THE WOOD-SAWYER.
“Oh, I work hard, sho,
When de col’ win’ blow,
Sawin’ en splittin’ de white folks’ wood!
But I do’n’ complain
Ob de col’ en de rain,
Kaze de Lawd gwine sen’ what He know am good.”
Eb’ry man what see a tex’
In de trees en stones,
Ain’t bin called ter preach en raise
Life in dead, dry bones.
Dat ole rooster scratchin’ dar
Am a sarmont, sho,
But des kaze I read him right,
I ain’t called, you know.
If you don’t read it, you ain’t
Got de seein’ eyes,
En yo’ heart cain’t see dem things
What would make you wise.
Sho’s de Bible done say dat
Dem what works kin eat,
Dat’s a noble sarmont dar—
One dat cain’t be beat.
When dat rooster scratch fo’ worms
In de lowly groun’,
He’s a sayin’ we mus’ work
Fo’ our bread, I’m boun’;
En when he fin’ food, en call
Till dat hen do run,
He sho mean dat man mus’ work
Fo’ de weakly one.
He don’t shet his knowledge up
In a selfish min’;
When he see de mornin’ break
He tell all mankin’.
Do ter me all dis en mo’,
Dat same rooster teach,
He don’t say dat I’s conspired
By de Lawd ter preach.
Des De Same.
My ole shanty am a fallin’,
En de rain am leakin’ frue,
En de rheumatiz done grip me
Till I don’t know what ter do;
But I thank God fo’ dis frame,
En I happy, des de same.
I cain’t go en jine de singin’,
Lak I did in ole-time days,
At de Calvary Baptis’ Church,
Whar dey sing glad songs ob praise;
But my heart ain’t sick en lame,
En it singin’, des de same.
Mandy say de safe am empty—
We ain’t got no food ter-day!
Say she do’ know whar we git it,
’Thout an angel come dis way;
But I trus’ in Jesus’ name,
En my soul feas’, des de same.
So De Sunshine Stay.
If de rooster crow, dey say,
’Fo’e de clock strike ten,
Atter he done gone ter roos’
In de chicken pen,
Den de weather sho gwine change
’Fo’e dat time nex’ day,
En I don’t care if it do—
So de sunshine stay.
How de rooster know if win’
Am gwine res’ or blow,
Or if clouds gwine hol’ de rain,
Or gwine let it po’,
I cain’t tell, do I live heah
Forty yeahs terday;
But I know my heart am glad
If de sunshine stay.
Daddy Long Legs.
“Ole Daddy Long Legs,
Why am you so tall?
You look lak yo’ head
Gwine soon touch de wall;
En it take many stitches
Ter sew up dem breeches.”
Ole Daddy Long Legs
Make answer ter me:
“De fines’ fruit grow
In de top ob de tree,
En I’s made tall ez dis
So’s de bes’ I won’t miss.”
His Capacity Filled.
Oh, I had a happy time—
Happy time las’ night!
Staid inside dat meetin’ house
Till it mos’ daylight.
En I sho did sing en holler
Till de people know
Dat dis nigger got religion—
Couldn’t hol’ no mo’.
When I leave dat meetin’ house—
Leave at ha’f pas’ two,
I wuz gittin’ hungry ez
Shoutin’ niggers do;
En des den I heah a rooster
Gib a mighty crow;
“Don’t he think he big?” I say,
“I gwine fetch him low!”
Oh, I fetch him low! En I
Tote him home wid me,
En wid dumplin’s I done cook him
Quick ez dat kin be.
Wid religion en dat chicken
I am full up, sho,
But I reckon when night come
I kin hol’ some mo’!
Ike’s Temptation.
Ebry day dat come, I pass
Whar de watermilyun grow
In de Massa’s milyun patch,
En dey is a sight, fo’ sho.
Dey des peeps frum out de leaves,
Playin’ hide en seek wid me;
En dey beg me come en ta’se ’em,
Des ter see how good dey be;
But I sho does pass ’em by—
Same’s I don’t know whar dey lie.
I’s a member ob de church,
En you’ll neber see me steal;
I kin sho han’ out de cash
Fo’ my bacon en corn-meal.
Dey will keep me des ez fat
Ez I eber want ter be,
En de luxuries ob life—
Heah dem milyuns callin’ me!
Don’t dey know dat I done say
I ain’t gwine take dem away?
