweet of the Long Ago,
Maid of the blac, blue eyes;
You went ono day liko a Spring-time snow
And you loft mo hery, ah, long ago,
To dream of you there in Paraclisu,
My sweetheart, sweet of the Long Ago.
(), sweetheart, sweet, so long are the years,
Filled with a hud, sail pain;
There's little of laughter, much of tears,
So weak are lopes, so strong aru the fears,
So wuch of loss, xo little of guin
In the harvest of all the years!
But through my pain and thro' all my tears
One thing, sweethoart, I know:
When done with all the long, dreary years,
And shed the last of Life's bitter tears,
I shall find you, my sweetheart, I know.
Then shall I forget all the toilful years
And drown in the sea of love my fears,
My sweetheart, sweet of the Long Ago!


Heinrich, bring us three bottles of wino-
Wbat eball it be, boys ? Sherry or port ?
Cheers for old Bacchus, god of the vino,
Jolly old rounder, the Greeks report.
Sherry, sherry, bring us slıerry,
Fill the glasses, don't bo chary.
Bolt the door on fmwning care,
Praw tlie cork and tilt your chair;
Drink and sing the night away -
Day for work and night for play!
Heinrich, 'nother three bottles of wine,
Brown as the eye of a mid I know---
Cheers for the mailen, cheers for the vine,
Up to your feet, boye, now let her go!
Sherry, sherry, rich brown sherry,
Driew the cork and let's be merry.
llere's to all the brown-eyed maitt:;
Blue-eyel, black-eyeol and all shaudes;
Drink and sing the night away—
Day for work and night for play!
Heinrich, 'nother three bottles of wine,
And sily, good fellow, please clilk it (lown;
That last you bronglit was deuceally fine,
Bouquet charining; its color so brown.
Sherry, sherry, rich brown sherry,
Draw the cork and let's le merry.
We must drink if debts are made,
We must drink if they're not paid.
Drink and sing the night away--
Day for work and night for play!


And why should I be sad?
And wby should you be glad?
To-morrow will come
With the sunrisc gun,
When I may be glaul
While you may be sul-
Ah, whould I not wait till then?
Whout if the skies are gruye
And hide the sun away';
Tomorrow will wme
With the sunrine yun,
The sun will break througli,
The sky will be blue,
Ali, should we not wait till then?
(), sweetheart, 'way with teurs,
With wav'ring hopes and fears,
Your lover will come
With the sunrisc gun,
He'll bring you gifts froin many lands,
lle'll kiss your lips, he'll kiss your hands,
Ali, can you not. wnit till then?


The clanging fire-bells slook the air,
The maddened orowd roared like the son
And hurled its human waves 'gainst me--
Then tbrough the smoke a fuce gleamed fair
A moment brief--and then the crnah
As chariot wheels together dash;
Mad horser rear and plunge and scream-
It all comes back, an old, old drenm,
The brutal shout that shakes the walls
As in tbe dust my chariot falls,
The yellow cloud of strangling dust
And I 'neath broken chariot thrust,
The cruel fuces from the tiers-
'Then through it all a face appears,
With pity sweet and white with fears,
There in the box where Cresar encers!


Friends have I in Bohemia three-
My pipe, my dog, myself, you see
We make a jolly trinity-
We three are carcless Bohemians.
When editors reject my "stuff,
The larder's lean and things look “tough,"
My friend, the pipe, gives me a "pull"-
My friend number one in Bo-he-ini-a.
I look into iny dog's brown eyes,
He whines as if to sympathize,
That he's hungry you'd nc'er surmise,
My friend number two in Bohemia.
When I coine in I hear his bark
Shout welcome clown the stairwuy dark.
Just strike a match-yos, that's he-hark!
My friend number two in Bo-he mi-.
My pipe is more to me than maid,
It ne'er with my affections played,
Nor of my heart a football maule-
This friend number one in Bohemia.
My dog is more than man to ine',
lle never lied to me, you scc,
While man has lied to and on me
Gol save my friends in Bo-he-mi-a.


