Chapter 17

O brothah, w'en de tempes' beat, An' w'en yo' weary head an' feet Can't fin' no place to res', Jes' 'membah dat de Mastah 's nigh, An' putty soon you 'll hyeah de cry, "Lay low in de wildaness."

O sistah, w'en de rain come down, An' all yo' hopes is 'bout to drown, Don't trus' de Mastah less. He smilin' w'en you t'ink he frown, He ain' gwine let yo' soul sink down-- Lay low in de wildaness.

A SPIRITUAL

De 'cession's stahted on de gospel way, De Capting is a-drawin' nigh: Bettah stop a-foolin' an' a-try to pray; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Oh, sinnah mou'nin' in de dusty road, Hyeah 's de minute fu' to dry yo' eye: Dey 's a moughty One a-comin' fu' to baih yo' load; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Oh, widder weepin' by yo' husban's grave, Hit 's bettah fu' to sing den sigh: Hyeah come de Mastah wid de powah to save; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Oh, orphans a-weepin' lak de widder do, An' I wish you 'd tell me why: De Mastah is a mammy an' a pappy too; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Oh, Moses sot de sarpint in de wildahness W'en de chillun had commenced to die: Some 'efused to look, but hit cuohed de res'; Lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

Bow down, bow 'way down, Bow down, But lif' up yo' haid w'en de King go by!

THE MEMORY OF MARTHA

Out in de night a sad bird moans, An', oh, but hit 's moughty lonely; Times I kin sing, but mos' I groans, Fu' oh, but hit 's moughty lonely! Is you sleepin' well dis evenin', Marfy, deah? W'en I calls you fom de cabin, kin you hyeah? 'T ain't de same ol' place to me, Nuffin' 's lak hit used to be, W'en I knowed dat you was allus some'ers near.

Down by de road de shadders grows, An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely; Seem lak de ve'y moonlight knows, An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely! Does you know, I's cryin' fu' you, oh, my wife? Does you know dey ain't no joy no mo' in life? An' my only t'ought is dis, Dat I's honin' fu' de bliss Fu' to quit dis groun' o' worriment an' strife.

Dah on de baid my banjo lays, An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely; Can't even sta't a chune o' praise, An', oh, but hit's moughty lonely! Oh, hit's moughty slow a-waitin' hyeah below. Is you watchin' fu' me, Marfy, at de do'? Ef you is, in spite o' sin, Dey'll be sho' to let me in, Wen dey sees yo' face a-shinin', den dey'll know.

W'EN I GITS HOME

It's moughty tiahsome layin' 'roun' Dis sorrer-laden earfly groun', An' oftentimes I thinks, thinks I, 'T would be a sweet t'ing des to die, An' go 'long home.

Home whaih de frien's I loved 'll say, "We've waited fu' you many a day, Come hyeah an' res' yo'se'f, an' know You's done wid sorrer an' wid woe, Now you's at home."

W'en I gits home some blessid day, I 'lows to th'ow my caihs erway, An' up an' down de shinin' street, Go singin' sof' an' low an' sweet, W'en I gits home.

I wish de day was neah at han', I's tiahed of dis grievin' lan', I's tiahed of de lonely yeahs, I want to des dry up my teahs, An' go 'long home.

Oh, Mastah, won't you sen' de call? My frien's is daih, my hope, my all. I 's waitin' whaih de road is rough, I want to hyeah you say, "Enough, Ol' man, come home!"

"HOWDY, HONEY, HOWDY!"

Do' a-stan'in' on a jar, fiah a-shinin' thoo, Ol' folks drowsin' 'roun' de place, wide awake is Lou, W'en I tap, she answeh, an' I see huh 'mence to grin, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"

Den I step erpon de log layin' at de do', Bless de Lawd, huh mammy an' huh pap's done 'menced to sno', Now's de time, ef evah, ef I's gwine to try an' win, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"

No use playin' on de aidge, trimblin' on de brink, Wen a body love a gal, tell huh whut he t'ink; W'en huh hea't is open fu' de love you gwine to gin, Pull yo'se'f togethah, suh, an' step right in.