One ob dem—he sho am big—
Prettiest thing I eber seen—
All arrayed, mo’ bright dan lilies,
In dem shades ob shinnin’ green.
He done creep frum out dem leaves
Till he close ter dis low fence,
En he beckon me ter take him—
Think dat I ain’t got good sense!
But dat coat ob him do shine,
En I wish dat he wus mine.
Wonder if he look ez nice
On de inside ez de out?
Wonder if he’s lak dem Christians
What do nothin’ else but shout?
Guess dat I could mighty soon
Bu’s’ him on a rock, en see,
If I had him on dis side
Ob de ole rail-fence wid me.
Dat I’ll do! If he’s deceivin’,
Nothin’ else ain’t wuth believin’!
He am mellow ter de co’;
Sho de heart ob him am right;
Since I gone en bu’s’ him open,
I mus’ git him out ob sight.
I would sin agin my conshuns
If I let him go ter was’e
When so many mouths is thirstin’
Fo’ de juice dey loves ter tas’e;—
Juice dat cheers de nigger’s soul
Mo’ dan all dat’s bought wid gol’.
It wus good, dat watermilyun,
But I sho am gittin’ sick;
Go en git de doctor, honey—
Go en git him mighty quick!
’Twus a dirty trick, fo’ cartin,
What de Massa gone en done,
Puttin’ strychnine in dat milyun
So’s ter ketch de guilty one;—
But I ain’t a rogue, he know—
I’s a Christian, dat am sho!
Whar De Watermilyun Grow.
I wus fetch up fur away
Frum dis city whar I stay,
In de lan’ ob shinin’ day
Whar de watermilyun grow.
Oh, my boss heah treat me gran’!
But I sad, you understan’,
Longing fo’ de Dixie lan’
Whar de watermilyun grow.
Fiel’s ob cotton beckon me,
En de sweet magnolia tree,
En my heart des cry ter be
Whar de watermilyun grow.
Oh, de South am des de place
Fo’ de thirsty cullud race!
En I long ter turn my face
Whar de watermilyun grow.
If dey try to ’tice you ’way,
Don’t you lis’n what dey say,
Kaze de nigger bo’n ter stay
Whar de watermilyun grow.
What His Education Done.
What dat you say? Sen’ Zeke ter school
Des kaze he ain’t bin bo’n a fool?
Now you talkin’! You ain’t heerd
’Bout George Washington T. Beard?
He wus smart, his ma tell me,
En he l’arn his A, B, C,
’Thout no’ difficult at all—
Nat’ral ez de ripe fruit fall.
En dat smartness grow on him
Fas’ ez leaves grow on de lim’,
Till at las’ de people say:
“He mus’ sholy go away
Ter de college in de town!”
’Twus a great one, I am boun’,
Whar dey teach dat young man mo’
Dan de mos’ ob niggers know.
When he reach ter gradiation,
My! Dey make a great ’miration;
En dey say: “Spite ob his race,
En dat shinin’, coal-black face,
He gwine make de people’s eyes
Open wide wid dey surprise;
Dat wus sho a good essay,
What he read fo’ us ter-day.”
En dey say dem people chee’ed
Dat George Washington T. Beard;
Say he look en ac’ ez gran’
Ez de fines’ in de lan;
Bowin’ dis en den dat way
Wid a smile dat seem ter say:
“I is ready now ter do
Somethin’ dat will ’stonish you.”
Den what nex’? He des come home—
Wait dar fo’ de chance ter come
Ter git some big job, fo’ true,
Lak falutin’ white folks do;—
Think he am too smart, you know,
Ter use axe or spade or hoe;
Or ter do work, han’ ter han’,
Wid de ignorant cullud man.
Dar he set en dar he wait,
Railin’ ’gin de nigger’s fate,
Sayin’ dat de worl’ am hard,
When we all know dat de Lawd
Make it easier, fo’ sho’,
When de man use what he know;
When he don’t des set en wait,
Railin’ allers ’gin his fate.
Ez you say, dat Zeke ob mine
Got a min’ dat sho could shine,
En dem han’s ob his kin do
Mos’ ez much ez mine, fo’ true.
He won’t neber lack fo’ bread
Wid dem han’s en wid dat head;
En I don’t sen’ him ter school
Whar he l’arn ter be a fool.
