Part 1 (1/2)
Farm Ballads.
by Will Carleton.
PREFACE.
These poems have been written under various, and, in some cases, difficult, conditions: in the open air, ”with team afield;” in the student's den, with the ghosts of unfinished lessons hovering gloomily about; amid the rush and roar of railroad travel, which trains of thought are not p.r.o.ne to follow; and in the editor's sanctum, where the dainty feet of the Muses do not often deign to tread.
Crude and unfinished as they are, the author has yet had the a.s.surance to publish them, from time to time, in different periodicals, in which, it is but just to admit, they have been met by the people with unexpected favor.
While his judgment has often failed to endorse the kind words spoken for them, he has naturally not felt it in his heart to file any remonstrances.
He has been asked, by friends in all parts of the country, to put his poems into a more durable form than they have hitherto possessed; and it is in accordance with these requests that he now presents ”Farm Ballads”
to the public.
Of course he does not expect to escape, what he needs so greatly, the discipline of severe criticism; for he is aware that he has often wandered out of the beaten track, and has many times been too regardless of the established rules of rhythm, in his (oftentimes vain) search for the flowers of poesy.
But he believes that The People are, after all, the true critics, and will soon ascertain whether there are more good than poor things in a book; and whatever may be their verdict in this case, he has made up his mind to be happy.
W. C.
FARM BALLADS.
BETSEY AND I ARE OUT.
Draw up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout; For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are out.
We, who have worked together so long as man and wife, Must pull in single harness for the rest of our nat'ral life.
”What is the matter?” say you. I swan it's hard to tell!
Most of the years behind us we've pa.s.sed by very well; I have no other woman, she has no other man-- Only we've lived together as long as we ever can.
So I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me, And so we've agreed together that we can't never agree; Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime; We've been a-gathering this for years, a little at a time.
There was a stock of temper we both had for a start, Although we never suspected 'twould take us two apart; I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone; And Betsey, like all good women, had a temper of her own.
The first thing I remember whereon we disagreed Was something concerning heaven--a difference in our creed; We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'ed the thing at tea, And the more we arg'ed the question the more we didn't agree.
And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow; She had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was only--How?
I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had; And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad.
And the next that I remember, it started in a joke; But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.
And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl; And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.
And so that bowl kept pourin' dissensions in our cup; And so that blamed cow-critter was always a-comin' up; And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got, But it gave us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot.
And so the thing kept workin', and all the self-same way; Always somethin' to arg'e, and somethin' sharp to say; And down on us came the neighbors, a couple dozen strong, And lent their kindest sarvice for to help the thing along.