O, twice the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red;
8be blushes in the Spring-time,
When aroused from Winter's sleep,
She finds herself all naked
And the gaping world apcep,
0, then the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy real.

Once again the maple blushes, blushes may, rosy rod;
She bluslics in the Autumn,
Wben she lays her robes aside
For the long, long sleep of Wintor,
And finds naught ’neath which to hide,
O, then the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy redl.



"What so rare as a day in June?"
() poet, bast thou never known
A NIGHT in rose-voluptuous June? .
High over all a broal, full moon,
Groy broken clouds that sink and swoou •
In foods of light,
Which down the sky's vast stoopness pour,'.
Ningara in all savo roar-
Sound lost in night!
Now Herrmadon the midnight moun,
The beetle's drumu, the frog'm bassoon,
And ningled with those risos shrill
The piccolo of whip-mor-will
Played in the boceli just on yon bill,
Now inoon-gold crownoil;
Then tinkling notes of light guitar,
With voices softened from afar,
Night lost in sound!

The Earth, a leper foul with scars and morom,
Jay naked in most hideous pliglit,
When Borena tung down his orainod rolx.
And hid from man the wick'ning night!
Iw wlioru Duouwbwr's wilown the doopuust luy,
The wheat of Juno thu brightst glou mm;
K'on nou deep sorrows when with putionou byrne,
Oft-timom 11011'21" Jonym logoned our brou now!
0, lonely pile on yonler hill,
I bear thy wigling, monning:
Make concord wavi within my mul,
Ilm (muutlens silla atoning!

Diana lay sleeping in the West,
Her snowy, lissome limbs were bare;
Her robe had slipped adown her breast
And Phæbus, 'raptured, saw her there.
The sleeper felt his look of flame
And restless, tossed her arms with grace;
Awoke—then blushing at her shame
Within bcr mantle hid her face!

She played,
And gleaming fingers touched the keys,
As if upon their souls she played,
While the mad desire grew fierce to seize
Them in the Bastile, swiftly made
Of my strong hands.
She played,
And o'er white shoulder flung a look
That almost drove me mad with pain;
My love ran toward her as the brook
When bank-brimmed o'er with April rain
Runs swift to sea.
She played —
A brook went purling o'er a stone,
Its rhythmic lip was dripping song;
Upon its bank I stood alone,
With brook and soul in concord strong,
And life so young.
She played
The tinkling sheep-bells filled the glade,
A thrush's song was in the air;
The water elms threw speckled shade,
Wild flowers were blooming everywhere,
The wbile she played.

She ceased,
And wbile'wbite arms were 'round my neck
And kisses on my lips were hot,
And love stood waiting at my beck,
I only know, I recked it naught-
Life seeineel so old !


I stood beside the Summer sea
And watched far out my Fisher Lass
Row swiftly in her boat to me,
And the sea shone like a glass.
She waved her strong, brown hand to me,
The boat flew swiftly in from sea,
The osprey laughed in wild, wild glee
To see her row so swift to me.
Laugh, laugh, sea-birds and glad, glad sea,
My soul laughs too in mad, mad glee;
I catch her in my waiting arms
And lose my fears of wrecks and storms;
I brush the sea-damp locks aside
And kiss the mouth she tries to hide.
I stand beside a Winter sea,
A storm-wrecked boat lies on the shore;
The sea moans sad an elegy,
For my lass rows in no more.
No more across the Summer sea
My Fisher Lass rows into me;
I wait each day upon the shore-
They say that she will come no more.
Moan, moan aloud, thou Winter sean
My Fisher Lass is lost to me!
The ships ride in, the ships ride out,
I hear their sailors' mournful shout,
Some day, I know, across the sea
My Fisher Lass will w to me.


Before the wide-mouthed hearth I sit,
While rudely rours the wind outdoor;
Upon the walls strange shadows flit
Or dervish-like dance on the floor;
Now softened to a minor strain,
As if it came from far away,
As if the wail of souls in pain,
The long imprisoned sunbeams' lay.
For aeons since when young was Time,
And Earth still wore the flush of Youth,
Long ere the birth of Man and Crime,
And dark browed Hate and tear-stained Ruth,
The tyrant Sun imprisoned in
The heart of oak and ash his beams
To expiato some unknown sin-
Some woodsprite told me in my dreams.
The flames that up the chimney race
And clap with glee their red, red hands,
Or snap their fingers in my face,
Or 'sault the wall in storming bands,
Are sunbeams bright but now set free
From centuries of prison dark
A spirit moves cach fame I see,
A sunbeam's soul is in each spark.


