Part 5

Ponchus _pats_ fer me an’ sings; An’ he says _funny_ things! Ponchus calls a dish a “_deesh_”— Yes, an’ _he_ calls fishes “_feesh_”!

When Ma want him eat wiv us He says, “’Skuse me—’deed you mus’!— Ponchus know’ good manners, Miss.— He ain’ eat wher’ White-folks is!”

’Lindy takes _his_ dinner out Wher’ he’s workin’—roun’ about.— Wunst he et his dinner spread In our ole wheelborry-bed.

_Ponchus Pilut_ says “_’at’s_ not His _right_ name,—an’ done fergot What his _sho’-’nuff_ name is now— An’ don’ matter none _no_how!”

Yes, an’ Ponchus he’ps Pa, too, When our _butcherin’s_ to do, An’ scalds hogs—an’ says, “Take care ’Bout it, er you’ll _set the hair_!”

Yes, an’ out in our back-yard He he’ps ’Lindy rendur lard; An’, wite in the fire there, he Roast’ a pigtail wunst fer me.—

An’ ist nen th’ole tavurn-bell Rung, down-town, an’ he says, “Well!— Hear dat! _Lan’ o’ Caanan_, Son, Ain’t dat bell say ‘_Pigtail done!_’

—‘_Pigtail done!_ _Go call Son!—_ _Tell dat_ _Chile dat_ _Pigtail done!_’”

A TWINTORETTE

Ho! my little maiden With the glossy tresses, Come thou and dance with me A measure all divine; Let my breast be laden With but thy caresses— Come thou and glancingly Mate thy face with mine.

Thou shalt trill a rondel, While my lips are purling Some dainty twitterings Sweeter than the birds’; And, with arms that fondle Each as we go twirling, We will kiss, with titterings, Lisps and loving words.

SLUMBER-SONG

Sleep, little one! The Twilight folds her gloom Full tenderly about the drowsy Day, And all his tinselled hours of light and bloom Like toys are laid away.

Sleep! sleep! The noon-sky’s airy cloud of white Has deepened wide o’er all the azure plain; And, trailing through the leaves, the skirts of Night Are wet with dews as rain.

But rest thou sweetly, smiling in thy dreams, With round fists tossed like roses o’er thy head, And thy tranc’d lips and eyelids kissed with gleams Of rapture perfected.

THE CIRCUS PARADE

The Circus!—The Circus!—The throb of the drums, And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes; The clash and the clang of the cymbals that beat, As the glittering pageant winds down the long street!

In the Circus parade there is glory clean down From the first spangled horse to the mule of the Clown, With the gleam and the glint and the glamour and glare Of the days of enchantment all glimmering there!

And there are the banners of silvery fold Caressing the winds with their fringes of gold, And their high-lifted standards, with spear-tips aglow, And the helmeted knights that go riding below.

There’s the Chariot, wrought of some marvellous shell The Sea gave to Neptune, first washing it well With its fabulous waters of gold, till it gleams Like the galleon rare of an Argonaut’s dreams.

And the Elephant, too, (with his undulant stride That rocks the high throne of a king in his pride,) That in jungles of India shook from his flanks The tigers that leapt from the Jujubee-banks.

Here’s the long, ever-changing, mysterious line Of the Cages, with hints of their glories divine From the barred little windows, cut high in the rear, Where the close-hidden animals’ noses appear.

Here’s the Pyramid-car, with its splendor and flash, And the Goddess on high, in a hot-scarlet sash And a pen-wiper skirt!—O the rarest of sights Is this “Queen of the Air” in cerulean tights!

Then the far-away clash of the cymbals, and then The swoon of the tune ere it wakens again With the capering tones of the gallant cornet That go dancing away in a mad minuet.

The Circus!—The Circus!—The throb of the drums, And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes; The clash and the clang of the cymbals that beat, As the glittering pageant winds down the long street.

FOLKS AT LONESOMEVILLE

Pore-folks lives at Lonesomeville— Lawzy! but they’re pore! Houses with no winders in, And hardly any door: Chimbly all tore down, and no Smoke in that at all— Ist a stovepipe through a hole In the kitchen-wall!

Pump ’at’s got no handle on; And no woodshed—And, _wooh!_— Mighty cold there, choppin’ wood, Like pore-folks has to do!— Winter-time, and snow and sleet Ist fairly fit to kill!— Hope to goodness _Santy Claus_ Goes to Lonesomeville!

THE THREE JOLLY HUNTERS

O there were three jolly hunters; And a-hunting they did go, With a spaniel-dog, and a pointer-dog, And a setter-dog also. Looky there!

And they hunted and they hal-looed; And the first thing they did find Was a dingling-dangling hornet’s-nest A-swinging in the wind. Looky there!