Sweetes' imbitation dat a body evah hyeahed, Sweetah den de music of a lovesick mockin'-bird, Comin' f'om de gal you loves bettah den yo' kin, "Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"

At de gate o' heaven w'en de storm o' life is pas', 'Spec' I 'll be a-stan'in', 'twell de Mastah say at las', "Hyeah he stan' all weary, but he winned his fight wid sin. Howdy, honey, howdy, won't you step right in?"

THE UNSUNG HEROES

A song for the unsung heroes who rose in the country's need, When the life of the land was threatened by the slaver's cruel greed, For the men who came from the cornfield, who came from the plough and the flail, Who rallied round when they heard the sound of the mighty man of the rail.

They laid them down in the valleys, they laid them down in the wood, And the world looked on at the work they did, and whispered, "It is good." They fought their way on the hillside, they fought their way in the glen, And God looked down on their sinews brown, and said, "I have made them men."

They went to the blue lines gladly, and the blue lines took them in, And the men who saw their muskets' fire thought not of their dusky skin. The gray lines rose and melted beneath their scathing showers, And they said, "'T is true, they have force to do, these old slave boys of ours."

Ah, Wagner saw their glory, and Pillow knew their blood, That poured on a nation's altar, a sacrificial flood. Port Hudson heard their war-cry that smote its smoke-filled air, And the old free fires of their savage sires again were kindled there.

They laid them down where the rivers the greening valleys gem. And the song of the thund'rous cannon was their sole requiem, And the great smoke wreath that mingled its hue with the dusky cloud, Was the flag that furled o'er a saddened world, and the sheet that made their shroud.

Oh, Mighty God of the Battles Who held them in Thy hand, Who gave them strength through the whole day's length, to fight for their native land, They are lying dead on the hillsides, they are lying dead on the plain, And we have not fire to smite the lyre and sing them one brief strain.

Give, Thou, some seer the power to sing them in their might, The men who feared the master's whip, but did not fear the fight; That he may tell of their virtues as minstrels did of old, Till the pride of face and the hate of race grow obsolete and cold.

A song for the unsung heroes who stood the awful test, When the humblest host that the land could boast went forth to meet the best; A song for the unsung heroes who fell on the bloody sod, Who fought their way from night to day and struggled up to God.

THE POOL

By the pool that I see in my dreams, dear love, I have sat with you time and again; And listened beneath the dank leaves, dear love, To the sibilant sound of the rain.

And the pool, it is silvery bright, dear love, And as pure as the heart of a maid, As sparkling and dimpling, it darkles and shines In the depths of the heart of the glade.

But, oh, I 've a wish in my soul, dear love, (The wish of a dreamer, it seems,) That I might wash free of my sins, dear love, In the pool that I see in my dreams.

POSSESSION

Whose little lady is you, chile, Whose little gal is you? What's de use o' kiver'n up yo' face? Chile, dat ain't de way to do. Lemme see yo' little eyes, Tek yo' little han's down nice, Lawd, you wuff a million bills, Huh uh, chile, dat ain't yo' price.

Honey, de money ain't been made Dat dey could pay fu' you; 'T ain't no use a-biddin'; you too high Fu' de riches' Jap er Jew. Lemme see you smilin' now, How dem teef o' yo'n do shine, An' de t'ing dat meks me laff Is dat all o' you is mine.

How 's I gwine to tell you how I feel, How's I gwine to weigh yo' wuff? Oh, you sholy is de sweetes' t'ing Walkin' on dis blessed earf. Possum is de sweetes' meat, Cidah is the nices' drink, But my little lady-bird Is de bes' of all, I t'ink.

