Swimmin’ Days On “Lizard Crick”

                                         By Joe Cone

“Oh! The old swimmin’ hole! In the long, lazy days

When the hum drum of school made so many run-a-way;

How pleasant was the journey down the old, dusty lane,

Where the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane

You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole,

There was lots of fun on hand at the old swimmin’ hole!”

                                 James Whitcomb Riley

                                      I

O, we like the winter season with its stretch of ice an’ snow,

With the trappin’ an’ the fishin’ an’ the fireplace’s glow,

With its snuggy winter ev’nin’s, with the toastin’ of our shins,

An’ the apples an’ the cider, an’ the stories deadly spins.

An’ the candy pulls an’ parties, an’ the huskin’ ones an’ all

Bring a mighty lot of pleasure whis is pleasant to recall,

But for fun that can’t be reckoned by a rule of ‘rithmatic,

Is the joys of goin’ swimmin’ on the banks of “Lizzard Crick”!

                    Swimmin’ in the Crick,

                        Where the leeches bite an’ stick;

O, they ain’t no fun in Gungy ekals swimmin’ in the Crick!

                                      II

O, You take it in the mornin’ when we’re on the way to school,

Don’t the shadders look invitin’, ain’t the water nice an’ cool?

Then we slip on girl companions an’ go tearin’ down the lane

Just to dive into the shadders that are callin’ us again!

Here we sport and plunge like fishes, then go scamperin’ pell-mell

Off to get into the schoolhouse ere the closin’ of the bell.

With our hair hung in our faces which is soggy wet an’ thick

With the silv’ry drips of water from front of Lizzard Crick

                        Water from the Crick

                        Where the lily pads are thick;

Where is there any water like that comes from Lizard Crick!

                                      III

Then the hum-drum of the studies an’ the teacher’s chilly air

When she sends us to the mirror for to comb our tussled hair.

O, the mornin’ drags and stretches to a weary afternoon,

While our thoughts go out the winder through the haze of early June;

Go beyond the wooded hillside with its oaks an’ hemlocks thick

Down beyond the tangled alders to the banks of Lizzard Crick.

An’ beyond the pages weary we can see the silent pool

Which is ever callin’, callin’ of a restless boy from school;

We can hear its meller pleadin’ e’en above the old clock’s tick,

An’ once more we’re restin’  happy in the arms of Lizzard Crick

                        In the arms of Lizzard Crick

                        With its alders hangin’ thick;

How can a youngster study when he’s near to Lizzard Crick?

                                      IV

When at last the school is over ‘tis a bee-line that we make

Leaven’ there a row of children gapin’ widely in our wake;

‘Tis a bee-line for ol’ Lizzard an’the swimmin’ hole we left

In the early mornin’ hours when the bell our pleasures clept.

‘Tis again to sport an’ frolic in the alder-hidden stream,

Divin’ deep for whitened pebbles ‘neath the water’s silv’ry gleam;

Droppin’ from the hangin’ branches with a merry shout an’ kick

Down into the waitin’ waters of our dear ol’ Lizard Crick.

                        Shoutin’ crost ol’ Lizzard Crick

                        Where the echo comes back quick;

O, the fun we have a-talkin’ ‘crost the pale of Lizzard Crick!

                                      V

O, we know our mothers want us for the choin’ to be done,

An’ we know the work that waits us an’ the errands to be run;

But we hate to leave the water an’ return to earth once more

An’ take up the burdens waitin’ on the dull prosaic shore.

Then the scramble for the clothing which some fiend in human form

Has stole up an’ knotted tightly an’ escaped beyond the storm!

Then the stealin’ homeward slyly, like as not to meet the stick

‘Cause we staid too long a-swimmin’ by the shores of Lizzard Crick.

     

Hangin’ round the crick,

                        Just a reg’lar schoolboy trick;

Ain’t no place in all creation like the banks of Lizzard Crick.

                                      VI

Lizzard Crick is way off yonder in the days of long ago;

Where our playmate boys have wandered since those times we do not know;

But we know that in their dream-times they can see the crick once more,

With its blue reflected bosom an’ its tangled alder shore.

O, the crick is still a-shinin’ in the golden summer noon –

Other boys are in our places in the early hazy June;

But across the years our vision wanders with a crooked stick

To the blessed boyhood pleasures on the banks of Lizzard Crick.

                    On the banks of Lizzard Crick

                        With its lily pads so thick;

O, to sit and dream forever on the banks of Lizzard Crick!

May 11, 1910