Chapter 2
Alas, what cared those Injun chiefs How bitterly wailed she? They never had been mothers, And they could not hope to be!
"Have done with tears," they rudely quoth, And then they bound her hands; For they proposed to take her off To distant border lands.
But, joy! from Mr. Eddy's barn Doth Willie Clow behold The sight that makes his hair rise up And all his blood run cold.
He put his fingers in his mouth And whistled long and clear, And presently a goodly horde Of cow-boys did appear.
Cried Willie Clow: "My comrades bold, Haste to the Waller Lot, And rescue from that Injun band Our charming Sissy Knott!"
"Spare neither Injun buck nor squaw, But smite them hide and hair! Spare neither sex nor age nor size, And no condition spare!"
Then sped that cow-boy band away, Full of revengeful wrath, And Kendall Evans rode ahead Upon a hickory lath.
And next came gallant Dady Field And Willie's brother Kent, The Eddy boys and Robbie James, On murderous purpose bent.
For they were much beholden to That maid--in sooth, the lot Were very, very much in love With charming Sissy Knott.
What wonder? She was beauty's queen, And good beyond compare; Moreover, it was known she was Her wealthy father's heir!
Now when the Injuns saw that band They trembled with affright, And yet they thought the cheapest thing To do was stay and fight.
So sturdily they stood their ground, Nor would their prisoner yield, Despite the wrath of Willie Clow And gallant Dady Field.
Oh, never fiercer battle raged Upon the Waller Lot, And never blood more freely flowed Than flowed for Sissy Knott!
An Injun chief of monstrous size Got Kendall Evans down, And Robbie James was soon o'erthrown By one of great renown.
And Dady Field was sorely done, And Willie Clow was hurt, And all that gallant cow-boy band Lay wallowing in the dirt.
But still they strove with might and main Till all the Waller Lot Was strewn with hair and gouts of gore-- All, all for Sissy Knott!
Then cried the maiden in despair: "Alas, I sadly fear The battle and my hopes are lost, Unless some help appear!"
Lo, as she spoke, she saw afar The rescuer looming up-- The pride of all Buena Park, Clow's famous yellow pup!
"Now, sick'em, Don," the maiden cried, "Now, sick'em, Don!" cried she; Obedient Don at once complied-- As ordered, so did he.
He sicked'em all so passing well That, overcome by fright, The Indian horde gave up the fray And safety sought in flight.
They ran and ran and ran and ran O'er valley, plain, and hill; And if they are not walking now, Why, then, they're running still.
The cow-boys rose up from the dust With faces black and blue; "Remember, beauteous maid," said they, "We've bled and died for you!"
"And though we suffer grievously, We gladly hail the lot That brings us toils and pains and wounds For charming Sissy Knott!"
But Sissy Knott still wailed and wept, And still her fate reviled; For who could patch her dolly up-- Who, who could mend her child?
Then out her doting mother came, And soothed her daughter then; "Grieve not, my darling, I will sew Your dolly up again!"
Joy soon succeeded unto grief, And tears were soon dried up, And dignities were heaped upon Clow's noble yellow pup.
Him all that goodly company Did as deliverer hail-- They tied a ribbon round his neck, Another round his tail.
And every anniversary day Upon the Waller Lot They celebrate the victory won For charming Sissy Knott.
And I, the poet of these folk, Am ordered to compile This truly famous history In good old ballad style.
Which having done as to have earned The sweet rewards of fame, In what same style I did begin I now shall end the same.
So let us sing: Long live the King, Long live the Queen and Jack, Long live the ten-spot and the ace, And also all the pack.
THE STORK
Last night the Stork came stalking, And, Stork, beneath your wing Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber, The tiniest little thing! From Babyland, out yonder Beside a silver sea, You brought a priceless treasure As gift to mine and me!
Last night my dear one listened-- And, wife, you knew the cry-- The dear old Stork has sought our home A many times gone by! And in your gentle bosom I found the pretty thing That from the realm out yonder Our friend the Stork did bring.
Last night a babe awakened, And, babe, how strange and new Must seem the home and people The Stork has brought you to; And yet methinks you like them-- You neither stare nor weep, But closer to my dear one You cuddle, and you sleep!
