Part 5 (1/2)
Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing Making the journey to b.u.mpville, So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring An end to this ride to b.u.mpville; For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, The calico mare must be blowing and faint-- What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't!
So play we have got to b.u.mpville!
THE BROOK
I looked in the brook and saw a face-- Heigh-ho, but a child was I!
There were rushes and willows in that place, And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; And the brook it ran its own sweet way, As a child doth run in heedless play, And as it ran I heard it say: ”Hasten with me To the roistering sea That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!”
I look in the brook and see a face-- Heigh-ho, but the years go by!
The rushes are dead in the old-time place, And the willows I knew when a child was I.
And the brook it seemeth to me to say, As ever it stealeth on its way-- Solemnly now, and not in play: ”Oh, come with me To the slumbrous sea That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!”
Heigh-ho, but the years go by-- I would to G.o.d that a child were I!
PICNIC-TIME
It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen, Where ”fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green”; Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, An' little boys get gra.s.s-stains on their go-to meetin' pants.
It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine-- There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine!
One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained!
(But grampa says that that's the way ”baptizo” is explained.) And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun-- But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun!
They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies, That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes!
Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine!
But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me, For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.; Why should a liberal universalist like me object To share the joys of fellows.h.i.+p with every friendly sect?
However het'rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be, Their doctrine of fried chick'n is a savin' grace to me!
So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine, They're goin' to give a picnic, and I'm goin' to jine!
SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS
Shuffle-shoon and Amber-Locks Sit together, building blocks; Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray, Amber-Locks a little child, But together at their play Age and Youth are reconciled, And with sympathetic glee Build their castles fair to see.
”When I grow to be a man”
(So the wee one's prattle ran), ”I shall build a castle so-- With a gateway broad and grand; Here a pretty vine shall grow, There a soldier guard shall stand; And the tower shall be so high, Folks will wonder, by and by!”
Shuffle-Shoon quoth: ”Yes, I know; Thus I builded long ago!
Here a gate and there a wall, Here a window, there a door; Here a steeple wondrous tall Riseth ever more and more!
But the years have leveled low What I builded long ago!”
So they gossip at their play, Heedless of the fleeting day; One speaks of the Long Ago Where his dead hopes buried lie; One with chubby cheeks aglow Prattleth of the By and By; Side by side, they build their blocks-- Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks.
THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN