De dog go howlin' 'long de road,

De night come shiverin' down;

My back is tiahed of its load,

I cain't be fu' f'om town.

No mattah ef de way is long,

My haht is swellin' wid a song,

No mattah 'bout de frownin' skies,

I'll soon be home to see my Lize.

My shadder staggah on de way,

It's monstous col' to-night;

But I kin hyeah my honey say

"W'y bless me if de sight

O' you ain't good fu' my so' eyes."

(Dat talk's dis lak my lady Lize)

I's so'y case de way was long

But Lawd you bring me love an' song.

No mattah ef de way is long,

An' ef I trimbles so'

I knows de fiah's burnin' strong,

Behime my Lizy's do'.

An' daih my res' an' joy shell be,

Whaih my ol' wife's awaitin' me—

Why what I keer fu' stingin' blas',

I see huh windah light at las'.

My muvver's ist the nicest one

'At ever lived wiz folks;

She lets you have ze mostes' fun,

An' laffs at all your jokes.

I got a ol' maid auntie, too,

The worst you ever saw;

Her eyes ist bore you through and through,—

She ain't a bit like ma.

She's ist as slim, as slim can be,

An' when you want to slide

Down on ze balusters, w'y she

Says 'at she's harrified.

She ain't as nice as Uncle Ben,

What says 'at little boys

Won't never grow to be big men

Unless they're fond of noise.

But muvver's nicer zan 'em all,

She calls you, "precious lamb,"

An' let's you roll your ten-pin ball,

An' spreads your bread wiz jam.

An' when you're bad, she ist looks sad,

You fink she's goin' to cry;

An' when she don't you're awful glad,

An' den you're good, Oh, my!

At night, she takes ze softest hand,

An' lays it on your head,

An' says "Be off to Sleepy-Land

By way o' trundle-bed."

So when you fink what muvver knows

An' aunts an' uncle tan't,

It skeers a feller; ist suppose

His muvver 'd been a aunt.

On a summer's day as I sat by a stream,

A dainty maid came by,

And she blessed my sight like a rosy dream,

And left me there to sigh, to sigh,

And left me there to sigh, to sigh.

On another day as I sat by the stream,

This maiden paused a while,

Then I made me bold as I told my dream,

She heard it with a smile, a smile,

She heard it with a smile, a smile.

Oh, the months have fled and the autumn's red,

The maid no more goes by:

For my dream came true and the maid I wed,

And now no more I sigh, I sigh,

And now no more I sigh.

The gray dawn on the mountain top

Is slow to pass away.

Still lays him by in sluggish dreams,

The golden God of day.

And then a light along the hills,

Your laughter silvery gay;

The Sun God wakes, a bluebird trills,

You come and it is day.

Step me now a bridal measure,

Work give way to love and leisure,

Hearts be free and hearts be gay—

Doctor Dan doth wed to-day.

Diagnosis, cease your squalling—

Check that scalpel's senseless bawling,

Put that ugly knife away—

Doctor Dan doth wed to-day.

'Tis no time for things unsightly,

Life's the day and life goes lightly;

Science lays aside her sway—

Love rules Dr. Dan to-day.

Gather, gentlemen and ladies,

For the nuptial feast now made is,

Swing your garlands, chant your lay

For the pair who wed to-day.

Wish them happy days and many,

Troubles few and griefs not any,

Lift your brimming cups and say

God bless them who wed to-day.

Then a cup to Cupid daring,

Who for conquest ever faring,

With his arrows dares assail

E'en a doctor's coat of mail.

So with blithe and happy hymning

And with harmless goblets brimming,

Dance a step—musicians play—

Doctor Dan doth wed to-day.

What's the use o' folks a-frownin'

When the way's a little rough?

Frowns lay out the road fur smilin'

You'll be wrinkled soon enough.

What's the use?

What's the use o' folks a-sighin'?

It's an awful waste o' breath,

An' a body can't stand wastin'

What he needs so bad in death.

What's the use?

What's the use o' even weepin'?

Might as well go long an' smile.

Life, our longest, strongest arrow,

Only lasts a little while.

What's the use?

The trees bend down along the stream,

Where anchored swings my tiny boat.