Last night my heart grew fonder-- O happy heart of mine, Sing of the inspirations That round my pathway shine! And sing your sweetest love-song To this dear nestling wee The Stork from 'Way-Out-Yonder Hath brought to mine and me!
THE BOTTLE TREE
A bottle tree bloometh in Winkyway land-- Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! A snug little berth in that ship I demand That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies away Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day And reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand; You take of that fruit as much as you list, For colic's a nuisance that doesn't exist! So cuddle me and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast-- Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day! Heigh-ho for Winkyway land! And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I've heard people say) Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand-- And that is a trick I would fain understand! Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day! And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night-- A bottle of milk that is creamy and white! So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast-- Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
GOOGLY-GOO
Of mornings, bright and early, When the lark is on the wing And the robin in the maple Hops from her nest to sing, From yonder cheery chamber Cometh a mellow coo-- 'T is the sweet, persuasive treble Of my little Googly-Goo!
The sunbeams hear his music, And they seek his little bed, And they dance their prettiest dances Round his golden curly head: Schottisches, galops, minuets, Gavottes and waltzes, too, Dance they unto the music Of my googling Googly-Goo.
My heart--my heart it leapeth To hear that treble tone; What music like thy music, My darling and mine own! And patiently--yes, cheerfully I toil the long day through-- My labor seemeth lightened By the song of Googly-Goo!
I may not see his antics, Nor kiss his dimpled cheek: I may not smooth the tresses The sunbeams love to seek; It mattereth not--the echo Of his sweet, persuasive coo Recurreth to remind me Of my little Googly-Goo.
And when I come at evening, I stand without the door And patiently I listen For that dear sound once more; And oftentimes I wonder, "Oh, God! what should I do If any ill should happen To my little Googly-Goo!"
Then in affright I call him-- I hear his gleeful shouts! Begone, ye dread forebodings-- Begone, ye killing doubts! For, with my arms about him, My heart warms through and through With the oogling and the googling Of my little Googly-Goo!
THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE
Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice. Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose From his predisposition to chronic repose; But, rouse his ambition, he couldn't be beat-- Yer bet yer he got thar on all his four feet!
Mos' dorgs hez some forte--like huntin' an' such, But the sports o' the field didn't bother him much; Wuz just a plain dorg, an' contented to be On peaceable terms with the neighbors an' me; Used to fiddle an' squirm, and grunt "Oh, how nice!" When I tickled the back of that bench-legged fyce!
He wuz long in the bar'l, like a fyce oughter be; His color wuz yaller as ever you see; His tail, curlin' upward, wuz long, loose, an' slim-- When he didn't wag it, why, the tail it wagged him! His legs wuz so crooked, my bench-legged pup Wuz as tall settin' down as he wuz standin' up!
He'd lie by the stove of a night an' regret The various vittles an' things he had et; When a stranger, most likely a tramp, come along, He'd lift up his voice in significant song-- You wondered, by gum! how there ever wuz space In that bosom o' his'n to hold so much bass!
Of daytimes he'd sneak to the road an' lie down, An' tackle the country dorgs comin' to town; By common consent he wuz boss in St. Joe, For what he took hold of he never let go! An' a dude that come courtin' our girl left a slice Of his white flannel suit with our bench-legged fyce!
He wuz good to us kids--when we pulled at his fur Or twisted his tail he would never demur; He seemed to enjoy all our play an' our chaff, For his tongue 'u'd hang out an' he'd laff an' he'd laff; An' once, when the Hobart boy fell through the ice, He wuz drug clean ashore by that bench-legged fyce!
We all hev our choice, an' you, like the rest, Allow that the dorg which you've got is the best; I wouldn't give much for the boy 'at grows up With no friendship subsistin' 'tween him an' a pup! When a fellow gits old--I tell you it's nice To think of his youth and his bench-legged fyce!
To think of the springtime 'way back in St. Joe-- Of the peach-trees abloom an' the daisies ablow; To think of the play in the medder an' grove, When little legs wrassled an' little han's strove; To think of the loyalty, valor, an' truth Of the friendships that hallow the season of youth!