I see thy smile; at times, May's warm, young sun,
At times, December's cold and threat'ning sky;
Thy woman's hand aplucking at thy sword,
The lightning lurking in thy deep-set eye.
Alone, thy face a stage whereon doth play
Ambition, Hate, Lust, Murder; flitting out
And in the gloomy wings of thy dark soul-
A fearsome and a most unboly rout!
And yet withal a kingly look oft-times
Conveys an air of high-born royalty
That overshadows all thine awful crimes
And stamps e'en them somewhat with majesty.
Liar, Traitor, Murd'rer through all thy life-
HERO and King at Bosworth's fatal strife!


Into the soil a seed is, sown,
Out of the soul a song is wrung,
Out of the shell a pearl is gone,
Out of the cage a bird is flown,
Out of the body, a soul!
Unto a tree the seed is grown,
Wide in the world the
The pearl in a necklace gleams more fair,
The bird is flown to a sweeter air,
And Death is balf and Life is half,
And the two make up the whole!


O, rich young lord, thou ridest by
With looks of high disdain;
It chafes me not thy title high,
Thy blood of oldest strain.
The lady riding at thy side
Is but in name thy promised bride,
Ride on young lord, ride on!
Her father wills and she obeys,
The custom of her class;
'Tis Land not Love the trothing swayo
För Land he sells his lass.
Her fair white band, young lord, is thine,
Her soul, proud fool, her soul is mine,
Ride on young lord, ride on!
No title high my father bore;
The tenant of thy farm,
He left me what I value more:
Clean heart, clear brain, strong arm
And love for bird and beast and beo
And song of lark and hymn of sea,
Ride on young lord, ride on!
The boundless sky to me belongs,
The paltry acres thine;
The painted beauty sings thy songs,
The lavrock lilts me mine;
The hot-housod orchid blooms for thee,
The gorac and heather bloom for me,
Rido on young lord, ride on!


Hist, Dolores, I am coming,
Gently my guitar I'm thrumming,
'Neath thy casement softly humming,
Dolores, 0, carissima!
All the world but me is sleeping,
Nothing but the stars is peeping,
Up to thee my soul is leaping,
Dolores, O, carissima!
Rise, and wide thy shutter flinging,
List, O list, my soul is singing,
All my soul to love's time swinging,
Dolores, O, carissima!
Outward from thy casement leaning,
Turn thine eyes upon me beaming,
Twin stars thro' the darkness gleaming,
Dolores, 0, carissima!
Nightly 'neath thy casement singing,
All my soul with passion ringing,
Up to thee my soul I'm flinging,
Dolores, 0, carissima!
Thro' the summer's roses hoping,
Thro' the autumn's dead leaves groping,
Where the vine's dead leaves are dropping,
Dolores, 0, carissima!

Still, my love, O still thou'rt sleeping,
While my soul for thee is weeping,
While Love's hand the strings is bwerping,
Dolores, O, carissima!
When, o, when, this long sleep breaking,
Will thy love, to life awaking,
On thy lips my kisses taking,
Know thy lover, me, Francisco?

Some friends I had, they numbered three--
Tom, Loo and Ben; staunch friends were we.
0, life was sweot and Ilfo was young,
And love filled all the songs wo sung.
Boy's love for boy is stronger than
The honeyed love of maid for man,
Like David's love for Jonathan.
Life's tide rolled on, we all grew up
And drained the lees of manhood's cup-
A sweetheart parted Ben and me,
A race for office drove off Lee,
And money loaned was Tom's sole plea-
The money that was loaned by me.
Some friends I had, they numbered three-
My mother, wife, myself. You see
We made another trinity.
The first and second always true,
But shall I tell the truth to you?
I found the third, worst enemy.
More dangerous than the foe without,
Who rushes on with sword and shout,
Is Self, who never makes a din,
But, like a sapper, works within,
Until he undermines the wall
And sends it crashing to its fall!