Booker T. Washington.
People tell de news las’ week
Dat a cullud man gwine speak
At de college hall;
Say he try ter lif’ his race
Ter a high en shinin’ place
On dis ’restial ball.
En dey say dat cullud man
Doin’ work dat sho am gran’
In dis worl’ below;
Say he gib his life, fo’ true,
So de nigger be en do
Better dan befo’.
He done ’stablish a fine school,
Whar, dey say, he ’force dis rule:
Train de man all roun’;
Let de han’s dey duty know;
Let de min’ wake up en grow;
Let de heart be soun’.
Dat great school am situate
Down in Alabamy state,
In dis Dixie lan’;
En folks north en eas’ en wes’,
When dey heah it do its bes’,
Len’ a he’pin’ han’.
Mr. Washington come down
Las’ week ter dis very town,
Ez I spec’ you know;
En when I went ter dat hall
Des ter heah him speak, en all,
I wus ’sprised, fo’ sho;
’Sprised ter see dat cullud man
On de platform, dress up gran’,
Wid de bes’ white men;
En if he don’t speak dat day
Words ez good ez dey kin say—
Den my name ain’t Ben!
Oh, I wish dat I could tell
What he say! It make me swell
All up fat wid pride;
En I say: “I sho gwine shake
His right han’ fo’ dem words’ sake,
When we git outside.”
When he finish en set down,
I go outside en walk roun’
Till his face I see;
Den I say, sho ez I bo’n:
“Howdy, Mr. Washington!
Won’t you speak ter me?”
En he shake my han’ de way
Dat men do when dey hearts say:
“Glad ter see yo’ face!”
En I tell him; “’Fo’e you go
I mus’ say, you make me, sho,
Proud ob de black race.”
Crazy Joe’s Ambition.
Crazy Joe, he make me laugh
When he talk dat way
’Bout de mansion on de hill
Whar de gov’nor stay;
When he vow dat he
Sho ez life gwine be
Walkin’ on dem flo’s some day.
He ain’t wise on politics,
En we tell him so,
En we say: “Nobody vote
Fo’ you, Crazy Joe!”
But he say dat he
Sometime sho gwine be
Walkin’ on dat mansion flo’.
His vote he’p de white man git
Ter dat place, he say,
En he waitin’ fo’ de state
Ter do right, en pay
Him wid dis job soon:
Washin’ de spittoon
What dey use dar ebry day!
Grinnin’ Jake.
Neber seen a feller grin
Lak dat nigger do;
When you as’ him anything
He des look at you;—
Neber answer what you say—
Grin en grin dat stupid way.
When somebody what don’t know
As’ him what he name,
He hang down dat head ob his
Ez do’ he ashame;
En he show dem teeth ob white
Lak dey speak fo’ him all right.
“Is de cat done got yo’ tongue?”
Mammy as’ him once,
“Or is you des bo’n to be
A dum’, stupid dunce?”
But he hang dat head en grin,
Silly ez he allers bin.
I mos’ b’lieve dat when he git
Up ter heaven’s gate,
If de angels as’ him why
He stan’ dar en wait,
He won’t say: “Please let me in,”
But des grin en grin en grin!
Grinnin’ Jake.
Elmiry Vaccinated.
When de vaccinater come,
My Elmiry run frum home
Fas’ ez she could go;
Run away ter Missus’ house,
Whar she slip in lak a mouse,
So de Miss won’t know.
En she scramble hin’ de head
Ob de Missus’ high pos’ bed,
Des ter hide erwhile;
En de Missus come en go
Frue dat room, but she don’t know
’Bout dat silly chile.
By en by, when she come frue,
She heah somethin’ breave, she do,
Lak somebody ’sleep;
En her heart stan’ still dat day,
En she am too sca’ed, she say,
Des to take a peep.
So she run out-do’s en call;
“Sen’ de pleeceman (heah me all!)
Right now ter my house;
Dar’s a robber ’hin’ my bed,
Waitin’ till de day be dead,
Quiet ez a mouse.”
En de news dem people spread
’Bout de robber ’hin’ de bed,
Waitin’ till day done;
En de pleeceman sho did race,
So he reach dat hidin’ place,
’Fo’e de robber run.
But when he git dar en see
Dat chile sleepin’ quiet, he
Des frow back his head,
En he laugh en laugh en say:
“Come in, Missus, right away!