The day is one to drowse and dream

And list the thrush's throttling note.

When music from his bosom bleeds

Among the river's rustling reeds.

No ripple stirs the placid pool,

When my adventurous line is cast,

A truce to sport, while clear and cool,

The mirrored clouds slide softly past.

The sky gives back a blue divine,

And all the world's wide wealth is mine.

A pickerel leaps, a bow of light,

The minnows shine from side to side.

The first faint breeze comes up the tide—

I pause with half uplifted oar,

While night drifts down to claim the shore.

W'en you full o' worry

'Bout yo' wo'k an' sich,

W'en you kind o' bothered

Case you can't get rich,

An' yo' neighboh p'ospah

Past his jest desu'ts,

An' de sneer of comerds

Stuhes yo' heaht an' hu'ts,

Des don' pet yo' worries,

Lay 'em on de she'f,

Tek a little trouble

Brothah, wid yo'se'f.

Ef a frien' comes mou'nin'

'Bout his awful case,

You know you don' grieve him

Wid a gloomy face,

But you wrassle wid him,

Try to tek him in;

Dough hit cracks yo' features,

Law, you smile lak sin,

Ain't you good ez he is?

Don' you pine to def;

Tek a little trouble

Brothah, wid yo'se'f.

Ef de chillun pestahs,

An' de baby's bad,

Ef yo' wife gits narvous,

An' you're gettin' mad,

Des you grab yo' boot-strops,

Hol' yo' body down,

Stop a-tinkin' cuss-w'rds,

Chase away de frown,

Knock de haid o' worry,

Twell dey ain' none lef';

Tek a little trouble,

Brothah, wid yo'se'f.

Ef you's only got de powah fe' to blow a little whistle,

Keep ermong de people wid de whistles.

Ef you don't, you'll fin' out sho'tly dat you's th'owed yo' fines' feelin'

In a place dat's all a bed o' thistles.

'Tain't no use a-goin' now, ez sho's you bo'n,

A-squeakin' of yo' whistle 'g'inst a gread big ho'n.

Ef you ain't got but a teenchy bit o' victuals on de table,

Whut' de use a-claimin' hit's a feas'?

Fe' de folks is mighty 'spicious, an' dey's ap' to come apeerin',

Lookin' fe' de scraps you lef' at leas'.

Wen de meal's a-hidin' f'om de meal-bin's top,

You needn't talk to hide it; ef you sta'ts, des stop.

Ef yo' min' kin only carry half a pint o' common idees,

Don' go roun' a-sayin' hit's a bar'l;

'Ca'se de people gwine to test you, an' dey'll fin' out you's a-lyin',

Den dey'll twis' yo' sayin's in a snarl.

Wuss t'ing in de country dat I evah hyahed—

A crow dot sat a-squawkin', "I's a mockin'-bird."

I found you and I lost you,

All on a gleaming day.

The day was rilled with sunshine,

And the land was full of May.

A golden bird was singing

Its melody divine,

I found you and I loved you,

And all the world was mine.

I found you and I lost you,

All on a golden day,

But when I dream of you, dear,

It is always brimming May.

'Twas the apple that in Eden

Caused our father's primal fall;

And the Trojan War, remember—

'Twas an apple caused it all.

So for weeks I've hesitated,

You can guess the reason why,

For I want to tell my darling

She's the apple of my eye.

These are the days of elfs and fays:

Who says that with the dreams of myth,

These imps and elves disport themselves?

Ah no, along the paths of song

Do all the tiny folk belong.

Round all our homes,

Kobolds and gnomes do daily cling,

Then nightly fling their lanterns out.

And shout on shout, they join the rout,

And sing, and sing, within the sweet enchanted ring.

Where gleamed the guile of moonlight's smile,

Once paused I, listening for a while,

And heard the lay, unknown by day,—

The fairies' dancing roundelay.

Queen Mab was there, her shimmering hair

Each fairy prince's heart's despair.

She smiled to see their sparkling glee,

And once I ween, she smiled at me.

Since when, you may by night or day,

Dispute the sway of elf-folk gay;

But, hear me, stay!

I've learned the way to find Queen

Mab and elf and fay.

