Ballad of “B’ilin’ Down”

“O, git the augur, William,

An’ bring the spouts out, John,

An’ bring the buckets, Thomas,

      The tappin’ time is on.

O, Mary clean the kittles,

      To match your sunny smile;

An’ I will haul the firewood

      To start tomorrow’s bile!”

The March winds strike the maple trees an’ swing ‘em to an’ from,

     The snow is left in patches where the sun can’t send his rays;

But spring is on the rampage, an’ the sap begins to flow,

     An’ sugar camps are open for the busy b’ilin’ days.

The boys are in the orchard borin’ hole the hull day long,

     An’ driving spouts to fit ‘em an’ a-singin’ as they go;

An’ pails are slid in under, wooden buckets clean an’ strong,

     An’ ef the weather’s meller then the sap begins to flow.

“Then git the hosses, William,

      An’ hitch ‘em to the bob;

It’s early in the mornin’

      For you an’ John an’ Rob.

Put on the tank an’ gather

      The sap from all the trees;

I’ll have the kittle ready

      For b’ilin’, if you please.”

Now comes the team a draggin’ of the tank frum tree to tree

     Where rest the buckets brimmin’ with the sap both sweet an’ clear;

The off it goes a-groanin’, off to where the kittles be,

     Where now the smoke is risin’ in the leaden atmosphere.

The fires are burnin’ brightly ‘neath the kittles huge an’ black,

     The sap is b’ilin’ slowly while the vapor fades away;

The syrup’s sweet an’ tasty like a country maiden’s smack,

     An’ warms afeller’s in’ards on a chilly b’ilin’ day.

“Don’t burn the surrup, William,

      The cans are clean an’ bright;

Don’t fall asleep, you Thomas,

      It’s your turn tonight.

Heigho for home an’ mother!

      To git a decent nap;

It’s early in the mornin’

      To gather up the sap.”

The b’ilin’ days are busy days with skimmin’ off the top,

     With keepin’ fires a-burnin’ ‘neath the kittles day an’ night;

With dumpin’ of the buckets, cuz the sap will never stop,

     An’ haulin’ of the surplus to the storage big an’ tight.

Then fillin’ uv the bottles, or the cans, as case may be,

     ‘Cuz city folks are waitin’ for the syrup pure an’ clear;

Are waitin’ with impatience, an’ a-blamin’ you an’ me,

     ‘Cuz the syrup ain’t a-comin’ long before we git it here!

“O, keep your axe a-goin’

      The wood is gittin’ low;

Fill up the kittles, William,

      Don’t be so tarnal slow!

It’s Thomas for the station,

      A load for Boston town;

There’s work for ev’ry finger

      When sap is b’ilin’ down!”

The sap is runnin’ slower an’ the young folks growin’’ glum,

     They’ve got to have some pleasure with the work from day to day;

Tomorrow they will “sugar” an’ they’re feelin’ better some,

     An’ word has been extended to the neighbors on the way.

The boys have worked like beavers for to clear the big barn floor,

     The fiddlers have been hired for the dancin’ through the night;

The gals are all excited for the happiness in store,

     The hearts of all the lovers they are feelin’ gay an’ light.

“O, swing your partners, fellers!

      An’ race ‘em down the line;

They’re sweeter all than sugar,

      We’re all a-feelin’ fine.

Git married if you wanter,

      An’ have a little fun;

The sugar’s off to market

      An’ b’ilin’ days are done!”

March 14, 1910