Riley Farm-Rhymes | Page 8

rines,
Which may be a fact you have heerd of before
But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to with
care,?You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's
pride and joy,?And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a air?As ef each one of them was your little girl er boy.
I joy in my hart jest to hear that rippin' sound?When you split one down the back and jolt the halves
in two,?And the friends you love the best is gethered all around--?And you says unto your sweethart, "Oh, here's the
core fer you!"
And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all,?Espeshally the childern, and watch theyr high delight?As one by one the rines with theyr pink notches falls,?And they holler fer some more, with unquenched
appetite.
Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat--?A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr
hands,?And when they "saw" it through theyr mouth sich music
can't be beat--?'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick
understands.
Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty-colored
meat,?And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter squshed
betwixt
The up'ard and the down'ard motions of a feller's teeth,?And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy childhood
mixed.
Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away?To the summertime of youth; and again I see the dawn,?And the fadin' afternoon of the long summer day,?And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a-comin'
on.
And thare's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves and
trees,?And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as silver
mice,?And us boys in the wortermelons on our hands and knees,?And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller-cored
slice.
Oh! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again,?And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me,?Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin--?Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see.
UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE
Up and down old Brandywine,
In the days 'at's past and gone--?With a dad-burn hook-and line
And a saplin' pole--swawn!
I've had more fun, to the square?Inch, than ever ANYwhere!?Heaven to come can't discount MINE?Up and down old Brandywine!
Hain't no sense in WISHIN'--yit
Wisht to goodness I COULD jes?"Gee" the blame' world round and git
Back to that old happiness!--
Kindo' drive back in the shade?"The old Covered Bridge" there laid?'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak?My soul over, hub and spoke!
Honest, now!--it hain't no DREAM
'At I'm wantin',--but THE FAC'S?As they wuz; the same old stream,
And the same old times, i jacks!--
Gim me back my bare feet--and?Stonebruise too!--And scratched and tanned!?And let hottest dog-days shine?Up and down old Brandywine!
In and on betwixt the trees
'Long the banks, pour down yer noon,?Kindo' curdled with the breeze
And the yallerhammer's tune;
And the smokin', chokin' dust?O' the turnpike at its wusst--?SATURD'YS, say, when it seems?Road's jes jammed with country teams!--
Whilse the old town, fur away
'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land,?Dozed-like in the heat o' day
Peaceful' as a hired hand.
Jolt the gravel th'ough the floor?O' the old bridge!--grind and roar?With yer blame percession-line--?Up and down old Brandywine!
Souse me and my new straw-hat
Off the foot-log!--what _I_ care?--?Fist shoved in the crown o' that--
Like the old Clown ust to wear.
Wouldn't swop it fer a' old?Gin-u-wine raal crown o' gold!--?Keep yer KING ef you'll gim me?Jes the boy I ust to be!
Spill my fishin'-worms! er steal
My best "goggle-eye!"--but you?Can't lay hands on joys I feel
Nibblin' like they ust to do!
So, in memory, to-day?Same old ripple lips away?At my "cork" and saggin' line,?Up and down old Bradywine!
There the logs is, round the hill,
Where "Old Irvin" ust to lift?Out sunfish from daylight till
Dewfall--'fore he'd leave "The Drift"
And give US a chance--and then?Kindo' fish back home again,?Ketchin' 'em jes left and right?Where WE hadn't got "a bite!"
Er, 'way windin' out and in,--
Old path th'ough the iurnweeds?And dog-fennel to yer chin--
Then come suddent, th'ough the reeds
And cat-tails, smack into where?Them--air woods--hogs ust to scare?Us clean 'crosst the County-line,?Up and down old Brandywine!
But the dim roar o' the dam
It 'ud coax us furder still?To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm,
Slidin' on to Huston's mill--
Where, I'spect, "The Freeport crowd"?Never WARMED to us er 'lowed?We wuz quite so overly?Welcome as we aimed to be.
Still it 'peared like ever'thing--
Fur away from home as THERE--?Had more RELISH-like, i jing!--
Fish in stream, er bird in air!
O them rich old bottom-lands,?Past where Cowden's Schoolhouse stands!?Wortermelons--MASTER-MINE!?Up and down old Brandywine!
And sich pop-paws!--Lumps o' raw
Gold and green,--jes oozy th'ough?With ripe yaller--like you've saw
Custard-pie with no crust to:
And jes GORGES o' wild plums,?Till a feller'd suck his thumbs?Clean up to his elbows! MY!--?ME SOME MORE ER LEM ME DIE!
Up and down old Brandywine! ...
Stripe me with pokeberry-juice!--?Flick me with a pizenvine
And yell "Yip!" and lem me loose!
--Old now as I then wuz young,?'F I could sing as I HAVE sung,?Song 'ud surely ring DEE-VINE?Up and down old Brandywine!
WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY
When country roads begin to thaw
In mottled spots of damp