I.
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E lived together on the farm, my parents, Dan, an’ me,
An we wuz happy an’ content as any folks could be;
Till mother, bless her weary eyes, who wasn’t over-stout,
Grew sort o' weak, an’ all run down, an’ needed helpin’ out.
So when Hen Hicks, the drunkard, died, a good fur nothin’ man,
We took his only little girl whose name was Mary Ann.
A sweet-faced child as ever was, we loved her, Dan an’ me.
An’ uster ask her, boyish like, whose gal she was to be?
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N’ she would look from me to Dan, an’ back from Dan to me,
Her lustrous eyes a-pleadin’ like, yit full of witchery,
An’ say, with voice real low an’ sweet, to still a petty fuss,
That when she growed up big enough she'd hev the both of us!
The years sped on, yit neither gained the so called inside track;
Whenever Dan drawed her to school I gen’ly drawed her back.
An’ day by day her face wore signs of sweet perplexity,
Becuz, she didn’t keer for Dan no more’n she did for me.
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HE uster tell us of a Love, a Love we never knew,
An’ said that all would share alike if they wuz good an’ true;
But all the love I keerd about wuz that of Mary Ann,
But she? She didn keer for me no more’n she did for Dan.
Then Mary Ann growed beautiful, how beautiful wuz she!
Her step, her smile, her ev’ry act wuz grace an’ purity;
An’ each wuz longin’ for the time when he would be a man,
An’ Dan, he kinder scowled at me, an’ I, I scowled at Dan.
Then O, the change at come to us, it's burned into my brain,
An all the power uv Heaven an arth kin ne'er remove the pain ;
Our Mary Ann tuk strangely sick, an one bright April day
We laid her yender on the hill then turned our steps away.
An wen we come in sight uv home Dan peared tur feel so bad
At I, tho shameful ez it wuz, got sorter riled an mad,
An gritted threw my tight shet teeth, with rage an jealousy:
"Yew needn feel so tarnal bad, she thought the most uv me!"
* * * * * * * * *
II.
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HEN, ah! the change that come to us, it’s burned into my brain,
An' all the power of heaven an’ earth kin e’er remove the pain!
Our Mary Ann took strangely ill, an’ one bright autumn day
We laid her yender on the hill, an’ turned our steps away.
An' when we come in sight of home Dan ’peared to feel so bad
That I, though shameful as it wuz, got sorter r’iled an’ mad,
An’ gritted though my tight-shet teeth, with rage an’ jealousy:
“You needn’t feel so thund’rin bad, she thought the most o’ me!”
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UT Dan, he never said one word, an’ many weeks went by;
An’ then we noticed paler cheeks, an’ dim-like grew his eye,
An’ when he lay in bed one night I stole up to his side,
An’ arsked forgiveness, after which we both held han’s an’ cried.
An’ there, within thet darkned room, I knelt by him to pray,
An’ ast the Lord to take my hate an’ jealousy away,
An’ by his bedside, on my knees, our newer faith began;
The faith which allus seemed a part of sweet-faced Mary Ann.
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N’ wen Dan died one winter's night, I somehow wished ’twuz me,
Becuz I knew that he would go beyond the Jasper Sea,
An’ there would find sweet Mary Ann in angel robes of white,
Who'd welcome him with sunny smiles an’ ol’ time love an’ light.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ah! That wuz many years ago; an’ yit it seems as clear
Az though it wuz but yisterday we all wuz sittin’ here.
But whether she wuz his or mine, I’ve sworn tur be a man,
An’ I would love ’em, here or there, both Dan an’ Mary Ann!
________________________________________________________________
Sept. 26, 1909
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HO says these days
are melancholy, saddest uv the year?
Expectin’ souls
who love the soil to drop an idle tear?
Whoever thinks a
thought like that hez never seen, I guess,
The hills an’
dales of Gungawamp rigged out in autumn dress.
The artist’s brush,
with master hand, never painted such a scene,
The poet’s song never
told uv ha’f her loveliness, I
ween;
No season uv the
year compares with autumn, seems to me,
When Gungawamp is
bathed in red an’ golden finery.
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HE hillsides
ev’rywhere around are jest like big bouquets,
All fadin’ to a
purple bank till lost within the haze;
An’ where they
meet ol’ “Lizzard Crick,” along the headlands bold,
The mirrored woods
look like a pot uv molten red an’ gold.
Talk not to me uv
“saddest days,” amid sech scenes ez these,
When paradise is
spread abroad on all the hills an’ trees;
When red an’ green
an’ brown an’ gold upon the slopin’ hills
Make rainbows
ev’rywhere an’ jest fill ev’ry heart with thrills.
