Riley Farm-Rhymes Part 2

And so the Summer faded out, and Autumn wore away, And a keener Winter never fetched around Thanksgivin'- Day!

The night before that day of thanks I'll never quite fergit, The wind a-howlin' round the house-it makes me creepy yit!

And there set me and Mother--me a-twistin' at the p.r.o.ngs Of a green scrub-ellum forestick with a vicious pair of tongs, And Mother sayin', "DAVID! DAVID!" in a' undertone, As though she thought that I was thinkin' bad-words unbeknown.

"I've dressed the turkey, David, fer to-morrow," Mother said, A-tryin' to wedge some pleasant subject in my stubborn head,-- "And the mince-meat I'm a-mixin' is perfection mighty nigh; And the pound-cake is delicious-rich--" "Who'll eat 'em?" I--says--I.

"The cramberries is drippin'-sweet," says Mother, runnin'

on, P'tendin' not to hear me;--"and somehow I thought of John All the time they was a-jellin'--fer you know they allus was His favorITE--he likes 'em so!" Says I "Well, s'pose he does?"

"Oh, nothin' much!" says Mother, with a quiet sort o'

smile-- "This gentleman behind my cheer may tell you after while!"

And as I turnt and looked around, some one riz up and leant And putt his arms round Mother's neck, and laughed in low content.

"It's ME," he says--"your fool-boy John, come back to shake your hand; Set down with you, and talk with you, and make you un- derstand How dearer yit than all the world is this old home that we Will spend Thanksgivin' in fer life--jest Mother, you and me!"

n.o.body on the old farm here but Mother, me and John, Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time comes on; And then, I want to say to you, we NEED sich he'p about, As you'd admit, ef you could see the way the crops turn out!

A CANARY AT THE FARM

Folks has be'n to town, and Sahry Fetched 'er home a pet canary,-- And of all the blame', contrary, Aggervatin' things alive!

I love music--that's I love it When it's free--and plenty of it;-- But I kindo' git above it, At a dollar-eighty-five!

Reason's plain as I'm a--sayin',-- Jes' the idy, now, o' layin'

Out yer money, and a-payin'

Fer a wilder-cage and bird, When the medder-larks is wingin'

Round you, and the woods is ringin'

With the beautifullest singin'

That a mortal ever heard!

Sahry's sot, tho'.--So I tell her He's a purty little feller, With his wings o' creamy-yeller, And his eyes keen as a cat; And the twitter o' the critter Tears to absolutely glitter!

Guess I'll haf to go and git her A high-priceter cage 'n that!

WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY

The old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, And filled it is with plenty and to spare,-- But we are lonely here in life's decline, Though fortune smiles around us everywhere: We look across the gold Of the harvests, as of old-- The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay But most we turn our gaze, As with eyes of other days, To the orchard where the children used to play.

O from our life's full measure And rich h.o.a.rd of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play

Our sloping pasture-lands are filled with herds; The barn and granary-bins are bulging o'er: The grove's a paradise of singing birds- The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door Yet lonely, lonely still, Let us prosper as we will, Our old hearts seem so empty everyway-- We can only through a mist See the faces we have kissed In the orchard where the children used to play.

O from our life's full measure And rich h.o.a.rd of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play.

GRIGGSBY'S STATION

Pap's got his pattent-right, and rich as all creation; But where's the peace and comfort that we all had before?

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station-- Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

The likes of us a-livin' here! It's jest a mortal pity To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the stairs, And the pump right in the kitchen! And the city! city!

city!-- And nothin' but the city all around us ever'wheres!

Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree!

And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' people, And none that neighbors with us or we want to go and see!

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station-- Back where the latch-string's a-hangin' from the door, And ever' neighbor round the place is dear as a relation-- Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin', A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday through; And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-law's and pilin'

Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do!

I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin'; And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled hired hand, And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh a-takin', Till her Pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save his land.

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station-- Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' any more, Shet away safe in the woods around the old location-- Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

I want to see Marindy and he'p her with her sewin', And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead and gone, And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he's growin', And smile as I have saw her 'fore she putt her mournin'

on.

And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower eighty, Where John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and burried --for His own sake and Katy's,--and I want to cry with Katy As she reads all his letters over, writ from The War.

What's in all this grand life and high situation, And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin' at the door?-- Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station-- Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE

I

Tell you what I like the best-- 'Long about knee-deep in June, 'Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine,--some afternoon Like to jes' git out and rest, And not work at nothin' else'

II

Orchard's where I'd ruther be-- Needn't fence it in fer me!-- Jes' the whole sky overhead, And the whole airth underneath-- Sorto' so's a man kin breathe Like he ort, and kindo' has Elbow-room to keerlessly Sprawl out len'thways on the gra.s.s Where the shadders thick and soft As the kivvers on the bed Mother fixes in the loft Allus, when they's company!