Who dis ’hin’ yo’ bed?”
Dey take hol’ ob her en shake
Dat Elmiry till she wake
’Nough ter rub her eyes;
When she open dem en see
Who dat man am—goodness me!—
She am sho surprise’.
“Please, Mister Pleeceman,” den she say,
“I’ll be vaccernate’ dis day
If you let me go!”
But he say dat des a tale,
En he take her ter de jail
’Fo’e her mammy know.
Take her ter be vaccernate,
En she grunt now, soon en late,
Wid dat arm dat’s so’.
’Tain’t no use ter run frum home
When de vaccernater come;—
He gwine git you, sho.
“Simple Simon.”
Des cartin ez dey is a way
Ter miss doin what am right,
Dat boy gwine allers fin’ it out
What work fo’ Mistah White.
Las’ yeah dey had him drive ’em all
Out ter de ole school groun’,
Whar all de white folks congregate
Frum miles en miles er-roun’.
En Mistah White, when dey git dar,
Say: “Simon, now you min’,
En put dis ice we got heah, in
De cooles’ place you fin’.”
En when dey all go in ter heah
De chillun speak en sing,
Dat boy—he go en drap dat ice
Right in de bubblin’ spring!
An Obstacle Overcome.
Dat Tom, he allers want ter know
All ’bout de things he see;
I neber could remember ha’f
Ob what he done as’ me.
He see dem posts down by de road,
Wid wires stretch ercrost,
En ast me why dem wires wus
Hung dar from post ter post.
I tell him den, de bes’ I kin,
Dat dey wus made to sen’
De news ercrost, so men kin heah
Frum dey fur absent frien’.
He stan’ en gaze en gaze on dem
In his onquirin’ way;
Den: “How de news git roun dem posts?”
Dat stupid nigger say.
He sho ain’t got de sense ter know
(De good fo’ nothin’ scamp!)
Dat des ter meet dat obstickle
We got de postage stamp.
“How de News git roun’ dem posts?”
Two of a kind.
Sime say he don’t know what ter do wid dat mule
Dat he done gone en bought (he wus sholy a fool!)
At de sale in de town;
He say it so stubborn dat when he say “gee,”
It allers gwine “haw,” ez sho ez kin be,
En I’s glad, I am boun’.
He say when he want it ter stan’ it gwine walk;—
When he want it ter go, it am sholy gwine balk,
Lak a dunce all de time.
He say dey ain’t neber bin bo’n sich a fool,
But I know, I sho do, dat pesky ole mule
Ain’t ez stubborn ez Sime.
He neber gwine do what I tell him am right,
Do he know I wus bo’n wid a caul on my sight,
En kin see what am bes’;
I tol’ him ter stay frum dat sale in de town,
But somethin’ des draw him ez blood do de houn’,
Till he foller de res’.
I sho knew dat day what dat man wus erbout
When I seen him a-takin’ de las’ money out
Ob de cup on de she’f;
En I glad he done spent ebry cent on dat mule,
En’s got ter work now wid dat pesky ole fool,
Kaze he’s stubborn hisse’f.
Quarantined.
Who am sca’ed ob small-pox? Pshaw!
Not dis nigger, sho.
Las’ yeah dar wus lots ob it
Down in Spilman’s row;
En de pleeceman walk erbout,
Keepin’ some in en some out.
En I ask: “What dey gwine do
Fo’ ’nough food to eat?”
En Sime answer: “Ez fo’ dat,
Small-pox cain’t be beat;
Kaze when it done shet yo’ gate,
Den de town gwine fill yo’ plate.”
He say dem dat’s quarantined
Down in Spilman’s row,
Gittin’ better things ter eat
Dan we am, fo’ sho;
Say he see ’em take some food
Back dar dat wus mighty good.
Den I min’ me ob my frien’s,
How dey lonesome be,
En I say: “I cain’t fo’get ’em—
Dey am deah ter me!”
En dey voices call en call,
Till I heah dem ober all.
’T last I say dat I mus’ go
If I am dey frien’;—
While de guard walk up dat way,
I slip in dis en’;—
En in Spilman’s row I stay
Till de small-pox pass erway.
I don’t ketch it—no, suhree!
Neber git de chance;
Zeke wus down dar wid his fiddle,
En I jine de dance;—
En de city furnish food
Dat, fo’ sho, tas’e mighty good.