Talk erbout 'uligion he'pin' folks All thoo de way o' life, Gin de res' 'uligion, des' gin me You, my little lady-wife. Den de days kin come all ha'd, Den de nights kin come all black, Des' you tek me by de han', An' I'll stumble on de track.

Stumble on de way to Gawd, my chile, Stumble on, an' mebbe fall; But I'll keep a-trottin', while you lead on, Pickin' an' a-trottin', dat's all. Hol' me mighty tight, dough, chile, Fu' hit's rough an' rocky lan', Heaben 's at de en', I know, So I's leanin' on yo' han'.

THE OLD FRONT GATE

W'en daih 's chillun in de house, Dey keep on a-gittin' tall; But de folks don' seem to see Dat dey 's growin' up at all, 'Twell dey fin' out some fine day Dat de gals has 'menced to grow, Wen dey notice as dey pass Dat de front gate 's saggin' low.

Wen de hinges creak an' cry, An' de bahs go slantin' down, You kin reckon dat hit's time Fu' to cas' yo' eye erroun', 'Cause daih ain't no 'sputin' dis, Hit's de trues' sign to show Dat daih 's cou'tin' goin' on Wen de ol' front gate sags low.

Oh, you grumble an' complain, An' you prop dat gate up right; But you notice right nex' day Dat hit's in de same ol' plight. So you fin' dat hit's a rule, An' daih ain' no use to blow, W'en de gals is growin' up, Dat de front gate will sag low.

Den you t'ink o' yo' young days, W'en you cou'ted Sally Jane, An' you so't o' feel ashamed Fu' to grumble an' complain, 'Cause yo' ricerlection says, An' you know hits wo'ds is so, Dat huh pappy had a time Wid his front gate saggin' low.

So you jes' looks on an' smiles At 'em leanin' on de gate, Tryin' to t'ink whut he kin say Fu' to keep him daih so late, But you lets dat gate erlone, Fu' yo' 'sperunce goes to show, 'Twell de gals is ma'ied off, It gwine keep on saggin' low.

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER

In the east the morning comes, Hear the rollin' of the drums On the hill. But the heart that beat as they beat In the battle's raging day heat Lieth still. Unto him the night has come, Though they roll the morning drum.

What is in the bugle's blast? It is: "Victory at last! Now for rest." But, my comrades, come behold him, Where our colors now enfold him, And his breast Bares no more to meet the blade, But lies covered in the shade.

What a stir there is to-day! They are laying him away Where he fell. There the flag goes draped before him; Now they pile the grave sod o'er him With a knell. And he answers to his name In the higher ranks of fame.

There's a woman left to mourn For the child that she has borne In travail. But her heart beats high and higher, With the patriot mother's fire, At the tale. She has borne and lost a son, But her work and his are done.

Fling the flag out, let it wave; They 're returning from the grave-- "Double quick!" And the cymbals now are crashing, Bright his comrades' eyes are flashing From the thick Battle-ranks which knew him brave, No tears for a hero's grave.

In the east the morning comes, Hear the rattle of the drums Far away. Now no time for grief's pursuing, Other work is for the doing, Here to-day. He is sleeping, let him rest With the flag across his breast.

A FROLIC

Swing yo' lady roun' an' roun', Do de bes' you know; Mek yo' bow an' p'omenade Up an' down de flo'; Mek dat banjo hump huhse'f. Listen at huh talk: Mastah gone to town to-night; 'T ain't no time to walk.

Lif yo' feet an' flutter thoo, Run, Miss Lucy, run; Reckon you 'll be cotched an' kissed 'Fo' de night is done. You don't need to be so proud-- I's a-watchin' you, An' I's layin' lots o' plans Fu' to git you, too.

Moonlight on de cotton-fiel' Shinin' sof an' white, Whippo'will a-tellin' tales Out thaih in de night; An' yo' cabin 's 'crost de lot: Run, Miss Lucy, run; Reckon you 'll be cotched an' kissed To' de night is done.