And the first one said—“What is it?” Said the next, “We’ll punch and see”: And the next one said, a mile from there, “I wish we’d let it be!” Looky there!

And they hunted and they hal-looed; And the next thing they did raise Was a bobbin’ bunny cottontail That vanished from their gaze. Looky there!

One said it was a hot base-ball, Zipped through the brambly thatch, But the others said ’twas a note by post, Or a telegraph-dispatch. Looky there!

So they hunted and they hal-looed; And the next thing they did sight Was a great big bulldog chasing them, And a farmer, hollerin’ “Skite!” Looky there!

And the first one said, “Hi-jinktum!” And the next, “Hi-jinktum-jee!” And the last one said, “Them very words Had just occurred to me!” Looky there!

THE LITTLE DOG-WOGGY

A Little Dog-Woggy Once walked round the World: So he shut up his house; and, forgetting His two puppy-children Locked in there, he curled Up his tail in pink bombazine netting, And set out To walk round The World.

He walked to Chicago, And heard of the Fair— Walked on to New York, where he _never_,— In fact, he discovered That many folks there Thought less of Chicago than ever, As he musing- Ly walked round The World.

He walked on to Boston, And round Bunker Hill, Bow-wowed, but no citizen heerd him— Till he ordered his baggage And called for his bill, And then, bless their souls! how they cheered him, As he gladly Walked on round The World.

He walked and walked on For a year and a day— Dropped down at his own door and panted, Till a teamster came driving Along the highway And told him that house there was ha’nted By the two starve- Dest pups in The World.

CHARMS

I

FOR CORNS AND THINGS

Prune your corn in the gray of the morn With a blade that’s shaved the dead, And barefoot go and hide it so The rain will rust it red: Dip your foot in the dew and put A print of it on the floor, And stew the fat of a brindle cat, And say this o’er and o’er:— Corny! morny! blady! dead! Gory! sory! rusty! red! Footsy! putsy! floory! stew! Fatsy! catsy! Mew! Mew! Come grease my corn In the gray of the morn! Mew! Mew! Mew!

II

TO REMOVE FRECKLES—SCOTCH ONES

Gae the mirkest night an’ stan’ ’Twixt twa graves, ane either han’; Wi’ the right han’ fumblin’ ken Wha the deid mon’s name’s ance be’n,— Wi’ the ither han’ sae read Wha’s neist neebor o’ the deid; An it be or wife or lass, Smoor tha twa han’s i’ the grass, Weshin’ either wi’ the ither, Then tha faice wi’ baith thegither; Syne ye’ll seeket at cockcraw— Ilka freeckle’s gang awa!

A FEW OF THE BIRD-FAMILY

The Old Bob-white, and Chipbird; The Flicker, and Chewink, And little hopty-skip bird Along the river-brink.

The Blackbird, and Snowbird, The Chicken-hawk, and Crane; The glossy old black Crow-bird, And Buzzard down the lane.

The Yellowbird, and Redbird, The Tomtit, and the Cat; The Thrush, and that Red_head_-bird The rests all pickin’ at!

The Jay-bird, and the Bluebird, The Sapsuck, and the Wren— The Cockadoodle-doo-bird, And our old Settin’-hen!

THROUGH SLEEPY-LAND

Where do you go when you go to sleep, Little Boy! Little Boy! where? ’Way—’way in where’s Little Bo-Peep, And Little Boy Blue, and the Cows and Sheep A-wandering ’way in there—in there— A-wandering ’way in there!

And what do you see when lost in dreams, Little Boy, ’way in there? Firefly-glimmers and glow-worm gleams, And silvery, low, slow-sliding streams, And mermaids, smiling out—’way in where They’re a-hiding—’way in there!

Where do you go when the Fairies call, Little Boy! Little Boy! where? Wade through the dews of the grasses tall, Hearing the weir and the waterfall And the Wee Folk—’way in there—in there— And the Kelpies—’way in there!

And what do you do when you wake at dawn, Little Boy! Little Boy! what? Hug my Mommy and kiss her on Her smiling eyelids, sweet and wan, And tell her everything I’ve forgot, A-wandering ’way in there—in there— Through the blind-world ’way in there!

THE TRESTLE AND THE BUCK-SAW

The Trestle and the Buck-Saw Went out a-walking once, And staid away and staid away For days and weeks and months: And when they got back home again, Of all that had occurred, The neighbors said the gossips said They never said a word.

THE KING OF OO-RINKTUM-JING

Dainty Baby Austin! Your Daddy’s gone to Boston To see the King Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing And the whale he rode acrost on!

Boston Town’s a city: But O it’s such a pity!— They’ll greet the King Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing With never a nursery ditty!

But me and you and Mother Can stay with Baby-brother, And sing of the King Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing And laugh at one another!