A Puzzling Clause.
Oh, de preacher done fine
When I marry Em’line,
But what did he mean, I wonder,
When he stan dar en’ say:
“I done jine you ter-day;
Let nobody put you ter thunder!”
Fo’e de Wah.
I ain’t neber work, not me!
Fo’ de white trash. Kaze, you see,
I wus fetch up mighty gran’
By de bes’ folks in de lan’;—
En dey teach me how ter do
Work fo’ ladies rich ez you,
’Fo’e de wah.
“Who fetch me up?” Now, Missus, sho
I done tol’ you dat befo’!
Why a Miss wid heart ez true
Ez wus eber knowed by you;
En a face dat shine ez bright
Ez dem days so full ob light,
’Fo’e de wah.
When I sick in dem ole days,
Missus don’t des go her ways,
Leabin’ me ter cry en groan
In dat cabin all alone;
Wid her han’s she wait on me
Till I well ez I kin be,
’Fo’e de wah.
When de fus’ sweet baby come,
Blessin’ my deah Missus’ home,
’Twarn’t nobody else but me
Dressed it nice ez it could be
In a dress ob spotless white,
(Shinin’ lak de robes ob light!)
’Fo’e de wah.
En when angels, by en by,
Call dat darlin’ ter de sky,
’Twus me robe it in its bes’,
Ez I say: “Now, sleep en res’.”
Den de house wus sad erwhile
Kaze we lose our only chile,—
’Fo’e de wah.
God won’t hab dem arms ob Miss
Empty ob de mammy’s bliss,
En he fill em up wid joy—
Now a gal, en den a boy;
En deysel’s dem chillun twine
Roun’ dis happy heart ob mine,
’Fo’e de wah.
When dat jolly nigger, Ned,
Take de notion in his head
Dat he want ter marry me,
Missus say: “Well, we will see;”
En she buy him fo’ her slave
(He bin long time in his grave!)
’Fo’e de wah.
Buy him fo’ her slave, you see,
So dat he kin live wid me
In de hut whar de sweet vine
Ob de yellow jes’mine twine;
Whar de mockin’-bird all day
Sing kaze we wus glad en gay,
’Fo’e de wah.
Den dem Yankees come, you know,
En dey beat de South, fo’ sho;
Missus tell us: “You is free!
You don’t b’long no mo’ ter me.”
But us niggers up en say:
“We gwine stay right whar we stay
’Fo’e de wah!”
En we stay. We didn’t go
Ter de North lak some I know.
Dey sho thought dat dey gwine be
Rich up dar ez dey wus free;
But dey soon come back agin
Ter de lan’ whar dey had bin
’Fo’e de wah.
Missus die.—Please ’scuse dese teahs;
I mus’ cry, spite ob de yeahs,
When I min’ me ob dat day
Dat dey laid her deep away
By de willow bendin’ low,—
One she planted long ago
’Fo’e de wah.
Den dey scatter, all de res’,
Some ter eas’, en some to wes’;
One done jine de Miss on high
In de mansions ob de sky;
Dem dat’s libin’ write ter me
Ob de times dat used ter be
’Fo’e de wah.
En dey sen’s some change erlong,
Calling it “but des a song;”
But it free dis nigger, sho,
Frum a lot ob care en woe;
En it make me dream dat I
Libin in dem days gone by
’Fo’e de wah.
I is gittin weak en ole,
En I know dat soon my soul
Sho gwine heah de angels come,
Singin’, singin’, “Home, sweet home!”
En up dar my eyes gwine see
All de white folks deah to me
’Fo’e de wah.
Ground Hog Day.
What de use ter go agin
What de groun’ hog say,
Little bud, dat done unfol’
’Fo’e Spring come dis way?
’Tis a shame fo’ dat sunshine
Ter be foolin’ you,
When mo’ fros’ am prophesied
By de prophet true:
If de sun am shinin’ bright,
He turn right away
Back into dat cozy bed,
Whar till spring he stay.
But if clouds am in de sky,
Den he know, fo’ sho,
Dat de winter am done pass
Ter return no mo’.
Yestiday, when he creep out
Frum his winter den,
He des turn his se’f erbout,
En went in agin.
He ain’t easy ter deceive
By warm sun en breeze,
Kaze he got a way ter know
If dey’ll be a freeze.