NODDIN' BY DE FIRE

Some folks t'inks hit's right an' p'opah, Soon ez bedtime come erroun', Fu' to scramble to de kiver, Lak dey 'd hyeahed de trumpet soun'. But dese people dey all misses Whut I mos'ly does desiah; Dat 's de settin' roun' an' dozin', An' a-noddin' by de fiah.

When you 's tiahed out a-hoein', Er a-followin' de plough, Whut's de use of des a-fallin' On yo' pallet lak a cow? W'y, de fun is all in waitin' In de face of all de tiah, An' a-dozin' and a-drowsin' By a good ol' hick'ry fiah.

Oh, you grunts an' groans an' mumbles Case yo' bones is full o' col', Dough you feels de joy a-tricklin' Roun' de co'nahs of yo' soul. An' you 'low anothah minute 'S sho to git you wa'm an' dryah, W'en you set up pas' yo' bedtime, Case you hates to leave de fiah.

Whut's de use o' downright sleepin'? You can't feel it while it las', An' you git up feelin' sorry W'en de time fu' it is pas'. Seem to me dat time too precious, An' de houahs too short entiah, Fu' to sleep, w'en you could spen' 'em Des a-noddin' by de fiah.

LOVE'S CASTLE

Key and bar, key and bar, Iron bolt and chain! And what will you do when the King comes To enter his domain?

Turn key and lift bar, Loose, oh, bolt and chain! Open the door and let him in, And then lock up again.

But, oh, heart, and woe, heart, Why do you ache so sore? Never a moment's peace have you Since Love hath passed the door.

Turn key and lift bar, And loose bolt and chain; But Love took in his esquire, Grief, And there they both remain.

MORNING SONG OF LOVE

Darling, my darling, my heart is on the wing, It flies to thee this morning like a bird, Like happy birds in springtime my spirits soar and sing, The same sweet song thine ears have often heard.

The sun is in my window, the shadow on the lea, The wind is moving in the branches green, And all my life, my darling, is turning unto thee, And kneeling at thy feet, my own, my queen.

The golden bells are ringing across the distant hill, Their merry peals come to me soft and clear, But in my heart's deep chapel all incense-filled and still A sweeter bell is sounding for thee, dear.

The bell of love invites thee to come and seek the shrine Whose altar is erected unto thee, The offerings, the sacrifice, the prayers, the chants are thine, And I, my love, thy humble priest will be.

ON A CLEAN BOOK

TO F. N.

Like sea-washed sand upon the shore, So fine and clean the tale, So clear and bright I almost see, The flashing of a sail.

The tang of salt is in its veins, The freshness of the spray God give you love and lore and strength, To give us such alway.

TO THE EASTERN SHORE

I 's feelin' kin' o' lonesome in my little room to-night, An' my min 's done los' de minutes an' de miles, Wile it teks me back a-flyin' to de country of delight, Whaih de Chesapeake goes grumblin' er wid smiles. Oh, de ol' plantation 's callin' to me, Come, come back, Hyeah 's de place fu' you to labouh an' to res', 'Fu my sandy roads is gleamin' w'ile de city ways is black; Come back, honey, case yo' country home is bes'.

I know de moon is shinin' down erpon de Eastern sho', An' de bay 's a-sayin' "Howdy" to de lan'; An' de folks is all a-settin' out erroun' de cabin do', Wid dey feet a-restin' in de silvah san'; An' de ol' plantation 's callin' to me, Come, oh, come, F'om de life dat 's des' a-waihin' you erway, F'om de trouble an' de bustle, an' de agernizin' hum Dat de city keeps ergoin' all de day.

I 's tiahed of de city, tek me back to Sandy Side, Whaih de po'est ones kin live an' play an' eat; Whaih we draws a simple livin' f'om de fo'est an' de tide, An' de days ah faih, an' evah night is sweet. Fu' de ol' plantation 's callin' to me, Come, oh, come. An' de Chesapeake 's a-sayin' "Dat's de t'ing," W'ile my little cabin beckons, dough his mouf is closed an' dumb, I 's a-comin, an' my hea't begins to sing.

