Part 4 (1/2)
So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done-- They was a family of themselves, and I another one; And a very little cottage one family will do, But I never have seen a house that was big enough for two.
An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye, An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't try; But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow, When Charley turned ag'in me, an' told me I could go.
I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all; And what with her husband's sisters, and what with child'rn three, 'Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me.
An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got, For Thomas's buildings 'd cover the half of an acre lot; But all the child'rn was on me--I couldn't stand their sauce-- And Thomas said I needn't think I was comin' there to boss.
An' then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who lives out West, And to Isaac, not far from her--some twenty miles at best; And one of 'em said 'twas too warm there for any one so old, And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold.
So they have s.h.i.+rked and slighted me, an' s.h.i.+fted me about-- So they have well-nigh soured me, an' wore my old heart out; But still I've borne up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down, Till Charley went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town.
Over the hill to the poor-house--my child'rn dear, good-by!
Many a night I've watched you when only G.o.d was nigh;
”MANY A NIGHT I'VE WATCHED YOU WHEN ONLY G.o.d WAS NIGH.”
And G.o.d 'll judge between us; but I will al'ays pray That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day.
OVER THE HILL FROM THE POOR-HOUSE.
I, who was always counted, they say, Rather a bad stick any way, Splintered all over with dodges and tricks, Known as ”the worst of the Deacon's six;”
I, the truant, saucy and bold, The one black sheep in my father's fold, ”Once on a time,” as the stories say, Went over the hill on a winter's day-- Over the hill to the poor-house.
Tom could save what twenty could earn; But givin' was somethin' he ne'er would learn; Isaac could half o' the Scriptur's speak-- Committed a hundred verses a week; Never forgot, an' never slipped; But ”Honor thy father and mother” he skipped; So _over the hill to the poor-house._
As for Susan, her heart was kind An' good--what there was of it, mind; Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice, Nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice For one she loved; an' that 'ere one Was herself, when all was said an' done.
An' Charley an' 'Becca meant well, no doubt, But any one could pull 'em about;
An' all o' our folks ranked well, you see, Save one poor fellow, and that was me; An' when, one dark an' rainy night, A neighbor's horse went out o' sight, They hitched on me, as the guilty chap That carried one end o' the halter-strap.
An' I think, myself, that view of the case Wasn't altogether out o' place; My mother denied it, as mothers do, But I am inclined to believe 'twas true.
Though for me one thing might be said-- That I, as well as the horse, was led; And the worst of whisky spurred me on, Or else the deed would have never been done.
But the keenest grief I ever felt Was when my mother beside me knelt, An' cried an' prayed, till I melted down, As I wouldn't for half the horses in town.
I kissed her fondly, then an' there, An' swore henceforth to be honest and square.
I served my sentence--a bitter pill Some fellows should take who never will; And then I decided to go ”out West,”
Concludin' 'twould suit my health the best; Where, how I prospered, I never could tell, But Fortune seemed to like we [me] well, An' somehow every vein I struck Was always bubblin' over with luck.
An', better than that, I was steady an' true, An' put my good resolutions through.
But I wrote to a trusty old neighbor, an' said, ”You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead, An' died a Christian; 'twill please 'em more, Than if I had lived the same as before.”
But when this neighbor he wrote to me, ”Your mother's in the poor-house,” says he, I had a resurrection straightway, An' started for her that very day.
And when I arrived where I was grown, I took good care that I shouldn't be known; But I bought the old cottage, through and through, Of some one Charley had sold it to; And held back neither work nor gold, To fix it up as it was of old.