Pipes O'Pan At Zekesbury Part 16

When my dreams come true--when my dreams come true-- Shall I lean from out my cas.e.m.e.nt, in the starlight and the dew, To listen--smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings?

And as the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, Shall I vanish from his vision--when my dreams come true?

When my dreams come true--shall the simple gown I wear Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?-- Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to "The fervor of his pa.s.sion"--when my dreams come true?

II.

When my dreams come true--I shall bide among the sheaves Of happy harvest meadows; and the gra.s.ses and the leaves Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, Till the noon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done-- Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do The meanest sheaf of harvest--when my dreams come true.

When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true!

True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew;-- The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true.

A DOS'T O' BLUES.

I' got no patience with blues at all!

And I ust to kindo talk Aginst 'em, and claim, 'tel along last Fall, They was none in the fambly stock; But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, That visited us last year, He kindo convinct me differunt While he was a-stayin' here.

Frum ever'-which way that blues is from, They'd tackle him ever' ways; They'd come to him in the night, and come On Sundays, and rainy days; They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, And in harvest, and airly Fall, But a dose 't of blues in the wintertime, He 'lowed, was the worst of all!

Said all diseases that ever he had-- The mumps, er the rheumatiz-- Er ever'-other-day-aigger's bad Purt' nigh as anything is!-- Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, Er a felon on his thumb,-- But you keep the blues away from him, And all o' the rest could come!

And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below!

Ner a spear o' gra.s.s in sight!

And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow!

And the days is dark as night!

You can't go out--ner you can't stay in-- Lay down--stand up--ner set!"

And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues Would double him jest clean shet!

I writ his parents a postal-kyard, He could stay 'tel Spring-time come; And Aprile first, as I rickollect, Was the day we shipped him home!

Most o' his relatives, sence then, Has either give up, er quit, Er jest died off; but I understand He's the same old color yit!

THE BAT.

I.

Thou dread, uncanny thing, With fuzzy breast and leathern wing, In mad, zigzagging flight, Notching the dusk, and buffeting The black cheeks of the night, With grim delight!

II.

What witch's hand unhasps Thy keen claw-cornered wings From under the barn roof, and flings Thee forth, with chattering gasps, To scud the air, And nip the lady-bug, and tear Her children's hearts out unaware?

III.

The glow-worm's glimmer, and the bright, Sad pulsings of the fire-fly's light, Are banquet lights to thee.

O less than bird, and worse than beast, Thou Devil's self, or brat, at least, Grate not thy teeth at me!

THE WAY IT WUZ.

Las' July--an', I persume 'Bout as hot As the ole Gran'-Jury room Where they sot!-- Fight 'twixt Mike an' Dock McGriff-- 'Pears to me jes' like as if I'd a dremp' the whole blame thing-- Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard When they're nightmares on the wing, An' a feller's blood's jes' friz!

Seed the row from a to izzard-- 'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is!

Tell you the way it wuz-- An' I do n't want to see, Like _some_ fellers does, When they 're goern to be Any kind o' fuss-- On'y makes a rumpus wuss Far to interfere When their dander's riz-- But I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is!

I wuz kind o' strayin'

Past the blame saloon-- Heerd some fiddler playin'

That "ole hee-cup tune!"

Sort o' stopped, you know, Far a minit er so, And wuz jes' about

Settin' down, when--_Jeemses-whizz!_ Whole durn winder-sash fell out!

An' there laid Doc McGriff, and Mike A-straddlin' him, all b.l.o.o.d.y-like, An' both a-gittin' down to biz!-- An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is!

I wuz the on'y man aroun'-- (Durn old-fogy town!

'Peared more like, to me, _Sund'y_ 'an _Sat.u.r.d'y!)_ Dog come 'crost the road An' tuck a smell An' put right back; Mishler driv by 'ith a load O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell-- Too mad, 'y jack!

To even ast What wuz up, as he went past!

Weather most outrageous hot!-- Fairly hear it sizz Roun' Dock an' Mike--till Dock he shot, An' Mike he slacked that grip o' his An' fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz 'Bout half up, a-spittin' red, An' shuck his head-- An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is!

An' Dock he says, A-whisperin'-like,-- "It hain't no use A-tryin'!--Mike He's jes' ripped my daylights loose!-- Git that blame-don fiddler to Let up, an' come out here--You Got some burryin' to do,-- Mike makes _one_, an' I expects In ten seconds I'll make _two_!"

And he drapped back, where he riz, 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, Like a great big letter X!-- An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is!

THE DRUM.

O the drum!

There is some Intonation in thy grum Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, As we hear Through the clear And unclouded atmosphere, Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the car!