Wish de sunshine wouldn’t ’vite
Flowers ter unfol’,
When de prophet prophesy
Dar gwine be mo’ col’;
Wish de little buds could know
What de groun’ hog say,
En would stay shet, close en tight,
Till Spring come ter stay.
Excusable.
Why you go en fight dat boy?
Don’t you know he white?
Bet de pleeceman come en git you
’Fo’e you sleep dis night!
Don’t you heah yo’ mammy say,
Why you knock him down dat way?
“Called you nigger?” Did he, sho?
Den you done des right!
Eb’ry time de po’ white buckra
Call you dat, you fight!
If you am one, I am sho
’Taint dey place ter tell you so!
Jeff’s Funeral Sermon.
Git my mou’nin’ dress, Susanah,
Out de bottom draw’;—
It bin waitin’ long time wid
Dis black hat ob straw,
Fo’ de preacher ter come by
En preach Jeff up ter de sky.
Jeff done pass away befo’ us
Des six months ter-day;
But it don’t seem long ez dat
(How time pass away!)
Since dey laid dat po’ boy down
In de churchyard’s holy groun’.
Yestiday when I ast Missus
Let me go ter-day
Ter Jeff’s fun’ral, she so s’prised
Till she up en say:
“Sakes! dey bury him, you know,
Las’ yeah, long en long ago!”
En I tell her dat de people
Libin fur frum home,
Couldn’t heah dat he wus gone,
En dey want ter come;
So we wait till news wus spread
Ebrywhar dat he wus dead.
En we ’vite so many people
Frum de country roun’,
Dat dar’ll be a sight ob niggers
At dat church, I’m boun’;
So we better be gwine on,
Kaze we set wid dem dat mou’n.
Uncle Bob to his Dog.
Uncle Bob say ter his dog, Leo:
“You tangle yo’se’f in my heart-strings, sho,
But de day gwine come when you got ter go,
Kaze I ain’t got a dollar
Ter buy you a collar,
En de dog-ketcher ketch you, sho.”
Uncle Bob say: “I dervide my bread,
En I kiver you up in my nice, straw bed,
But I sca’ed dat my dog gwine soon be dead,
Kaze I ain’t got a dollar
Ter buy you a collar,
En de dog-ketcher ketch you, sho.”
Uncle Bob say: “Oh, de stolen am sweet,
En dat why you clim’ frue de fence ter de street,
Do I already tol’ you de en’ you gwine meet!
Kaze I ain’t got a dollar
Ter buy you a collar,
En de dog-ketcher ketch you, sho.”
A Prophecy.
Sho ez dat dar sun on high
Shine on me ter-day,
Dar gwine be a riber-rise,
Lis’n what I say!
’Fo’e de summer am done pas’
Dat dar Congaree
Am gwine over-flow dem banks,
Rushin’ ter de sea.
I does closely watch de signs,
En de wasp, fo’ true,
Biuldin’ higher up dis yeah
Dan she mos’ly do.
By dat nes’, so safe en high,
She done say ter me;
“Dar gwine be a rise dis yeah
Ob de Congaree.”
Possum en Pertaters.
De pe’simmons in de pastur’ am a-fallin’, fallin’ down,
En de sweet pertaters waitin’ ter be dug frum out de groun’;
Dat dey good de possum know,
En he fatten on ’em, sho!
En I tas’e his juice ter-morrer, else I neber tas’e it mo’.
Bring de light-wood torch, Horiah, en don’t creep so slow erlong;
Lif’ yo’ lazy feet up faster, so dey keep time ter dis song:
“Mr. Possum, hear me say,
’Tain’t no use ter run away,
Kaze I sho gwine ketch en bleed you ’fo’e de breakin’ ob de day!
Dem two dogs already trace him ter de big pe’simmon tree,
En I see dem eyes ob his’n shinin’ down lak stars at me.
He for sho am perch up high,
But I git him, by en by,
En dat feas’ I hab to-morrer beat de fines’ chicken pie.
I done grab him by de neck, en I comin’ down agin,
En de weight ob him do tell me he am fur frum bein’ thin;
En he droop hisse’f en play
Dat he dead en pass away,
Do he know dat if I loose him he gwine mighty soon be gay.