Again my friends they number throom
Wife, mother, CHRIST-great trinity!
When in the fiery furnace tried
I found these three walked at my side;
They faced the flercest furnace heat
That 'gainst my shrinking soul did beat,
Nor storm nor calm nor Joy nor grief,
Nor trials sore beyond belief.
Myself within, flerco foes without,
Dismuy them not with battlo shout.
Aguin I count my friends as three-
Wife, mother, Christ, the strongest three,
My all suflicing trinity!


The startlod quail in oovies whir
Prom 'neath your feet as on you stray
Along the narrow thread-like path,
This cool October day.
The grouse's booming drum of bass
Peals t'rom the hollow on your right,
Till 'larumed by your near approach
He wheels in sudden flight.
And on the trunk of yon dead tree
The "flicker"'* beats his fierce tattoo,
Then hurls back from bis wave-like flight
Defiance slirill to you.
On every side the golden rod's
Long, graceful plumes of tawny gold.
And ageratum's purple bloom-
The banners of the wold.
The stubble of the June-reaped wheat
Stands up in bristling ranks of spears,
Its gold is covered now with frost,
Like warriors grey with ycars.
And over all the golden haze
Soft wraps the brown Earth in a dream,
While every breath across the fields
Rich draughts of rare wines seem.
•“Micker" is a local name in southern Ohio for the yellow hammer or
golden-winged woodpecker. He gets the name from his cry: "Micker!
Ticker! Flicker!"
His Night is undulatory.-AUTHOR.

There in the stream beneath the elmo,
The leaves, like ships of Lil'put, fair,
Drift down, sans rudders and sans sails
To ports that lie nowhere.
See in the field beyond the stream,
Pitched wide o'er all the bottom land,
An Indian village quaintly shown,
The cornslock wigwams stand.
Now, you are “near to nature's heart,"
You lie upon her tawny breast;
You feel her warm breath on your cheek
As in her arms you rest.


This pirate of the over sea,
No black-bulled brig he sails,
No blaok dag at the mizzen-peak
Flaunts death-heads to the gales.
Yet fiercer than the wild Corsair
This pirate of the upper air.
Watch how he listless drifts along,
His wings with winds at sport-
But look! a snil has hove in sight,
A dove has crossed to port.
Son how ho orowds on ov'ry sail
And sorcams his war-cry to the galo.
The frightened dove-& merchantman
Has not a gun to give him fight;
With all her canvas to the wind,
She tacks to starboard, wild with fright.
Abli vain for her this tack to take,
Like Fate he follows in her wake!
She weakens in her useless flight,
The wind is beating in her face.
But watch him as he drives along,
His ev'ry motion—strength and grace-
She's overhauled! Her course is run!
A fierce, fierce scream, the chase is won!


Poor harlot, Mary Magdalene,
Into the feast with trembling crept,
Past frowns that stabbed her with their bato
And falling at His feet she wept.
Self-righteous Simon spurned her there
And marveled that her sinful touch
Displeased Him not, but he forgave:
Though sinning sore she love'd much."
Brave, grateful Mary Magdalene,
When Peter all his faith had lost,
Pressed on through sworils of arme'd men
And knelt in grief beneath the cross;
She bathed the nail-pierced fout with tears
That mingled with His trickling bloou,
While Andrew, Matthew, James and all
Far off in abject terror stood.
Through all that morning's doubt and gloom,
When Hope and Faith had fled the world,
Brought from that empty shattered tomb
The words that thrill a suve'd world
With flying feet and sobbing breath:
o The Christ is risen as he said,
Triumphant Lord of conquered Death!''