RELUCTANCE

Will I have some mo' dat pie? No, ma'am, thank-ee, dat is--I-- Bettah quit daihin' me. Dat ah pie look sutny good: How 'd you feel now ef I would? I don' reckon dat I should; Bettah quit daihin' me.

Look hyeah, I gwine tell de truf, Mine is sholy one sweet toof: Bettah quit daihin' me. Yass'm, yass'm, dat's all right, I 's done tried to be perlite: But dat pie 's a lakly sight, Wha 's de use o' daihin' me?

My, yo' lips is full an' red, Don't I wish you 'd tu'n yo' haid? Bettah quit daihin' me. Dat ain't faih, now, honey chile, I 's gwine lose my sense erwhile Ef you des set daih an' smile, Bettah quit daihin' me.

Nuffin' don' look ha'f so fine Ez dem teef, deah, w'en dey shine: Bettah quit daihin' me. Now look hyeah, I tells you dis; I 'll give up all othah bliss Des to have one little kiss, Bettah quit daihin' me.

Laws, I teks yo' little han', Ain't it tendah? bless de lan'-- Bettah quit daihin' me. I 's so lonesome by myse'f, 'D ain't no fun in livin' lef'; Dis hyeah life's ez dull ez def: Bettah quit daihin' me.

Why n't you tek yo' han' erway? Yass, I 'll hol' it: but I say Bettah quit daihin' me. Holin' han's is sholy fine. Seems lak dat 's de weddin' sign. Wish you 'd say dat you 'd be mine;-- Dah you been daihin' me.

BALLADE

By Mystic's banks I held my dream. (I held my fishing rod as well,) The vision was of dace and bream, A fruitless vision, sooth to tell. But round about the sylvan dell Were other sweet Arcadian shrines, Gone now, is all the rural spell, Arcadia has trolley lines.

Oh, once loved, sluggish, darkling stream, For me no more, thy waters swell, Thy music now the engines' scream, Thy fragrance now the factory's smell; Too near for me the clanging bell; A false light in the water shines While Solitude lists to her knell,-- Arcadia has trolley lines.

Thy wooded lanes with shade and gleam Where bloomed the fragrant asphodel, Now bleak commercially teem With signs "To Let," "To Buy," "To Sell." And Commerce holds them fierce and fell; With vulgar sport she now combines Sweet Nature's piping voice to quell. Arcadia has trolley lines.

L'ENVOI.

Oh, awful Power whose works repel The marvel of the earth's designs,-- I 'll hie me otherwhere to dwell, Arcadia has trolley lines.

SPEAKIN' AT DE COU'T-HOUSE

Dey been speakin' at de cou't-house, An' laws-a-massy me, 'T was de beatness kin' o' doin's Dat evah I did see. Of cose I had to be dah In de middle o' de crowd, An' I hallohed wid de othahs, Wen de speakah riz and bowed.

I was kind o' disapp'inted At de smallness of de man, Case I 'd allus pictered great folks On a mo' expansive plan; But I t'ought I could respect him An' tek in de wo'ds he said, Fu' dey sho was somp'n knowin' In de bald spot on his haid.

But hit did seem so't o' funny Aftah waitin' fu' a week Dat de people kep' on shoutin' So de man des could n't speak; De ho'ns dey blared a little, Den dey let loose on de drums,--. Some one toll me dey was playin' "See de conkerin' hero comes."

"Well," says I, "you all is white folks, But you 's sutny actin' queer, What's de use of heroes comin' Ef dey cain't talk w'en dey's here?" Aftah while dey let him open, An' dat man he waded in, An' he fit de wahs all ovah Winnin' victeries lak sin.

