The Book of American Negro Poetry Part 4

Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san', We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah; Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man; I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah.

Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do', Hyeah's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat.

Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo', Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet!

Dah, now, I t'ought dat you'd hug me up close.

Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy.

He ain't no tramp, ner no straggler, of co'se; He's pappy's pa'dner an' playmate an' joy.

Come to you' pallet now--go to you' res'; Wisht you could allus know ease an' cleah skies; Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas'-- Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes!

s.h.i.+PS THAT Pa.s.s IN THE NIGHT

Out in the sky the great dark clouds are ma.s.sing; I look far out into the pregnant night, Where I can hear a solemn booming gun And catch the gleaming of a random light, That tells me that the s.h.i.+p I seek is pa.s.sing, pa.s.sing.

My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are gla.s.sing; For I would hail and check that s.h.i.+p of s.h.i.+ps.

I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud, My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips, And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, pa.s.sing, pa.s.sing.

O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpa.s.sing, O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!

Is there no hope for me? Is there no way That I may sight and check that speeding bark Which out of sight and sound is pa.s.sing, pa.s.sing?

LOVER'S LANE

Summah night an' sighin' breeze, 'Long de lovah's lane; Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees, 'Long de lovah's lane.

White folks' wo'k all done up gran'-- Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han'

Struttin' lak we owned de lan', 'Long de lovah's lane.

Owl a-settin' 'side de road, 'Long de lovah's lane, Lookin' at us lak he knowed Dis uz lovah's lane.

Go on, hoot yo' Mou'nful tune, You ain' nevah loved in June, An' come hidin' f'om de moon Down in lovah's lane.

Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway, Down in lovah's lane, Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say 'Long de lovah's lane.

But I whispahs low lak dis, An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss-- Mistah Bush he shek his fis', Down in lovah's lane.

Whut I keer ef day is long, Down in lovah's lane.

I kin allus sing a song 'Long de lovah's lane.

An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' say Meks up fu' de weary day Wen I's strollin' by de way, Down in lovah's lane.

An' dis t'ought will allus rise Down in lovah's lane; Wondah whethah in de skies Dey's a lovah's lane.

Ef dey ain't, I tell you true, 'Ligion do look mighty blue, 'Cause I do' know whut I'd do 'Dout a lovah's lane.

THE DEBT

This is the debt I pay Just for one riotous day, Years of regret and grief.

Sorrow without relief.

Pay it I will to the end-- Until the grave, my friend, Gives me a true release-- Gives me the clasp of peace.

Slight was the thing I bought, Small was the debt I thought, Poor was the loan at best-- G.o.d! but the interest!

THE HAUNTED OAK

Pray why are you so bare, so bare, Oh, bough of the old oak-tree; And why, when I go through the shade you throw, Runs a shudder over me?

My leaves were green as the best, I trow, And sap ran free in my veins, But I saw in the moonlight dim and weird A guiltless victim's pains.

I bent me down to hear his sigh; I shook with his gurgling moan, And I trembled sore when they rode away, And left him here alone.

They'd charged him with the old, old crime, And set him fast in jail: Oh, why does the dog howl all night long, And why does the night wind wail?

He prayed his prayer and he swore his oath, And he raised his hand to the sky; But the beat of hoofs smote on his ear, And the steady tread drew nigh.

Who is it rides by night, by night, Over the moonlit road?

And what is the spur that keeps the pace, What is the galling goad?

And now they beat at the prison door, "Ho, keeper, do not stay!

We are friends of him whom you hold within, And we fain would take him away

From those who ride fast on our heels With mind to do him wrong; They have no care for his innocence, And the rope they bear is long."

They have fooled the jailer with lying words, They have fooled the man with lies; The bolts unbar, the locks are drawn, And the great door open flies.

Now they have taken him from the jail, And hard and fast they ride, And the leader laughs low down in his throat, As they halt my trunk beside.

Oh, the judge, he wore a mask of black, And the doctor one of white, And the minister, with his oldest son, Was curiously bedight.

Oh, foolish man, why weep you now?

'Tis but a little s.p.a.ce, And the time will come when these shall dread The mem'ry of your face.

I feel the rope against my bark, And the weight of him in my grain, I feel in the throe of his final woe The touch of my own last pain.

And never more shall leaves come forth On a bough that bears the ban; I am burned with dread, I am dried and dead, From the curse of a guiltless man.

And ever the judge rides by, rides by, And goes to hunt the deer, And ever another rides his soul In the guise of a mortal fear.

And ever the man he rides me hard, And never a night stays he; For I feel his curse as a haunted bough On the trunk of a haunted tree.

WHEN DE CO'N PONE'S HOT

Dey is times in life when Nature Seems to slip a cog an' go, Jes' a-rattlin' down creation, Lak an ocean's overflow; When de worl' jes' stahts a-spinnin'

Lak a picaninny's top, An' yo' cup o' joy is brimmin'

'Twell it seems about to slop, An' you feel jes' lak a racah, Dat is trainin' fu' to trot-- When yo' mammy says de blessin'

An' de co'n pone's hot.

When you set down at de table, Kin' o' weary lak an' sad, An' you'se jes' a little tiahed An' purhaps a little mad; How yo' gloom tu'ns into gladness, How yo' joy drives out de doubt When de oven do' is opened, An' de smell comes po'in' out; Why, de 'lectric light o' Heaven Seems to settle on de spot, When yo' mammy says de blessin'

An' de co'n pone's hot.

When de cabbage pot is steamin'