I know 'twas a dream, yet sweet was the themo,
And I strive to rocall its splendor-
My soul upward leaps as Thought backward sweeps
To my dream so warm and so tender.
Where sea billows toss 'neath the bright Southern cross,
By the sea lay I idly dreaming,
While the stars burned a way from Night uuto Day
And the waves like helmets wore gleaming.
A maid came and stood at the neck of the wood
And her locks on the Night were streaming,
She was tall ns pines that rock in the winds,
And her oyos liko Orion wero glenming.
Sho camo to me there and caught up her hair
And spread it a mantle above mo-
U my soul grew sick and the hot air thick
As sho whispered: “Como sweet, now love me."
I kissod the red mouth of th' passionate South,
Till my lips with kissing grow husky,
I lookod in the eyes that woro storm-charged skies,
'Nonth tho cloud of hor thick locks dusky.
Tlion up the Dny cnmc with cohorts of flnme
And the Soul of the South Wind left me,
And Joy fled away with the Rise of the Day,
For Day, of my Lovo hnd beroft mo.
I know 'twas a dream, yot swout was the theme,
And I strive to recall its splendor-
My soul upward leaps as Thought backward sweeps
To my dream so warm and so tender.


Heigho for glass, heigho for a lase,
A drink and a kiss, I leave you;
Heigbo for a friend that sticks till the end
Good-bye, my lass, don't you griove you.
Hurrah for a song that is not too long,
With a Jolly roaring chorus,
While our cans boat time to the ringing rhyme
Till tho ceiling cracks up o'er us.
Hoigho for an eye as blue as the sky
And a mouth that's red and tondor;
For a cbin that's round and a check that's browa
As the oak leaves in November.
Hurrah for a horse on a wind.swept course
And a night as black as hell is,
And a gallop blind in faco o' the wind
To calm a soul that foll is.
Hoiglo for a glass, lioiglo for a lass,
A drink and a kiss, I leave you;
Heigho for a friond that sticks til!l the end-
Good-bye, my Inse, don't you grieve you.


The poet stood in ecstasy
Before the field with daisies sweet
A waving sea of white and gold:
Well named," he said, Sweet Marguerite.
Fair as her own sweet self you are,
You reprosent her better part-
White as the newest snow without,
And deep within, all gold at heart."
Then, stooping low with eyes all soul,
He plucked one for his button-hole.
The farmer leaned across the fence,
A scowl was on his wrinkled brow
As on the marguerites be frowned:
"Gosh darn the luck, I'll du it naow;
Them consarned weeds ull taak the place,
They're baout tu rưn me off the farm;
Them air ox.eyes uv gut tu go
So they wont du the craps no harm."
Then pulling up an armful-big,
He threw them over to the pig !


Cheersen ! Cheewink ! O purety
We've come to stay, to stay.
Cheereen! Cheewink! You know it,
And smile as we pipe our lay.
Choorsea! Chcercon ! Cheewink! Cheereen!
Sce all the hillsides turning groon,
The sun is bright,
The sky is light,
Cheereen! Cheereen! Choereen !
Chcereen ! Cheewink! O poet,
We've come to play, to play.
Cheercen! Cheewink! You know it
O smile as we pipe our lay.
('heereen! Cheewink! Cheercen ! Cheewink !
O list our notes, they rise, thoy sink
Upon the air,
So rich, so rare,
Cheereen! Cheereen! Cheereen !
Cheereen! Cheewink! O toiler,
'Tis time to work, to work.
The brook tells thce, the brawler,
'Tis time to conso to shirk.
Chcorcen / Cheowink ! Chooroen ! Choowink !
Not of the toil but harvest think,
Bring out thy plow,
'Tis work time now,
Cheereen ! Cheereen! Cheereen!


