Pipes OPan at Zekesbury | Page 7

in it, wishin' 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 sassy
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 brush!
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-fishin'!--and they's other fellers, too, With their
hickry poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few Little "shiners" 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
grasses 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