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HE farmer with his
team afield feels nothin’ uv remorse;
Becuz uv
“melancholy days” he feels not any loss.
His barns are
filled with hay an’ grain, his cellar is well filled
With veg’tables
an’ canned preserves frum off the land he’s tilled.
He works an’ sings
his mid-day song while seedin’ down his ground,
An’ looks upon his
well-kept stock with happerness profound;
Let winter winds
blow fierce an’ cold, let snow come fast an’ deep,
He’s got his stock
provided for, he’s got his fire an’ keep.
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OWN in the holler,
jest beyend, snug into Miller’s hill,
Is slowly grindin’
ev’ry day ol’ Gungy’s cider mill;
Here is an air uv
sweet repose, an’ uv sweet cider, too,
No thoughts uv
“melancholy days” are anywhere in view.
The ol’ hoss
walkin’ round an’ round, the grindin’ cogs that squeeze,
An’ down below,
encased in straw, the golden drippin’ cheese!
A pile uv apples
near the mill, high ez a schoolboy’s head;
No hint uv
“saddest days” are here, they’re happy days instead.
T
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HE youngsters to
an’ from the school, with straws in either hand,
Around the foamin’
tub compose a very happy band;
With pockets
bulgin’ out they leave the golden apple pile,
No hint uv
“saddest days” are seen in that extended smile.
An’ so it is
through Gungawamp this blessed time o’ year,
When ev’rything on
ev’ry side suggests a world uv cheer;
I wish that
melancholy bard could see, the same ez me,
Ol’ Gungawamp an’
Lizzard Crick in autumn finery!
Oct. 3, ‘09
Originally
called ‘Ballad of the Melancholy Days’
I.
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I
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CAN’T furgit the huskin’ bee in Bijah Jones’
barn,
Which,
written up in proper style, would make a fairish yarn;
I
can’t furgit thet special one, becuz thet wuz the year
I
fust kissed purty Helen Brown by findin’ uv an ear
Red
ez the red upon her cheeks, which growed much redder still,
When
I jest smacked her ’fore the crowd, an’ smacked her with a will.
You
see I can’t furgit the time, don’t want to, I declare,
Becuz
thet kiss jest meant a bond thet sealed our future there.
II.
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B
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IGE spread himself
to hev a “time,” ez he’d ne’er done afore;
It
seemed ez though he’d humped himself to hev red ears galore.
Red
ears, red cheeks an’ sparklin’ eyes, the like you never see,
Onless
you happened to be there to Bijah’s huskin’ bee,
An’
when the corn wuz fin’ly husked (we didn’t skip an ear),
We
went into the waggin house, where all wuz light an’ cheer,
An’
Bijah’s wife hed laid a spread thet made us smile with joy,
’Cuz
ev’ryone hed appertites to shame a growed-up boy!
III.
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T
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WUZ punkin pie an’
cranb’ry sass, an’ Injun puddin’ brown,
An’
sparrrib cold, an’ biscuits hot, an’ cider to wash ’em down;
’Twuz
thick mince pie an’ home baked beans, an’ apples, grapes an’ sich,
An’
doughnuts piled twelve inches high, an’ coffee strong an’ rich,
An’
how the huskers did pitch in, I et till I wuz sore,
An’
Helen set beside me or I might hev tried for more!
Oh,
huskin’ bees there be, I know, but Bijah’s huskin’ bee
Beat
any Gungy huskin’ bee ’at ever I did see.
IV.
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A
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N’ while we wuz a-eatin’
Bijah cleared the ol’ barn floor,
An’
Sloky fetched his fiddle in an’ set beside the door;
An’
talk about your dancin’, an’ your steppin’ to the strings!
It
really seemed ez ev’ry gal wuz jest afloat with wings.
’Twuz
“forrud four,” an’ “right an’ left,” an’ “swing y’r pardners all,”
An’
“shassay round the room” ag’in, “don’t let y’r pardners fall!”
I
danced with Helen ev’ry set, an’ now an’ then I’d push
A
bright red ear beneath her chin jes’ so’s to see her blush.
V.
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T
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WUZ
“Money Musk,” an’ “Oprey Reel,” an’ ev’ry ol’-time “square,”
With
now an’ then a breathin’ spell out in the autumn air;
An’
there beneath the ellum tree I ast sweet Helen Brown
Ef
she would share the ear with me the hull long year aroun’!
She
said I’d made so fine a start at huskin’ Bijah’s corn
She
wouldn’t want to hinder me, an’ make my life forlorn.
An’
ever sence thet autumn night I’ve liked thet ellum tree,
An’
I hev never ceased to bless “Bige” Jones’ huskin’ bee!
Oct. 31, ‘09
Originally titled ‘Ballad of Bijah Jones’
Huskin’ Bee’
B
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