Standard Selections Part 57

One morning, fifty years ago,-- When apple trees were white with snow Of fragrant blossoms, and the air Was spellbound with the perfume rare,-- Upon a farm horse, large and lean, And lazy with its double load, A sun-browned youth and maid were seen Jogging along the winding road.

Blue were the arches of the skies; But bluer were that maiden's eyes.

The dewdrops on the gra.s.s were bright; But brighter was the loving light That sparkled 'neath the long-fringed lid, Where those bright eyes of blue were hid; Adown the shoulders brown and bare Rolled the soft waves of golden hair, Where, almost strangled with the spray, The sun, a willing sufferer, lay.

It was the fairest sight, I ween, That the young man had ever seen; And with his features all aglow, The happy fellow told her so!

And she without the least surprise Looked on him with those heavenly eyes; Saw underneath that shade of tan The handsome features of a man; And with a joy but rarely known She drew that dear face to her own, And by her bridal bonnet hid-- I cannot tell you what she did!

So, on they ride until among The new-born leaves with dewdrops hung, The parsonage, arrayed in white, Peers out,--a more than welcome sight.

Then, with a cloud upon his face, "What shall we do," he turned to say, "Should he refuse to take his pay From what is in the pillow-case?"

And glancing down his eye surveyed The pillow-case before him laid, Whose contents reaching to its hem, Might purchase endless joy for them.

The maiden answers, "Let us wait, To borrow trouble where's the need?"

Then, at the parson's squeaking gate Halted the more than willing steed.

Down from the horse the bridegroom sprung; The latchless gate behind him swung.

The knocker of that startled door, Struck as it never was before, Brought the whole household pale with fright; And there, with blushes on his cheek, So bashful he could hardly speak, The farmer met their wondering sight.

The groom goes in, his errand tells, And, as the parson nods, he leans Far o'er the window-sill and yells, "Come in! He says he'll take the beans!"

Oh! how she jumped! With one glad bound, She and the bean-bag reached the ground.

Then, clasping with each dimpled arm The precious product of the farm, She bears it through the open door; And, down upon the parlor floor, Dumps the best beans vines ever bore.

Ah! happy were their songs that day, When man and wife they rode away.

But happier this chorus still Which echoed through those woodland scenes: "G.o.d bless the priest of Whitinsville!

G.o.d bless the man who took the beans!"

WHEN MALINDY SINGS[77]

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy-- Put dat music book away; What's de use to keep on tryin'?

Ef you practice twell you're gray, You cain't sta't no notes a-flyin'

Lak de ones dat rants and rings F'om de kitchen to de big woods When Malindy sings.

You ain't got de nachel o'gans Fu' to make de soun' come right, You ain't got de tunes an' twistin's Fu' to make it sweet an' light.

Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy, An' I'm tellin' you fu' true, When hit comes to raal right singin'

'Tain't no easy thing to do.

Easy 'nough fu' folks to hollah, Lookin' at de lines an' dots, When dey ain't no one kin sense it, An' de chune comes in, in spots; But fu' real melojous music, Dat jes' strikes yo' hea't and clings, Jes' you stan' an' listen wif me When Malindy sings.

Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy?

Blessed soul, tek up de cross!

Look hyeah, ain't you jokin', honey?

Well, you don't know what you los'.

Y'ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa'blin', Robins, la'ks, an' all dem things, Hush dey moufs an' hides dey faces When Malindy sings.

Fiddlin' man jes' stop his fiddlin', Lay his fiddle on de she'f; Mockin' bird quit tryin' to whistle, 'Cause he jes' so shamed hisse'f.

Folks a-playin' on de banjo Draps dey fingahs on de strings-- Bless yo' soul--fu'gits to move 'em, When Malindy sings.

She jes' spreads huh mouf and hollahs, "Come to Jesus," twell you hyeah Sinnahs' tremblin' steps an' voices, Timid-lak, a-drawin' neah; Den she tu'ns to "Rock of Ages,"

Simply to de cross she clings, An' you fin' yo' teahs a-drappin'

When Malindy sings.

Who dat says dat humble praises Wif de Master nevah counts?

Hush yo' mouf, I hyeah dat music, Ez hit rises up an' mounts-- Floatin' by de hills an' valleys, Way above dis buryin' sod, Ez hit makes its way to glory To de very gates of G.o.d!

Oh, hit's sweetah dan de music Of an edicated band; An' it's dearah dan de battle's Song o' triumph in de lan'.

It seems holier dan evenin'

When de solemn chu'ch-bell rings, Ez I sit an' calmly listen While Malindy sings.

Towsah, stop dat ba'kin', hyeah me!

Mandy, mek dat chile keep still; Don't you hyeah de echoes callin', F'om de valley to de hill?

Let me listen, I can hyeah it, Th'oo de bresh of angel's wings, Sof' an' sweet, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,"

Ez Malindy sings.

FOOTNOTE:

[77] By permission of Dodd, Mead & Co., publishers. From "Lyrics of the Hearthside," 1899.

WHEN THE COWS COME HOME

AGNES E. MITCh.e.l.l

With klingle, klangle, klingle, Way down the dusty dingle, The cows are coming home; Now sweet and clear and faint and low, The airy tinklings come and go, Like chimings from some far off tower, Or patterings of some April shower That makes the daisies grow; Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle, 'Way down the darkening dingle The cows come slowly home; And old-time friends and twilight plays, And starry nights and sunny days, Come trooping up the misty ways When the cows come home.

With jingle, jangle, jingle, Soft tunes that sweetly mingle, The cows are coming home.

Malvine and Pearl and Florimel, Dekamp, Redrose and Gretchen Schnell, Queen Bell and Sylph and Spangled Sue-- Across the fields I hear her "loo-oo"

And clang her silver bell; Goling, golang, golinglelingle, With faint far sounds that mingle, The cows come slowly home; And mother-songs of long-gone years, And baby joys and childish tears, And youthful hopes and youthful fears, When the cows come home.

With ringle, rangle, ringle, By twos and threes and single The cows are coming home.

Through violet air we see the town And the summer sun a slipping down, And the maple in the hazel glade Throws down the path a longer shade, And the hills are growing brown; To-ring, to-rang, to-ringleringle, By threes and fours and single The cows are coming home; The same sweet sound of wordless psalm, The same sweet June-day rest and calm, The same sweet scent of bud and balm, When the cows come home.

With tinkle, tankle, tinkle, Through fern and periwinkle The cows are coming home; A-loitering in the checkered stream Where the sun-rays glance and gleam, Clarine, Peachbloom and Phoebe Phillis Stand knee-deep in the creamy lilies In a drowsy dream; To-link, to-lank, to-linklelinkle, O'er banks with b.u.t.ter cups a-twinkle, The cows come slowly home; And up through memory's deep ravine Come the brook's old song and its old-time sheen, And the crescent of the silver queen, When the cows come home.

With klingle, klangle, klingle, With loo-oo and moo-oo and jingle The cows are coming home; And over there in Merlin hill, Hear the plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will; The dew drops lie on the tangled vines, And over the poplars Venus s.h.i.+nes, And over the silent mill; Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle With ting-a-ling and jingle The cows come slowly home; Let down the bars, let in the train Of long-gone songs, and flowers and rain, For dear old times come back again, When the cows come home.