So what cares Baby Austin If Daddy _has_ gone to Boston To see the King Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing And the whale he rode acrost on?

THE TOY PENNY-DOG

Ma put my Penny-Dog Safe on the shelf, An’ left no one home but him, Me an’ myself; So I clumbed a big chair I pushed to the wall— But the Toy Penny-Dog Ain’t there at all! I went back to Dolly— An’ _she_ ’uz gone too, An’ little Switch ’uz layin’ there;— An’ Ma says “_Boo!_”— An’ there she wuz a-peepin’ Through the front-room door: An’ I ain’t goin’ to be a bad Little girl no more!

JARGON-JINGLE

Tawdery!—faddery! Feathers and fuss! Mummery!—flummery! wusser and wuss! All o’ Humanity—Vanity Fair!— Heaven for nothin’, and—nobody there!

THE GREAT EXPLORER

He sailed o’er the weltery watery miles For a tabular year-and-a-day, To the kindless, kinkable Cannibal Isles He sailed and he sailed away! He captured a loon in a wild lagoon, And a yak that weeps and smiles, And a bustard-bird, and a blue baboon, In the kindless Cannibal Isles And wilds Of the kinkable Cannibal Isles.

He swiped in bats with his butterfly-net, In the kinkable Cannibal Isles, And got short-waisted and over-het In the haunts of the crocodiles; And nine or ten little Pygmy Men Of the quaintest shapes and styles He shipped back home to his old Aunt Jenn, From the kindless Cannibal Isles And wilds Of the kinkable Cannibal Isles.

THE SCHOOL-BOY’S FAVORITE

_“Over the river and through the wood_ _Now Grandmother’s cap I spy:_ _Hurrah for the fun!—Is the pudding done?_ _Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!”_

SCHOOL READER.

Fer any boy ’at’s little as me, Er any little girl, That-un’s the goodest poetry-piece In any book in the worl’! An’ ef grown-peoples wuz little ag’in I bet they’d say so, too, Ef _they’d_ go see _their_ ole Gran’ma, Like our Pa lets _us_ do!

_Over the river an’ through the wood_ _Now Gran’mother’s cap I spy:_ _Hurrah fer the fun!—Is the puddin’ done?—_ _Hurrah fer the punkin-pie!_

An’ ’ll tell you _why_ ’at’s the goodest piece:— ’Cause it’s ist like _we_ go To _our_ Gran’ma’s, a-visitun there, When our Pa he says so; An’ Ma she fixes my little cape-coat An’ little fuzz-cap; an’ Pa He tucks me away—an’ yells “_Hoo-ray!_”— An’ whacks Ole Gray, an’ drives the sleigh Fastest you ever saw!

_Over the river an’ through the wood_ _Now Gran’mother’s cap I spy:_ _Hurrah fer the fun!—Is the puddin’ done?—_ _Hurrah fer the punkin-pie!_

An’ Pa ist snuggles me ’tween his knees— An’ I he’p hold the lines, An’ peek out over the buffalo-robe;— An’ the wind ist _blows_!—an’ the snow ist _snows_!— An’ the sun ist shines! an’ shines!— An’ th’ ole horse tosses his head an’ coughs The frost back in our face.— An’ I ruther go to my Gran’ma’s Than any other place!

_Over the river an’ through the wood_ _Now Gran’mother’s cap I spy:_ _Hurrah fer the fun!—Is the puddin’ done?—_ _Hurrah fer the punkin-pie!_

An’ all the peoples they is in town Watches us whizzin’ past To go a-visitun _our_ Gran’ma’s, Like we all went there last;— But _they_ can’t go, like ist _our_ folks An’ Johnny an’ Lotty, an’ three Er four neighber-childerns, an’ Rober-ut Volney, An’ Charley an’ Maggy an’ me!

_Over the river an’ through the wood_ _Now Gran’mother’s cap I spy:_ _Hurrah fer the fun!—Is the puddin’ done?—_ _Hurrah fer the punkin-pie!_

ALBUMANIA

_Some certain misty yet tenable signs_ _Of the oracular Raggedy Man,_ _Happily found in these fugitive lines_ _Culled from the album of ’Lizabuth Ann._

FRIENDSHIP

O Friendship, when I muse on you, As thoughtful minds, O Friendship, do, I muse, O Friendship, o’er and o’er, O Friendship—as I said before.

LIFE

“What is Life?” If the _Dead_ might say, ’Spect they’d answer, under breath, Sorry-like yet a-laughin’:—A Poor pale yesterday of Death!

LIFE’S HAPPIEST HOURS

Best, I guess, Was the old “_Recess_.”— ’Way back there’s where I’d love to be— Shet of each lesson and hateful rule, When the whole round World was as sweet to me As the big ripe apple I brung to School.