Where e'er by streams, the moonlight gleams,

Or on a meadow softly beams,

There, footing round on dew-lit ground,

The fairy folk may all be found.

The mist has left the greening plain,

The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,

The coquette rose awakes again

Her lovely self adorning.

The Wind is hiding in the trees,

A sighing, soothing, laughing tease,

Until the rose says "Kiss me, please,"

'Tis morning, 'tis morning.

With staff in hand and careless-free,

The wanderer fares right jauntily,

For towns and houses are, thinks he,

For scorning, for scorning.

My soul is swift upon the wing,

And in its deeps a song I bring;

Come, Love, and we together sing,

"'Tis morning, 'tis morning."

I did not know that life could be so sweet,

I did not know the hours could speed so fleet,

Till I knew you, and life was sweet again.

The days grew brief with love and lack of pain—

I was a slave a few short days ago,

The powers of Kings and Princes now I know;

I would not be again in bondage, save

I had your smile, the liberty I crave.

The draft of love was cool and sweet

You gave me in the cup,

But, ah, love's fire is keen and fleet,

And I am burning up.

Unless the tears I shed for you

Shall quench this burning flame,

It will consume me through and through,

And leave but ash—a name.

Outside the rain upon the street,

The sky all grim of hue,

Inside, the music-painful sweet,

And yet I heard but you.

As is a thrilling violin,

So is your voice to me,

And still above the other strains,

It sang in ecstasy.

All de night long twell de moon goes down,

Lovin' I set at huh feet,

Den fu' de long jou'ney back f'om de town,

Ha'd, but de dreams mek it sweet.

All de night long twell de break of de day,

Dreamin' agin in my sleep,

Mandy comes drivin' my sorrers away,

Axin' me, "Wha' fu' you weep?"

All de day long twell de sun goes down,

Smilin', I ben' to my hoe,

Fu' dough de weddah git nasty an' frown,

One place I know I kin go.

All my life long twell de night has pas'

Let de wo'k come ez it will,

So dat I fin' you, my honey, at las',

Somewhaih des ovah de hill.

Standin' at de winder,

Feelin' kind o' glum,

Listenin' to de raindrops

Play de kettle drum,

Lookin' crost de medders

Swimmin' lak a sea;

Lawd 'a' mussy on us,

What's de good o' me?

Can't go out a-hoein',

Wouldn't ef I could;

Groun' too wet fu' huntin',

Fishin' ain't no good.

Too much noise fo' sleepin',

No one hyeah to chat;

Des mus' stan' an' listen

To dat pit-a-pat.

Hills is gittin' misty,,

Valley's gittin' dahk;

Watch-dog's 'mence a-howlin',

Rathah have 'em ba'k

Dan a-moanin' solemn

Somewhaih out o' sight;

Rain-crow des a-chucklin'—

Dis is his delight.

Mandy, bring my banjo,

Bring de chillen in,

Come in f'om de kitchen,

I feel sick ez sin.

Call in Uncle Isaac,

Call Aunt Hannah, too,

Tain't no use in talkin',

Chile, I's sholy blue.

Come away to dreamin' town,

Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou,

Whaih de skies don' nevah frown,

Mandy Lou;

Whaih he streets is paved with gol',

Whaih de days is nevah col',

An' no sheep strays f'om de fol',

Mandy Lou.

Ain't you tiahed of every day,

Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou,

Tek my han' an' come away,

Mandy Lou,

To the place whaih dreams is King,

Whaih my heart hol's everything,

An' my soul can allus sing,

Mandy Lou.

Come away to dream wid me,

Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou,

Whaih our hands an' hea'ts are free,

Mandy Lou;

Whaih de sands is shinin' white,

Whaih de rivahs glistens bright,

Mandy Lou.

Come away to dreamland town,

Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou,

Whaih de fruit is bendin' down,

Des fu' you.

Smooth your brow of lovin' brown,

An' my love will be its crown;

Come away to dreamin' town,

Mandy Lou.

Whut time 'd dat clock strike?

Nine? No—eight;

I didn't think hit was so late.

Aer chew! I must 'a' got a cough,

I raally b'lieve I did doze off—

Hit's mighty soothin' to de tiah,

A-dozin' dis way by de fiah;

Oo oom—hit feels so good to stretch

I sutny is one weary wretch!

