Read Ebook: Riley Farm-Rhymes by Riley James Whitcomb

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Ebook has 225 lines and 21520 words, and 5 pages

But--I missed him--w'y, of course I did!--The Fall and Winter through I never built the kitchen-fire, er split a stick in two, Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung up a gambrel-pin, But what I thought o' John, and wished that he was home ag'in.

He'd come, sometimes--on Sund'ys most--and stay the Sund'y out; And on Thanksgivin'-Day he 'peared to like to be about: But a change was workin' on him--he was stiller than before, And didn't joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any more.

And his talk was all so proper; and I noticed, with a sigh, He was tryin' to raise side-whiskers, and had on a striped tie, And a standin'-collar, ironed up as stiff and slick as bone; And a breast-pin, and a watch and chain and plug-hat of his own.

But when Spring-weather opened out, and John was to come home And he'p me through the season, I was glad to see him come, But my happiness, that evening, with the settin' sun went down, When he bragged of "a position" that was offered him in town.

"But," says I, "you'll not accept it?" "W'y, of course I will," says he.-- "This drudgin' on a farm," he says, "is not the life fer me; I've set my stakes up higher," he continued, light and gay, "And town's the place fer ME, and I'm a-goin' right away!"

And go he did!--his mother clingin' to him at the gate, A-pleadin' and a-cryin'; but it hadn't any weight. I was tranquiller, and told her 'twarn't no use to worry so, And onclasped her arms from round his neck round mine --and let him go!

I felt a little bitter feelin' foolin' round about The aidges of my conscience; but I didn't let it out;-- I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuk the boy's hand, And though I didn't say a word, I knowed he'd under- stand.

And--well!--sence then the old home here was mighty lonesome, shore! With me a-workin' in the field, and Mother at the door, Her face ferever to'rds the town, and fadin' more and more-- Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin' in a store!

The weeks and months dragged by us; and sometimes the boy would write A letter to his mother, sayin' that his work was light, And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit-- Though his business was confinin', he was gittin' used to it.

And he wrote, along 'fore harvest, that he guessed he would git home, Fer business would, of course, be dull in town.--But DIDN'T come:-- We got a postal later, sayin' when they had no trade They filled the time "invoicin' goods," and that was why he stayed.

And then he quit a-writin' altogether: Not a word-- Exceptin' what the neighbers brung who'd been to town and heard What store John was clerkin' in, and went round to in- quire If they could buy their goods there less and sell their produce higher.

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 prongs 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.

"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!"

Nobody 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 hoard 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 hoard 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

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'

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 grass Where the shadders thick and soft As the kivvers on the bed Mother fixes in the loft Allus, when they's company!

Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there-- S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer Through the wavin' leaves above, Like a feller 'at's in love And don't know it, ner don't keer! Ever'thing you hear and see Got some sort o' interest-- Maybe find a bluebird's nest Tucked up there conveenently Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be Up some other apple-tree! Watch the swallers skootin' past 'Bout as peert as you could ast, Er the Bob-white raise and whiz Where some other's whistle is

Ketch a shadder down below, And look up to find the crow-- Er a hawk,--away up there, 'Pearantly FROZE in the air!-- Hear the old hen squawk, and squat Over ever' chick she's got, Suddent-like!--and she knows where That-air hawk is, well as you!-- You jes' bet yer life she do!-- Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, Waitin' till he makes a pass!

Pee-wees' singin', to express My opinion, 's second class, Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, Weedin' out the lonesomeness; Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, In them base-ball clothes o' his, Sportin' round the orchard jes' Like he owned the premises! Sun out in the fields kin sizz, But flat on yer back, I guess, In the shade's where glory is! That's jes' what I'd like to do Stiddy fer a year er two!

Plague! ef they ain't somepin' in Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' My convictions!--'long about Here in June especially!-- Under some old apple-tree, Jes' a-restin' through and through I could git along without Nothin' else at all to do Only jes' a-wishin' you Wuz a-gittin' there like me, And June was eternity!

Lay out there and try to see Jes' how lazy you kin be!-- Tumble round and souse yer head In the clover-bloom, er pull Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes And peek through it at the skies, Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, Maybe, smilin' back at you In betwixt the beautiful Clouds o' gold and white and blue. Month a man kin railly love June, you know, I'm talkin' of!

March ain't never nothin' new! Aprile's altogether too Brash fer me! and May--I jes' 'Bominate its promises, Little hints o' sunshine and Green around the timber-land-- A few blossoms, and a few Chip-birds, and a sprout er two,-- Drap asleep, and it turns in 'Fore daylight and SNOWS ag'in!-- But when JUNE comes--Clear my th'oat With wild honey!--Rench my hair In the dew! and hold my coat! Whoop out loud! and th'ow my hat!-- June wants me, and I'm to spare! Spread them shadders anywhere, I'll git down and waller there, And obleeged to you at that!

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