MARION-COUNTY MAN HOMESICK ABROAD

I, who had hobnobbed with the shades of kings, And canvassed grasses from old masters’ graves, And in cathedrals stood and looked at things In niches, crypts and naves;— My heavy heart was sagging with its woe, Nor Hope to prop it up, nor Promise, nor One woman’s hands—and O I wanted so To be felt sorry for!

BIRDY! BIRDY!

The Redbreast loves the blooming bough— The Bluebird loves it same as he;— And as they sit and sing there now, So do I sing to thee— Only, dear heart, unlike the birds, I do not climb a tree To sing— I do not climb a tree.

When o’er this page, in happy years to come, Thou jokest on these lines and on my name, Doubt not my love and say, “Though he lies dumb, He’s lying, just the same!”

THE LITTLE MOCK-MAN

The Little Mock-man on the Stairs— He mocks the lady’s horse ’at rares At bi-sickles an’ things,— He mocks the mens ’at rides ’em, too; An’ mocks the Movers, drivin’ through. An’ hollers, “Here’s the way _you_ do With them-air hitchin’-strings!” “Ho! ho!” he’ll say, Ole Settlers’ Day, When they’re all jogglin’ by,— “You look like _this_,” He’ll say, an’ twis’ His mouth an’ squint his eye An’ ’tend-like _he_ wuz beat the bass Drum at both ends—an’ toots an’ blares Ole dinner-horn an’ puffs his face— The Little Mock-man on the Stairs!

The Little Mock-man on the Stairs Mocks all the peoples all he cares ’At passes up an’ down! He mocks the chickens round the door, An’ mocks the girl ’at scrubs the floor, An’ mocks the rich, an’ mocks the pore, An’ ever’thing in town! “Ho! ho!” says he, To you er me; An’ ef we turns an’ looks, He’s all cross-eyed An’ mouth all wide Like Giunts is, in books.— “Ho! ho!” he yells, “look here at _me_,” An’ rolls his fat eyes roun’ an’ glares,— “_You_ look like _this_!” he says, says he— The Little Mock-man on the Stairs!

_The Little Mock—_ _The Little Mock—_ _The Little Mock-man on the Stairs,_ _He mocks the music-box an’ clock,_ _An’ roller-sofy an’ the chairs;_ _He mocks his Pa, an’ specs he wears;_ _He mocks the man ’at picks the pears_ _An’ plums an’ peaches on the shares;_ _He mocks the monkeys an’ the bears_ _On picture-bills, an’ rips an’ tears_ _’Em down,—an’ mocks ist all he cares,_ _An’ EVER’body EVER’wheres!_

SUMMER-TIME AND WINTER-TIME

In the golden noon-shine, Or in the pink of dawn; In the silver moonshine, Or when the moon is gone; Open eyes, or drowsy lids, ’Wake or ’most asleep, I can hear the katydids,— “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!”

Only in the winter-time Do they ever stop, In the chip-and-splinter-time, When the backlogs pop,— Then it is, the kettle-lids, While the sparkles leap, Lisp like the katydids,— “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!”

HOME-MADE RIDDLES—ALL BUT THE ANSWERS

I

No one ever saw it Till I dug it from the ground; I found it when I lost it, And lost it when I found: I washed it, and dressed it, And buried it once more— Dug it up, and loved it then Better than before. I was paid for finding it— I don’t know why or how,— But I lost, found, and kept it, And haven’t got it now.

II

Sometimes it’s all alone— Sometimes in a crowd; It says a thousand bright things, But never talks aloud. Everybody loves it, And likes to have it call, But if you shouldn’t happen to, It wouldn’t care at all. First you see or hear of it, It’s a-singing,—then You may look and listen, But it never sings again.

THE LOVELY CHILD

Lilies are both pure and fair, Growing ’midst the roses there— Roses, too, both red and pink, Are quite beautiful, I think.

But of all bright blossoms—best— Purest—fairest—loveliest,— Could there be a sweeter thing Than a primrose, blossoming?

THE YELLOWBIRD

Hey! my little Yellowbird, What you doing there? Like a flashing sun-ray, Flitting everywhere: Dangling down the tall weeds And the hollyhocks, And the lordly sunflowers Along the garden-walks.

Ho! my gallant Golden-bill, Pecking ’mongst the weeds, You must have for breakfast Golden flower-seeds: Won’t you tell a little fellow What you have for _tea_?— ’Spect a peck o’ yellow, mellow Pippin on the tree.

ENVOY

When but a little boy, it seemed My dearest rapture ran In fancy ever, when I dreamed I was a man—a man!

Now—sad perversity!—my theme Of rarest, purest joy Is when, in fancy blest, I dream I am a little boy.