Owned her father all the fact'ries
Which their black’ning smoke sent up,
Miles and miles all 'round the country,
From the town by hills pent up.
Traced he back his proud ancestry
To the Rock on Plymouth's shore,
Traced I mine to Dutch ship landing
At Jamestown, one year before.
Thus was she of haughty lineage,
I of mongrel race had sprung;
O'er my fathers in the workfield
Whips of scorpions had been swung.
Years of freedom were her race's,
Years of cruel slavery mine;
Years of culture were her race's,
Years of darkest ign'rance mine.
She a lily sought by all men,
I a thistle shunned by all;
She the Brahmin, I the Pariah
Who must e'er before her crawl.
Fair was I as her complexion,
Honest came my fairness, too,
For my father and my mother
Were in wedlock banded true.
Yes, this mixing of the races
Had been years, long years ago,
That you could not trace the streamlet
To the fountain wbence the flow.
Like an eagle long imprisoned
Soared I into realms of light,
Scorning all the narrow valley,
Where my wings had plumed for diglat.
In the Sun of modern science
I had soaring bathed my wings,
And rose higher, higher, HIGHER,
'Bove a world of narrow things.
Then on proudly soaring pinions
I forgot my lowly birth,
When Caste's arrow, venom laden,
Struck mc, shot me down to Earth.
Kind and friendly had she ever
Seemed and acted unto me,
Till of late a cold restrainment
Seemed to bar her manners free,
Then my sens'tivo soul quick thinking
That the Pride of Casto was born
In her mind, grew cold and distant,
Though it pricked me like a thorn,
And my thoughts grew dark and bitter,
Bitter as the wild aloe.
I became a sncering cynic,
Deeming every man a foe,
Scorning books while scorning people.
In their pages naught I saw
But I libelled, but I censured,
Every sentence found a flaw;
Til one night the mad mob gathered,
Called in voices wild and loud
I should quickly come before them,
And address the raging crowd.
They werc strikers, who were workmen
For her father stern anıl proud,
And they threatened to destroy him
And his works in curses loud.
At the call I' stepped before them,
And they greeted wild and strong,
And my heart grew hot with batred
Of Oppression, Caste and Wrong,
While ihe words poured out like lava
From the crater of my brain-
Burning, seething, hissing, raging
With the years of pent-up pain.
They bad gathered by the great works,
With their blazing furnace doors,
And the lofty, flaming chimneys,
Up whose throats the hot blast roars;
And the furnace threw its hot light
'Pon their toilworn, svarthy faces,
While the flames from out the chimnies
Painted heaven with their blazes.
In their hands they held their weapons
Tools for toil, and not for war;
On the great mill rolled and thundered,
Shaking heaven with its jar.
And their brows were dark with hatred,
And their cheeks were hot with ruge,
And their voices low were growling,
Like wild beasts penned in a cage.
And the tiger rose within me
With a growl that was a curse,
And I breathed his breath of passion,
And I felt bis awful thirst.

But her Imago come boforo me,
With ber sad, reproaceful eyes,
And her locks of sunset splendor
When the summer daylight dies.
Then banished was hot Passion,
While Mercy pleaded low,
And I cooled their angry fury,
As hot iron is cooled in snow.
And she comes and stands before me
As I gaze into the stream,
And I see her, I behold ber
As some vision in a dream,
And the waves of love come surging
And they sweep my will away,
For I love her, 0 I love her-
Aye, forever and a day!
And I called her: “ Ediel Edie!”
As I'd called her oft before,
When as little guileless children
We plucked lilies from this shore.
Oh my voice sobbed like 8 barp string
When the rough hand breaks a chord,
And it wailed and moaned as sadly
As some broken-hearted lard.
And she came up to me quickly
When I thus wailed out her name,
All her soul rose in her blue eyes
There was ne'er a look of shame,
And she threw her arms up to me
And I caught her to my heart,
While the whole earth reeled beneath me
And the heavens fell apart !
Faint and trombling then I asked her
What the cruel world would say,
While she blashed but spoke out bravely:
"We'll forget the World to-day.
This I only know, I love you,
I have loved you all the while;
What care I then for your lineage
Or the barsh world's frown or smile.
Men are noble from their actions,
From their deeds and theirs alone,
Father's deeds are not their children's
Reap not that by others sown.
They are naught but dwarfish pigmies
Who would scorn you for your birth;
Who would scorn you for your lineage,
Raise they not their eyes from Earth.
What is blood? The human body?
Trace it back, it leads to dust,
Trace it forward, same conclusion,
Naught but vile dust find you must.
But the soul is sent froin heaven
And the Sculptor-Hand is God's
Part and parcel of his being,
While our bodies are but clods 1"