He am sho a fine one, en I proud ter take him home,
En de mammy en de chillun wake ter see him when he come;
En I singe his tender hide
Till it look lak it done fried,
Den I try ter go ter sleep, but my eyes stay open wide.
Oh, my eyes stay open wide, till de breakin’ ob de day,
When de long, long night oh waitin’ am at las’ done pass away;
En I go outside en scratch
Sweet pertaters frum de patch,
Kaze wid juices ob de possum dey ain’t nothin’ else ter match.
When we bake dat critter brown, wid pertaters stuff inside,
Den we say: “Oh, hasten, nigger, ez de bridegroom ter de bride!”
Come en dine wid us ter-day,
En we know dat you gwine stay
Till de las ob dat good possum am done hid frum sight away.
Cotton’s Comin’ In.
Bet de goldenrod’s a-bloomin’
’Long de country roads;
Bet de hick’ry nuts am fallin’
By de loads en loads.
Bet pe’simmons am mos’ ripe—
Makes a feller grin!
What’s de sign? Why, man alive,
Cotton’s comin’ in!
Bet ole Pete am busy now
Bilin’ sorghum down;
Bet dey’ll hab a pullin’ soon—
’Vite me frum de town;
Bet de apple’s dryin’ on
Chiny plates en tin,
Bet all dis, en mo’, des kaze
Cotton’s comin’ in.
Bet de rice am hangin’ now
Head down in de sun;
Bet ole Massa’s habin’ times
Wid his rod en gun;
Wish I’d staid dar in de woods—
Town’s chuck full ob sin,
En I sho git homesick when
Cotton’s comin’ in.
Bet de pinders spread out on
De ole shed ter dry;
Bet de possum know de way
Ter de tree-top high.
Soon dem darkies put away
’Taters in de bin;—
Lan’! I’s gwine back when Pete
Brings his cotton in!
Dat Yaller Gal.
I bin watchin’ you, big Jim,
En I s’prised, fo’ sho;
You is done fo’git mos’ all
Dat you eber know.
Dar you wus, at de cake-walk,
Makin’ eyes at Sue,
When you orter know dat gal
Ain’t gwine look at you.
Yo’ hair curl on top yo’ head
Lak sheep’s wool, fo’ sho,
En yo’ skin am des ez black
Ez de blackes’ crow.
Ebry time you pass dat gal
She stick up her nose,
En draw back, des lak she sca’ed
You gwine touch her clo’es.
Think she am too good ter speak
Ter a coal-black man
What, ez ebrybody know,
Do de bes’ he kin,
Kaze her skin ain’t black lak yourn,
En her hair ain’t wool,
She ac’ lak she am de queen—
Sick’nin’ yaller fool!
Ebry day she com’ dat hair
Lak de white folks do;
Pin it back wid fine hair-pins,
Shinin lak bran’ new;
En she go erlong de street
Holding her head high,
Lak she neber see her race
When dey pass her by.
Us dat am de niggers right—
Us don’t ac’ lak dat!
When we com’ our hair we make
Heah en dar a plait;
En we wrap ’em good wid cord
So dey sho gwine stay
Right in place a week or mo’
Frum de com’in’ day.
En we don’t pass cullud folks
Wid our head up high,
But we stop en speak wid dem
’Fo’e we pass on by.
En we as’ ’em: “How you do?
How’s de folks at home?”
En we tell ’em whar we live,
Sayin’ “You mus’ come.”
I’s bin watchin’ you, big Jim,
En I’s s’prised, fo’ sho;
Ez I sed, you is fo’got
All you eber know.
If you’s got good sense you’ll quit
Makin’ eyes at Sue,
Kaze dat stuck-up yaller gal
Ain’t gwine look at you.
To Walk Wid His Gal.
Dem gals stan’ erbout, en giggle en grin;
Dey say: “His shoes shine’ lak a bran’ new pin!”
En de way dat dey treat him am sholy a sin,
When John go ter walk wid his gal.
Dey laugh at his hat en dey laugh at his tie,
En dey say: “Will you ’low us ter see you go by?”
En sho wid sich nonsinse dat nigger dey try,
When John go ter walk wid his gal.
“Oh, shet up!” I tell ’em, “en dat right away,—
I know what’s de matter, now heah what I say;
You’s ebry one jealous, you sho is, ter-day,
Kaze John gone ter walk wid his gal!”
