A Spray of Kentucky Pine | Page 4

the old swimmin'-hole.
Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore,?When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore.?Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide?That gazed back at me so gay and glorified,?It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress?My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.?But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole.
Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days?When the humdrum of school made so many run-a-ways.?How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,?Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole?They was lot o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole.?But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll?Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole.
Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,?And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;?And it mottled the worter with amber and gold?Tel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled;?And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by?Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,?Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle?As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole.
Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place,?The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face;?The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot?Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot.?And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be--?But never again will theyr shade shelter me!?And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul.?And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole.
Their little jaws dropped!?Their little eyes distended!?Their little ears stood erect!
They fairly bristled with an intense attention.?You said the last word, of the last line.?Then--absolute, unbroken--Silence!?Finally--but without another word--you reached?down, patted the youngest one on his wet curly Locks.?The Wizard whispered to the driver "Go."?As the team, in a brisk trot, started away.?you, still standing, coatless, hatless, waved your?hand--in that quick little jerky fashion peculiar?to you--to those little naked Urchins.?With a mighty Shout, they ran back to the Pool,?and gave a rapid-firing Exhibition of the Single?Dive; the Double Dive; and one--a dare-devil--the Triple Dive! What a Memory, what a Priceless Memory, you must?have given those Boys of Martinsville, that Ideal?Summer Afternoon, in the Long While Ago!?Martinsville! To you of Blessed Memory!?For the sake of an early, enduring, Friendship,?did you not encrust one Jap Miller of?Martinsville with no mean verse??And did it not run something like this?
Jap Miller down at Martinsville's the blamedest feller yit! When he starts in a-talkin' other folks is apt to quit!-- 'Pears like that mouth o' his'n wuzn't made fer nothin' else But jes' to argify 'em down and gether in their pelts:?He'll talk you down on tariff; er he'll talk you down on tax. And prove the pore man pays 'em all and them's about the fac's! Religen, law, er politics, prize-fightin', er base-ball?Jes' tetch Jap up a little and he'll post you 'bout 'em all.

W'y, that-air blame Jap Miller, with his keen sircastic fun, Has got more friends than ary candidate 'at ever run!?Don't matter what his views is, when he states the same to you, They allus coincide with your'n, the same as two and two: You can't take issue with him--er, at least, they haint no sense In startin' in to down him, so you better not commence.-- The best way's jes' to listen, like your humble servant does. And jes' concede Jap Miller is the best man ever wuz!
On the drive back to the little Station, you were?the Man, the Poet, but not the Mystic!?You delighted the Wizard with your genial?flow of Verse, of Story.?When the watchful Wizard, smuggled you aboard?your train--with privacy unbroken you, like?King Saul, returned to your People, refreshed in body,?restored in mind; for had not the Wizard done for you,?as David did for Saul, for had not he brought Peace?to your no longer Troubled Soul??Did he not say to you, in parting, "All Is Well With You?"
O! James Whitcomb Riley!?It is late in the Afternoon, of a Perfect Summer Day.?This Man From Down On The Farm,?is standing on the Banks Of Wolf Run.?He is thinking of You!?Joyfully, not Regretfully!?A Pastoral Scene stretches before him--?a Scene of much Beauty!?The Cattle stand, not "knee-deep in June"?but well into the pure rippling Waters of an August?Wolf Run, under the dense shade overhead, where?arching branches inter-lock, casting a net-work?of shifting Shadows on the bosom of the Peaceful?Waters, which seem to murmer, as they?flow, your Name--Joyfully, not Mournfully!
James Whitcomb Riley!
James Whitcomb Riley!