Wen he come down to de present, Den he made de feathahs fly. He des waded in on money, An' he played de ta'iff high. An' he said de colah question, Hit was ovah, solved, an' done, Dat de dahky was his brothah, Evah blessed mothah's son.

Well he settled all de trouble Dat's been pesterin' de lan', Den he set down mid de cheerin' An' de playin' of de ban'. I was feelin' moughty happy 'Twell I hyeahed somebody speak, "Well, dat's his side of de bus'ness, But you wait for Jones nex' week."

BLACK SAMSON OF BRANDYWINE

"In the fight at Brandywine, Black Samson, a giant negro armed with a scythe, sweeps his way through the red ranks...." C. M. Skinner's "_Myths and Legends of Our Own Land_."

Gray are the pages of record, Dim are the volumes of eld; Else had old Delaware told us More that her history held. Told us with pride in the story, Honest and noble and fine, More of the tale of my hero, Black Samson of Brandywine.

Sing of your chiefs and your nobles, Saxon and Celt and Gaul, Breath of mine ever shall join you, Highly I honor them all. Give to them all of their glory, But for this noble of mine, Lend him a tithe of your tribute, Black Samson of Brandywine.

There in the heat of the battle, There in the stir of the fight, Loomed he, an ebony giant, Black as the pinions of night. Swinging his scythe like a mower Over a field of grain, Needless the care of the gleaners, Where he had passed amain.

Straight through the human harvest, Cutting a bloody swath, Woe to you, soldier of Briton! Death is abroad in his path. Flee from the scythe of the reaper, Flee while the moment is thine, None may with safety withstand him, Black Samson of Brandywine.

Was he a freeman or bondman? Was he a man or a thing? What does it matter? His brav'ry Renders him royal--a king. If he was only a chattel, Honor the ransom may pay Of the royal, the loyal black giant Who fought for his country that day.

Noble and bright is the story, Worthy the touch of the lyre, Sculptor or poet should find it Full of the stuff to inspire. Beat it in brass and in copper, Tell it in storied line, So that the world may remember Black Samson of Brandywine.

THE LOOKING-GLASS

Dinah stan' befo' de glass, Lookin' moughty neat, An' huh purty shadder sass At huh haid an' feet. While she sasshay 'roun' an' bow, Smilin' den an' poutin' now, An' de lookin'-glass, I 'low, Say: "Now, ain't she sweet?"

All she do, de glass it see, Hit des see, no mo', Seems to me, hit ought to be Drappin' on de flo'. She go w'en huh time git slack, Kissin' han's an' smilin' back, Lawsy, how my lips go smack, Watchin' at de do'.

Wisht I was huh lookin'-glass, Wen she kissed huh han'; Does you t'ink I 'd let it pass, Settin' on de stan'? No; I'd des' fall down an' break, Kin' o' glad 't uz fu' huh sake; But de diffunce, dat whut make Lookin'-glass an' man.

A MISTY DAY

Heart of my heart, the day is chill, The mist hangs low o'er the wooded hill, The soft white mist and the heavy cloud The sun and the face of heaven shroud. The birds are thick in the dripping trees, That drop their pearls to the beggar breeze; No songs are rife where songs are wont, Each singer crouches in his haunt.

Heart of my heart, the day is chill, Whene'er thy loving voice is still, The cloud and mist hide the sky from me, Whene'er thy face I cannot see. My thoughts fly back from the chill without, My mind in the storm drops doubt on doubt, No songs arise. Without thee, love, My soul sinks down like a frightened dove.

LI'L' GAL

Oh, de weathah it is balmy an' de breeze is sighin' low. Li'l' gal, An' de mockin' bird is singin' in de locus' by de do', Li'l' gal; Dere 's a hummin' an' a bummin' in de lan' f'om eas' to wes', I 's a-sighin' fu' you, honey, an' I nevah know no res'. Fu' dey 's lots o' trouble brewin' an' a-stewin' in my breas', Li'l' gal.