“Cunjud.”
Frow fish salt out on de grass
Ebrywhar dat man done pass,
En be quick;
Scatter it all roun’ de do’,
Else somebody heah, fo’ sho,
Gwine be sick.
He done cunjur’ me, you know,
One time long en long ago,
’Fo’e you bo’n;
En it ain’t fo’ good ter-day
Dat he stop by heah dat way,
Den pass on.
Dat de way he done befo’,
En wid fever laid me low
In de bed.
Go en spread de salt all roun’
’Fo’e we bofe am lyin’ down,
Sick or dead.
Uncle Ben’s Superstition.
Oh, please, Missus, don’t as’ dat!
Is you neber heah it sed
Him dat plants a holly tree
Sho gwine lie down, stiff en dead,
Soon’s dat tree grow big en high
’Nough ter shade him whar he lie?
I ain’t sca’ed ob death, not me!
I’s bin baptized in de creek,
En in big experience meetin’s
I does rise sometimes ter speak;
But I don’t tempt Providence;—
’Tis a act ob wickedness.
“How ter git it planted, den?”
Ain’t got time, yo’se’f, you say?
Lis’n, mum, en I will tell you
What’s, fo’ true, de only way,
’Th’out you hab somebody die
Soon’s dat tree grow big en high:
Put a seed somewhar out do’s,
So de win’ will blow it down
Des whar you would hab it planted,
On a nice, sof’ bit ob groun’.
Dar it will take root en grow;
I is tried it, en I know.
But ter put de seed in groun’,
Or ter plant dar de young tree,
Am sho temptin’ Providence—
En it ain’t bin done by me;
Dat am how I’m heah ter-day
Ter teach ole Missus de right way.
Wid de Witches.
When I hab ter go ter bed,
I sho civer up my head,
Kaze I allers mighty sca’ed
Dat de witches come at night.
Dey does come sometimes, you know,
En wid dem you got ter go,
Ridin’ fas’ or ridin’ slow,
When dey come fo’ you at night.
I does try my bes’ ter shriek,
But my voice git low en weak,
En I shake so I cain’t speak
When de witches come at night.
Oh, dey tote you up so high
Till you neahly touch de sky,
En you sca’ed mos’ ’nough ter die
When you ride wid dem at night.
“You des dream dat,” Missus say,
But she don’t fool me ter-day!
I done bin too fur away
Wid dem witches des las’ night.
A Restless Spirit.
“Don’t b’I’eve in hants?” Well, dat des show
Dat you cartin neber know
’Bout dat big house on de hill,
Whar a sperit walk at night
When de dark done quench de light,
En de worl’ am calm en still.
“Who lib dar?” Well, gracious me!
You won’t as’ dat when you see
Dat ghos’ walkin’ roun’ de place;
Ghos’ dat allers kneels en prays
Under dem magnolia trees,
Wid a sad en longin’ face.
Once, dey say, a sweet bride come
Frum her fur-off northern home,
Ter dis lan’ ob flow’rs en song;
En she love de birds en bees
Hummin’ ’roun’ dem fragrant trees,
En wus happy all day long.
Dar she go mos’ ebry day
When de noon-sun shine dat way,
Waitin’ fo’ her man ter come;
En when evenin’ light grow dim
Dar she go ter watch fo’ him
Ter come back ter dat glad home.
En dey walk dar, des dem two,
When de stars am peepin’ frue
Leaves ob dem magnolia trees;
En dey bofe am glad ob heart
Des kaze dey don’t walk apart,
En am kiss by dat same breeze.
When one day dat man come home,
He don’t see his young wife come
Out ter meet him on de lawn;
She took sick, de people say,
En her spirit pass away
’Fo’e de little baby bo’n.
Den her mammy write en say:
“Fetch en bury her, we pray,
By her sisters heah at home.”
So she lie dar in de col’,
Whar de win’s am strong en bol’,
Waitin’ fo’ de kingdom come.
But her sperit walk at night,
When de dark done quench de light,
Under dem magnolia trees;
En she stop dar en kneel down
Wid her white dress floatin’ roun’
In de gentle, sighin’ breeze.
Oh, my heart ache in my breas’
Fo’ dat sperit cravin’ res’!
En I know it would fin’ ease
If dey bring dem bones some day
Ter de south, en let ’em lay
Under dem magnolia trees.