Look hyeah, dat boy done gone to sleep!

He des ain't wo'th his boa'd an' keep;

I des don't b'lieve he'd bat his eyes

If Gab'el called him fo'm de skies!

But sleepin's good dey ain't no doubt—

Dis pipe o' mine is done gone out.

Don't bu'n a minute, bless my soul,

Des please to han' me dat ah coal.

You 'Lias git up now, my son,

Seems lak my nap is des begun;

You sutny mus' ma'k down de day

Wen I treats comp'ny dis away!

W'y, Brother Jones, dat drowse come on,

An' laws! I dremp dat you was gone!

You 'Lias, whaih yo' mannahs, suh,

To hyeah me call an' nevah stuh!

To-morrer mo'nin' w'en I call

Dat boy'll be sleepin' to beat all,

Don't mek no diffunce how I roah,

He'll des lay up an' sno' and sno'.

Now boy, you done hyeahed whut I said,

You bettah tek yo'se'f yo baid,

Case ef you gits me good an' wrong

I'll mek dat sno' a diffunt song.

Dis wood fiah is invitin' dho',

Hit seems to wa'm de ve'y flo'—

An' nuffin' ain't a whit ez sweet,

Ez settin' toastin' of yo' feet.

Hit mek you drowsy, too, but La!

Hyeah, 'Lias, don't you hyeah yo' ma?

Ef I gits sta'ted f'om dis cheah

I' lay, you scamp, I'll mek you heah!

To-morrer mo'nin' I kin bawl

Twell all de neighbohs hyeah me call;

An' you'll be snoozin' des ez deep

Ez if de day was made fu' sleep;

Hit's funny when you got a cough

Somehow yo' voice seems too fu' off—

Can't wake dat boy fu' all I say,

I reckon he'll sleep daih twell day!

I held my heart so far from harm,

I let it wander far and free

In mead and mart, without alarm,

Assured it must come back to me.

And all went well till on a day,

Learned Dr. Cupid wandered by

A search along our sylvan way

For some peculiar butterfly.

A flash of wings, a hurried dive,

A flutter and a short-lived flit;

This Scientist, as I am alive

Had seen my heart and captured it.

Right tightly now 'tis held among

The specimens that he has trapped,

And sings (Oh, love is ever young),

'Tis passing sweet to be kidnaped.

Because I had loved so deeply,

Because I had loved so long,

God in His great compassion

Gave me the gift of song.

Because I have loved so vainly,

And sung with such faltering breath,

The Master in infinite mercy

Offers the boon of Death.

De sun hit shine an' de win' hit blow,

Ol' Brer Rabbit be a-layin' low,

He know dat de wintah time a-comin',

De huntah man he walk an' wait,

He walk right by Brer Rabbit's gate—

He know—

De dog he lick his sliverin' chop,

An' he tongue 'gin' his mouf go flop, flop—

He—

He rub his nose fu' to clah his scent

So's to tell w'ich way dat cottontail went,

He—

De huntah's wife she set an' spin

A good wahm coat fu' to wrop him in

She—

She look at de skillet an' she smile, oh my!

An' ol' Brer Rabbit got to sholy fly.

Dey know.

If thro' the sea of night which here surrounds me,

I could swim out beyond the farthest star,

Break every barrier of circumstance that bounds me,

And greet the Sun of sweeter life afar,

Tho' near you there is passion, grief, and sorrow,

And out there rest and joy and peace and all,

I should renounce that beckoning for to-morrow,

I could not choose to go beyond your call.

Underneath the autumn sky,

Haltingly, the lines go by.

Ah, would steps were blithe and gay,

As when first they marched away,

Smile on lip and curl on brow,—

Only white-faced gray-beards now,

Standing on life's outer verge,

E'en the marches sound a dirge.

Blow, you bugles, play, you fife,

Rattle, drums, for dearest life.

Let the flags wave freely so,

As the marching legions go,

Shout, hurrah and laugh and jest,

This is memory at its best.

(Did you notice at your quip,

That old comrade's quivering lip?)

Ah, I see them as they come,

Stumbling with the rumbling drum;

But a sight more sad to me

E'en than these ranks could be

Was that one with cane upraised

Who stood by and gazed and gazed,

Trembling, solemn, lips compressed,

Longing to be with the rest.

