Dat ole dun cow des a-shakin' up 'er bell,
En de frogs chunin' up 'fo de jew done fell:
Good-night, Mr. Killdee! I wish you mighty
well!

Mr. Kildee! I wish you mighty well!—
I wish you mighty well!

De c'on 'll be ready 'g'inst dumplin' day,
Dat sun's a-slantin';

But nigger gotter watch, en stick, en stay, Dat sun's a-slantin';

Same ez de bee-martin watchin' un de jay, Dat sun's a slantin';

Dat sun's a-slantin' en a-slippin' away! Den it's rise up, Primus ! en gin it t' um strong:

De cow's gwine home wid der ding-dang

dong;

Sling in anudder tech er de ole time song: Good-night, Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long!

Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long!Don't stay long! De shadders, dey er creepin' todes de top er de hill,

Dat sun's a-slantin'; But night don't 'stroy w'at de day done buil', Dat sun's a-slantin';

'Less de noddin' er de nigger give de ashcake a chill

Dat sun's a-slantin'; Dat sun's a-slantin' en slippin' down still! Den sing it out, Primus! des holler en bawl,

En w'ilst we er strippin' deze mules fer de stall,

Let de gals ketch de soun' er de plantashun

call:

De Bully-Bat fly mighty close ter de groun',
My honey, my love!

Mister Fox, he coax 'er, Do come down!
My honey, my love!
Mister Coon, he rack all 'roun 'en 'roun',
My honey, my love!
In de darkes' night, oh, de nigger, he's a
sight!

My honey, my love!
My honey, my love, my heart's delight –
My honey, my love!

Oh, flee, Miss Nancy, flee ter my knee,
My honey, my love!

'Lev'n big, fat coons liv' in one tree,
My honey, my love.
Oh, ladies all, won't you marry me?
My honey, my love!
Tu'n lef,' tu'n right, we'll dance all night,
My honey, my love!

My honey, my love, my heart's delight-
My honey, my love!

De big Owl holler en cry fer his mate,
My honey, my love!

Oh, don't stay long! Oh, don't stay late!
My honey, my love.
Hit ain't so mighty fur ter de Good-by
Gate,

My honey, my love! Whar we all got ter go w'en we sing out de night,

My honey, my love!

My honey, my love, my heart's delight —

My honey, my love!

THE HAPPIEST HEART

The winds blow soft from the glazy sea,
So, merchant, rig ship. But the wave-
Beware! salt water can be

A highway, can be a grave.
Bring silks for milady; a trip

For wines and spices; ho, merchant, rig ship.

I heard round oath at the churchyard door,
So, preacher, go preach. But the Book-
Say yea and nay, and no more;
Look to the wording, look.

A heaven and a hell within reach,
'Tis one or the other; good preacher, go
preach.

Farmer, go till; ride, merchant, the sea;
Good preacher, have at the mewed folk:
From frost and storm be you free,
And spared That Old Serpent's joke.
I'll sit in my doorway, God please,
Quietly looking between the green trees.

EVENING SONGS

I

THE birds have hid, the winds are low,
The brake is awake, the grass aglow:
The bat is the rover,
No bee on the clover,
The day is over,
And evening come.

The heavy beetle spreads her wings,
The toad has the road, the cricket sings:
The bat is the rover,

No bee on the clover,
The day is over,

And evening come.

II

It is that pale, delaying hour When nature closes like a flower, And on the spirit lies

The silence of the earth and skies.

The world has thoughts she will not own When shade and dream with night have

flown;

III

Now is Light, sweet mother, down the west,
With little Song against her breast;
She took him up, all tired with play,
And fondly bore him far away.

While he sleeps, one wanders in his stead,
A fainter glory round her head;
She follows happy waters after,
Leaving behind low, rippling laughter.

IV

Behind the hilltop drops the sun,
The curled heat falters on the sand,
While evening's ushers, one by one,
Lead in the guests of Twilight Land.

The bird is silent overhead,
Below the beast has laid him down;
A far, the marbles watch the dead,
The lonely steeple guards the town.

The south wind feels its amorous course
To cloistered sweet in thickets found;
The leaves obey its tender force,
And stir 'twixt silence and a sound.

THE SKILFUL LISTENER

THE skilful listener, he, methinks, may hear The grass blades clash in sunny field together,

The roses kissing, and the lily, whether
It joy or sorrow in the summer's ear,
The jewel dew-bells of the mead ring
clear

When morning lightly moves them in June weather,

The flocked hours flitting by on stealthy feather,

The last leaves' wail at waning of the year.

Haply, from these we catch a passing sound,

(The best of verities, perchance, but seem)

We overhear close Nature, on her round, When least she thinks it; bird and bough and stream

Not only, but her silences profound, Surprised by softer footfall of our dream.

WHITHER

WHITHER leads this pathway, little one?
It runs just on and on, is never done.
Whither leads this pathway, mistress
fair?

That path to town, sir; to the village

square.

Whither leads this pathway, father old?— To the white quiet of the churchyard fold.

THE BALLAD OF ORISKANY

SHE leaned her cheek upon her hand,
And looked across the glooming land;
She saw the wood from farm to farm
Touched by the twilight's ghostly charm;
And heard the owl's cry sound forlorn
Across the fields of waving corn,
And sighed with sad voice dreamily:
Oriskany! Oriskany!

The moonlight through the open door
Laid its broad square upon the floor;
A beetle plunging through the gloom
Hummed fitfully within the room;
Across the casement's opening
Night creatures sped on purring wing,
And still she murmured musically

The fatal name, Oriskany.

"All day within the homestead dim
I think of him, I dream of him;
My tasks of hands and feet and soul
Lead true to him as to their goal;
In woman's heart God wrote it thus:
That men should be as gods to us.
I feel the pangs, the weakness see,
Yet worship-in Oriskany.

"I cannot think of him as dead
Upon our one-year's bridal bed,
Oriskany, Oriskany!

Nor dream of him within the tomb, Amid the willowed churchyard's gloom, Oriskany, Oriskany!

I see him as he passed that morn, Warm with all life, across the corn: "Tis thus he shall return to me

At last, far from Oriskany."

APRIL

WEARY at heart with winter yesterday,

I sought the fields for something green to

see,

Some budded turf or mossbank quietly Uncovered in the sweet familiar way.

Crossing a pasture slope that sunward lay,
I suddenly surprised beneath a tree
A girlish creature who at sight of me
Sprang up all wild with daintiest dismay.
"Stay, pretty one!" I cried,—"who art
thou, pray?"

Mid tears and freaks of pettish misery,
And sighing, "I am April," answered she;
"I rear the field flowers for my sister
May."

Then with an arch laugh sidewise, clear and strong,

Turned blithely up the valley with a song.