LITTLE MISS BRAG
Little Miss Brag has much to say To the rich little lady from over the way And the rich little lady puts out a lip As she looks at her own white, dainty slip, And wishes that she could wear a gown As pretty as gingham of faded brown! For little Miss Brag she lays much stress On the privileges of a gingham dress-- "Aha, Oho!"
The rich little lady from over the way Has beautiful dolls in vast array; Yet she envies the raggedy home-made doll She hears our little Miss Brag extol. For the raggedy doll can fear no hurt From wet, or heat, or tumble, or dirt! Her nose is inked, and her mouth is, too, And one eye's black and the other's blue-- "Aha, Oho!"
The rich little lady goes out to ride With footmen standing up outside, Yet wishes that, sometimes, after dark Her father would trundle her in the park;-- That, sometimes, her mother would sing the things Little Miss Brag says her mother sings When through the attic window streams The moonlight full of golden dreams-- "Aha, Oho!"
Yes, little Miss Brag has much to say To the rich little lady from over the way; And yet who knows but from her heart Often the bitter sighs upstart-- Uprise to lose their burn and sting In the grace of the tongue that loves to sing Praise of the treasures all its own! So I've come to love that treble tone-- "Aha, Oho!"
THE HUMMING TOP
The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song To my dear little boy at play-- Merrily singeth all day long, As it spinneth and spinneth away. And my dear little boy He laugheth with joy When he heareth the monotone Of that busy thing That loveth to sing The song that is all its own.
Hold fast the string and wind it tight, That the song be loud and clear; Now hurl the top with all your might Upon the banquette here; And straight from the string The joyous thing Boundeth and spinneth along, And it whirrs and it chirrs And it birrs and it purrs Ever its pretty song.
Will ever my dear little boy grow old, As some have grown before? Will ever his heart feel faint and cold, When he heareth the songs of yore? Will ever this toy Of my dear little boy, When the years have worn away, Sing sad and low Of the long ago, As it singeth to me to-day?
LADY BUTTON-EYES
When the busy day is done, And my weary little one Rocketh gently to and fro; When the night winds softly blow, And the crickets in the glen Chirp and chirp and chirp again; When upon the haunted green Fairies dance around their queen-- Then from yonder misty skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Through the murk and mist and gloam To our quiet, cozy home, Where to singing, sweet and low, Rocks a cradle to and fro; Where the clock's dull monotone Telleth of the day that's done; Where the moonbeams hover o'er Playthings sleeping on the floor-- Where my weary wee one lies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Cometh like a fleeting ghost From some distant eerie coast; Never footfall can you hear As that spirit fareth near-- Never whisper, never word From that shadow-queen is heard. In ethereal raiment dight, From the realm of fay and sprite In the depth of yonder skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Layeth she her hands upon My dear weary little one, And those white hands overspread Like a veil the curly head, Seem to fondle and caress Every little silken tress; Then she smooths the eyelids down Over those two eyes of brown-- In such soothing, tender wise Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Dearest, feel upon your brow That caressing magic now; For the crickets in the glen Chirp and chirp and chirp again, While upon the haunted green Fairies dance around their queen, And the moonbeams hover o'er Playthings sleeping on the floor-- Hush, my sweet! from yonder skies Cometh Lady Button-Eyes!
THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE
Play that my knee was a calico mare Saddled and bridled for Bumpville; Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare, And gallop away to Bumpville! I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat, For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet, And many adventures you're likely to meet As you journey along to Bumpville.
This calico mare both gallops and trots While whisking you off to Bumpville; She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots, In the tortuous road to Bumpville; And sometimes this strangely mercurial steed Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed, When one is en route to Bumpville!
She's scared of the cars when the engine goes "Toot!" Down by the crossing at Bumpville; You'd better look out for that treacherous brute Bearing you off to Bumpville! With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels, And executes jigs and Virginia reels-- Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels Dancing so wildly to Bumpville!
It's bumpytybump and it's jiggytyjog, Journeying on to Bumpville It's over the hilltop and down through the bog You ride on your way to Bumpville; It's rattletybang over boulder and stump, There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump, And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump, Mile after mile to bumpville!
Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing Making the journey to Bumpville, So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring An end to this ride to Bumpville; For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, The calico mare must be blowing and faint-- What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't! So play we have got to Bumpville!
THE BROOK
I looked in the brook and saw a face-- Heigh-ho, but a child was I! There were rushes and willows in that place, And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; And the brook it ran its own sweet way, As a child doth run in heedless play, And as it ran I heard it say: "Hasten with me To the roistering sea That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!"
I look in the brook and see a face-- Heigh-ho, but the years go by! The rushes are dead in the old-time place, And the willows I knew when a child was I. And the brook it seemeth to me to say, As ever it stealeth on its way-- Solemnly now, and not in play: "Oh, come with me To the slumbrous sea That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!"
Heigh-ho, but the years go by-- I would to God that a child were I!
PICNIC-TIME
It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen, Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green"; Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, An' little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin' pants. It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine-- There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine!
One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained! (But grampa says that that's the way "baptizo" is explained.) And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun-- But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun! They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies, That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes! Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine!
But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me, For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.; Why should a liberal universalist like me object To share the joys of fellowship with every friendly sect? However het'rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be, Their doctrine of fried chick'n is a savin' grace to me! So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine, They're goin' to give a picnic, and I'm goin' to jine!
SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS
Shuffle-shoon and Amber-Locks Sit together, building blocks; Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray, Amber-Locks a little child, But together at their play Age and Youth are reconciled, And with sympathetic glee Build their castles fair to see.
"When I grow to be a man" (So the wee one's prattle ran), "I shall build a castle so-- With a gateway broad and grand; Here a pretty vine shall grow, There a soldier guard shall stand; And the tower shall be so high, Folks will wonder, by and by!"
Shuffle-Shoon quoth: "Yes, I know; Thus I builded long ago! Here a gate and there a wall, Here a window, there a door; Here a steeple wondrous tall Riseth ever more and more! But the years have leveled low What I builded long ago!"
So they gossip at their play, Heedless of the fleeting day; One speaks of the Long Ago Where his dead hopes buried lie; One with chubby cheeks aglow Prattleth of the By and By; Side by side, they build their blocks-- Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks.
THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN
Come, my little one, with me! There are wondrous sights to see As the evening shadows fall; In your pretty cap and gown, Don't detain The Shut-Eye train-- "Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, "Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth, And we hear the warning call: "All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!"
Over hill and over plain Soon will speed the Shut-Eye train! Through the blue where bloom the stars And the Mother Moon looks down We'll away To land of Fay-- Oh, the sights that we shall see there! Come, my little one, with me there-- 'T is a goodly train of cars-- All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
Swifter than a wild bird's flight, Through the realms of fleecy light We shall speed and speed away! Let the Night in envy frown-- What care we How wroth she be! To the Balow-land above us, To the Balow-folk who love us, Let us hasten while we may-- All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
Shut-Eye Town is passing fair-- Golden dreams await us there; We shall dream those dreams, my dear, Till the Mother Moon goes down-- See unfold Delights untold! And in those mysterious places We shall see beloved faces And beloved voices hear In the grace of Shut-Eye Town.
Heavy are your eyes, my sweet, Weary are your little feet-- Nestle closer up to me In your pretty cap and gown; Don't detain The Shut-Eye train! "Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, "Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth Oh, the sights that we shall see! All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!
LITTLE-OH DEAR
See, what a wonderful garden is here, Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear! Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown-- Search ye the country and hunt ye the town And never ye'll meet with a garden so queer As this one I've made for my Little-Oh-Dear!
Marigolds white and buttercups blue, Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew, The cactus that trails over trellis and wall, Roses and pansies and violets--all Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer When into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear.
And up at the top of that lavender-tree A silver-bird singeth as only can she; For, ever and only, she singeth the song "I love you--I love you!" the happy day long;-- Then the echo--the echo that smiteth me here! "I love you, I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear!
The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly-- But what careth my little precious, or I? From her pathway of flowers that in spring time upstart She walketh the tenderer way in my heart And, oh, it is always the summer-time here With that song of "I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear!
THE FLY-AWAY HORSE