Did he dream of old alarms,

As he stood, "presented arms"?

Did he think of field and camp

And the unremitting tramp

Mile on mile—the lonely guard

When he kept his midnight ward?

Did he dream of wounds and scars

In that bitter war of wars?

What of that? He stood and stands

In my memory—trembling hands,

Whitened beard and cane and all

As if waiting for the call

Once again: "To arms, my sons,"

And his ears hear far-off guns,

Roll of cannon and the tread

Of the legions of the Dead!

Yesterday I held your hand,

Reverently I pressed it,

And its gentle yieldingness

From my soul I blessed it.

But to-day I sit alone,

Sad and sore repining;

Must our gold forever know

Flames for the refining?

Yesterday I walked with you,

Could a day be sweeter?

Life was all a lyric song

Set to tricksy meter.

Ah, to-day is like a dirge,—

Place my arms around you,

Let me feel the same dear joy

As when first I found you.

Let me once retrace my steps,

From these roads unpleasant,

Let my heart and mind and soul

All ignore the present.

Yesterday the iron seared

And to-day means sorrow.

Pause, my soul, arise, arise,

Look where gleams the morrow.

Love used to carry a bow, you know,

But now he carries a taper;

It is either a length of wax aglow,

Or a twist of lighted paper.

I pondered a little about the scamp,

And then I decided to follow

His wandering journey to field and camp,

Up hill, down dale or hollow.

I dogged the rollicking, gay, young blade

In every species of weather;

Till, leading me straight to the home of a maid

He left us there together.

And then I saw it, oh, sweet surprise,

The taper it set a-burning

The love-light brimming my lady's eyes,

And my heart with the fire of yearning.

The wind told the little leaves to hurry,

And chased them down the way,

While the mother tree laughed loud in glee,

For she thought her babes at play,

The cruel wind and the rain laughed loudly,

We'll bury them deep, they said,

And the old tree grieves, and the little leaves

Lie low, all chilled and dead.

If 'twere fair to suppose

That your heart were not taken,

That the dew from the rose

Petals still were not shaken,

I should pluck you,

Howe'er you should thorn me and scorn me,

And wear you for life as the green of the bower.

If 'twere fair to suppose

That that road was for vagrants,

That the wind and the rose,

Counted all in their fragrance;

Oh, my dear one,

By love, I should take you and make you,

The green of my life from the scintillant hour.

Cover him over with daisies white

And eke with the poppies red,

Sit with me here by his couch to-night,

For the First-Born, Love, is dead.

Poor little fellow, he seemed so fair

As he lay in my jealous arms;

Silent and cold he is lying there

Stripped of his darling charms.

Lusty and strong he had grown forsooth,

Sweet with an infinite grace,

Proud in the force of his conquering youth,

Laughter alight in his face.

Oh, but the blast, it was cruel and keen,

And ah, but the chill it was rare;

The look of the winter-kissed flow'r you've seen

When meadows and fields were bare.

Can you not wake from this white, cold sleep

And speak to me once again?

True that your slumber is deep, so deep,

But deeper by far is my pain.

Cover him over with daisies white,

And eke with the poppies red,

Sit with me here by his couch to-night,

For the First-Born, Love, is dead.

Home agin, an' home to stay—

Yes, it's nice to be away.

Plenty things to do an' see,

But the old place seems to me

Jest about the proper thing.

Mebbe 'ts 'cause the mem'ries cling

Closer 'round yore place o' birth

'N ary other spot on earth.

W'y it's nice jest settin' here,

Lookin' out an' seein' clear,

'Thout no smoke, ner dust, ner haze

In these sweet October days.

What's as good as that there lane,

Kind o' browned from last night's rain?

'Pears like home has got the start

When the goal's a feller's heart.

What's as good as that there jay

Screechin' up'ards towards the gray

Skies? An' tell me, what's as fine

As that full-leafed pumpkin vine?

Tow'rin' buildin's—? yes, they're good;

But in sight o' field and wood,

Then a feller understan's

'Bout the house not made with han's.

