Riley Farm-Rhymes Part 7

I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate Whare 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 jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree, Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me; And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy' tel my eyes is wringin'-wet!

Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the PRESUNT, I kin see-- Kindo' like my sight wuz double-all the things that UST 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 jest a-bilin' full of June, From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag, Seems ef they can't-od-rot 'em!-jest do nothin' else but brag!

They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, And that sa.s.sy little critter jest 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 brus.h.!.+

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 list to split the medder whare the dandylions growed, I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.

Then's when I' b'en a-fis.h.i.+n'!--And they's other fellers, too, With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swis.h.i.+n' out behind 'em; and a few Little "s.h.i.+ners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-- toein' bloom, As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney 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 o' the dam.

I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill, And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growl- in' still; And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do.

W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk"'

Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk.

And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they haint no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the old times,--I de-clare I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it'" jest as soft as any prayer!