Pipes O'Pan At Zekesbury Part 2

'Crost the rocks and mussel-sh.e.l.ls, a-limpin' and a-grinnin', With yer dinner far ye, and a blessin' from the giver.

Noon-time and June-time down around the river!

KNEELING WITH HERRICK.

Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is bent.-- Give me content-- Full-pleasured with what comes to me, What e'er it be: An humble roof--a frugal board, And simple h.o.a.rd; The wintry f.a.got piled beside The chimney wide, While the enwreathing flames up-sprout And twine about The brazen dogs that guard my hearth And household worth: Tinge with the ember's ruddy glow The rafters low; And let the sparks snap with delight, As ringers might That mark deft measures of some tune The children croon: Then, with good friends, the rarest few Thou holdest true, Ranged round about the blaze, to share My comfort there,-- Give me to claim the service meet That makes each seat A place of honor, and each guest Loved as the rest.

ROMANCIN'.

I' b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says, and I'm About o' the conclusion that they ain't no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used to know When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto solem'-like and low!

You git my idy, do you?--_Little_ tads, you understand-- Jes' a wis.h.i.+n' thue and thue you that you on'y was a _man_.-- Yit here I am, this minute, even forty, to a day, And fergittin' all that's in it, wis.h.i.+n' jes' the other way!

I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate Whur the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,-- But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue, And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!--

I jes' gee-haw the hosses, and unhook the swingle-tree, Whur the hazel-bushes tosses down their shadders over me, And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set Jes' a-thinkin' here, 'y gravy! till my eyes is wringin'-wet!

Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the _present_, I kin see-- Kindo like my sight was double--all the things that _used to be_; And the flutter o' the robin, and the teeter o' the wren Sets the willer branches bobbin "howdy-do" thum Now to Then!

The deadnin' and the thicket's jes' a bilin' full of June, Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; And the catbird in the bottom, and the sap-suck on the snag, Seems ef they cain't--od-rot'em!--jes' do nothin' else but brag!

They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, And that sa.s.sy little critter jes' a-peckin' all the day; They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush, And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brus.h.!.+

They's music _all around_ me!--And I go back, in a dream-- Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep--and in the stream That used to split the medder whur the dandylions growed, I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.

Then's when I' b'en a-fis.h.i.+n'!--and they's other fellers, too, With their hickry poles a-swis.h.i.+n' out behind 'em; and a few Little "s.h.i.+ners" on our stringers, with their tails tiptoein' bloom, As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy journey home.

I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout!"

I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam, And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern of the dam.

I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill; And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still; And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, And jes' git in and row it like the miller used to do.

W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortal plain I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "money musk"

Far the lightnin'-bugs a-blinkin'and a-dancin'in the dusk.

And so I keep on musin', as the feller says, till I'm Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the _old_ times,--and, I swear, I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jes' as soft as any prayer!

HAS SHE FORGOTTEN.

I.

Has she forgotten? On this very May We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away The vines from these old granites, cold and gray-- And yet, indeed, not grim enough were they To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstacies, Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies.

Has she forgotten--that the May has won Its promise?--that the bird-songs from the tree Are sprayed above the gra.s.ses as the sun Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly?

Has she forgotten life--love--everyone-- Has she forgotten me--forgotten me?

II.

Low, low down in the violets I press My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, Just as of old, save for the tearfulness Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress?

Has she forgotten thus the old caress That made our breath a quickened atmosphere That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep In memory of days that used to be,-- Has she forgotten these? And, in her sleep, Has she forgotten me--forgotten me?

III.

To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, I mean to weld our faces--through the dense Incalculable darkness make pretense That she has risen from her reveries To mate her dreams with mine in marriages Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease Of every longing nerve of indolence,-- Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun My senses with her kisses--drawl the glee Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, Across mine own, forgetful if is done The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, "To-day is ours!".... Ah, Heaven! can it be She has forgotten me--forgotten me!

A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG.

It's the curiousest thing in creation, Whenever I hear that old song, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" I'm so bothered, My life seems as short as it's long!-- Far ever'thing 'pears like adzackly It 'peared, in the years past and gone,-- When I started out sparkin', at twenty, And had my first neckercher on!

Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer Right now than my parents was then, You strike up that song, "Do They Miss Me?"

And I'm jest a youngster again!-- I'm a-standin' back there in the furries A-wis.h.i.+n' far evening to come, And a-whisperin' over and over Them words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?"

You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it The first time I heerd it; and so, As she was my very first sweetheart, It reminds of her, don't you know,-- How her face ust to look, in the twilight, As I tuck her to spellin'; and she Kep' a-hummin' that song 'tel I ast her, Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me!

I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, And hear her low answerin' words, And then the glad chirp of the crickets As clear as the twitter of birds; And the dust in the road is like velvet, And the ragweed, and fennel, and gra.s.s Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies Of Eden of old, as we pa.s.s.

"Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower-- And softer--and sweet as the breeze That powdered our path with the snowy White bloom of the old locus'-trees!

Let the whippoorwills he'p you to sing it, And the echoes 'way over the hill, 'Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus Of stars, and our voices is still.

But, oh! "They's a chord in the music That's missed when _her_ voice is away!"

Though I listen from midnight 'tel morning, And dawn, 'tel the dusk of the day; And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards And on through the heavenly dome, With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'

The words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?"

THE LOST PATH.