Let the others rant an' roam

When they git away from home;

Jest gi' me my old settee

An' my pipe beneath a tree;

Sight o' medders green an' still,

Now and then a gentle hill,

Apple orchards, full o' fruit,

Nigh a cider press to boot—

That's the thing jest done up brown;

D'want to be too nigh to town;

Want to have the smells an' sights,

An' the dreams o' long still nights,

With the friends you used to know

In the keerless long ago—

Same old cronies, same old folks,

Same old cider, same old jokes.

Say, it's nice a-gittin' back,

When yore pulse is growin' slack,

An' yore breath begins to wheeze

Like a fair-set valley breeze;

Kind o' nice to set aroun'

On the old familiar groun',

Knowin' that when Death does come,

That he'll find you right at home.

In de dead of night I sometimes,

Git to t'inkin' of de pas'

An' de days w'en slavery helt me

In my mis'ry—ha'd an' fas'.

Dough de time was mighty tryin',

In dese houahs somehow hit seem

Dat a brightah light come slippin'

Thoo de kivahs of my dream.

An' my min' fu'gits de whuppins

Draps de feah o' block an' lash

An' flies straight to somep'n' joyful

In a secon's lightnin' flash.

Den hit seems I see a vision

Of a dearah long ago

Of de childern tumblin' roun' me

By my rough ol' cabin do'.

Talk about yo' go'geous mansions

An' yo' big house great an' gran',

Des bring up de fines' palace

Dat you know in all de lan'.

But dey's somep'n' dearah to me,

Somep'n' faihah to my eyes

In dat cabin, less you bring me

To yo' mansion in de skies.

I kin see de light a-shinin'

Thoo de chinks atween de logs,

I kin hyeah de way-off bayin'

Of my mastah's huntin' dogs,

An' de neighin' of de hosses

Stampin' on de ol' bahn flo',

But above dese soun's de laughin'

At my deah ol' cabin do'.

We would gethah daih at evenin',

All my frien's 'ud come erroun'

An' hit wan't no time, twell, bless you,

You could hyeah de banjo's soun'.

You could see de dahkies dancin'

Pigeon wing an' heel an' toe—

Joyous times I tell you people

Roun' dat same ol' cabin do'.

But at times my t'oughts gits saddah,

Ez I riccolec' de folks,

An' dey frolickin' an' talkin'

Wid dey laughin' an dey jokes.

An' hit hu'ts me w'en I membahs

Dat I'll nevah see no mo'

Dem ah faces gethered smilin'

Roun' dat po' ol' cabin do'.

Let me close the eyes of my soul

That I may not see

What stands between thee and me.

Let me shut the ears of my heart

That I may not hear

A voice that drowns yours, my dear.

Let me cut the cords of my life,

Of my desolate being,

Since cursed is my hearing and seeing.

Tim Murphy's gon' walkin' wid Maggie O'Neill,

O chone!

If I was her muther, I'd frown on sich foolin',

O chone!

I'm sure it's unmutherlike, darin' an' wrong

To let a gyrul hear tell the sass an' the song

Of every young felly that happens along,

O chone!

An' Murphy, the things that's be'n sed of his doin',

O chone!

'Tis a cud that no dacent folks wants to be chewin',

O chone!

If he came to my door wid his cane on a twirl,

Fur to thry to make love to you, Biddy, my girl,

Ah, wouldn't I send him away wid a whirl,

O chone!

They say the gossoon is indecent and dirty,

O chone!

In spite of his dressin' so.

O chone!

Let him dress up ez foine ez a king or a queen,

Let him put on more wrinkles than ever was seen,

You'll be sure he's no match for my little colleen,

O chone!

Faith the two is comin' back an' their walk is all over,

O chone!

'Twas a pretty short walk fur to take wid a lover,

O chone!

Why, I believe that Tim Murphy's a kumin' this way,

Ah, Biddy jest look at him steppin' so gay,

I'd niver belave what the gossipers say,

O chone!

He's turned in the gate an' he's coming a-caperin',

O chone!

Go, Biddy, go quick an' put on a clane apern,

O chone!

Be quick as ye kin fur he's right at the dure;

Come in, master Tim, fur ye're welcome I'm shure.

We were talkin' o' ye jest a minute before.

O chone!