The Poems of Sidney Lanier Part 25

"When mornin' c.u.m, I took a good Long look, and -- well, sir, sure's I'm ME -- That boat laid right whar that hotel had stood, And HIT sailed out to sea!

"No: I'll not keep you: good-bye, friend.

Don't think about it much, -- preehaps Your brain might git see-sawin', end for end, Like them asylum chaps,

"For here *I* walk, forevermore, A-tryin' to make it gee, How one same wind could blow my ship to sh.o.r.e And my hotel to sea!"

____ Chadd's Ford, Pennsylvania, 1877.

Uncle Jim's Baptist Revival Hymn.

By Sidney and Clifford Lanier.

[Not long ago a certain Georgia cotton-planter, driven to desperation by awaking each morning to find that the gra.s.s had quite outgrown the cotton overnight, and was likely to choke it, in defiance of his lazy freedmen's hoes and ploughs, set the whole State in a laugh by exclaiming to a group of fellow-sufferers: "It's all stuff about Cincinnatus leaving the plough to go into politics FOR PATRIOTISM; he was just a-runnin' from gra.s.s!"

This state of things -- when the delicate young rootlets of the cotton are struggling against the hardier mult.i.tudes of the gra.s.s-suckers -- is universally described in plantation parlance by the phrase "in the gra.s.s"; and Uncle Jim appears to have found in it so much similarity to the condition of his own ("Baptis'") church, overrun, as it was, by the cares of this world, that he has embodied it in the refrain of a revival hymn such as the colored improvisator of the South not infrequently constructs from his daily surroundings.

He has drawn all the ideas of his stanzas from the early morning phenomena of those critical weeks when the loud plantation-horn is blown before daylight, in order to rouse all hands for a long day's fight against the common enemy of cotton-planting mankind.

In addition to these exegetical commentaries, the Northern reader probably needs to be informed that the phrase "peerten up" means substantially 'to spur up', and is an active form of the adjective "peert"

(probably a corruption of 'pert'), which is so common in the South, and which has much the signification of "smart" in New England, as e.g., a "peert" horse, in ant.i.thesis to a "sorry" -- i.e., poor, mean, lazy one.]

Solo. -- Sin's rooster's crowed, Ole Mahster's riz, De sleepin'-time is pas'; Wake up dem lazy Baptissis, Chorus. -- Dey's mightily in de gra.s.s, gra.s.s, Dey's mightily in de gra.s.s.

Ole Mahster's blowed de mornin' horn, He's blowed a powerful blas'; O Baptis' come, come hoe de corn, You's mightily in de gra.s.s, gra.s.s, You's mightily in de gra.s.s.

De Meth'dis team's done hitched; O fool, De day's a-breakin' fas'; Gear up dat lean ole Baptis' mule, Dey's mightily in de gra.s.s, gra.s.s, Dey's mightily in de gra.s.s.

De workmen's few an' mons'rous slow, De cotton's sheddin' fas'; Whoop, look, jes' look at de Baptis' row, Hit's mightily in de gra.s.s, gra.s.s, Hit's mightily in de gra.s.s.

De jay-bird squeal to de mockin'-bird: "Stop!

Don' gimme none o' yo' sa.s.s; Better sing one song for de Baptis' crop, Dey's mightily in de gra.s.s, gra.s.s, Dey's mightily in de gra.s.s."

And de ole crow croak: "Don' work, no, no;"

But de fiel'-lark say, "Yaas, yaas, An' I spec' you mighty glad, you debblish crow, Dat de Baptissis's in de gra.s.s, gra.s.s, Dat de Baptissis's in de gra.s.s!"

Lord, thunder us up to de plowin'-match, Lord, peerten de hoein' fas', Yea, Lord, hab mussy on de Baptis' patch, Dey's mightily in de gra.s.s, gra.s.s, Dey's mightily in de gra.s.s.

____ 1876.

"Nine from Eight".

I was drivin' my two-mule waggin, With a lot o' truck for sale, Towards Macon, to git some baggin'

(Which my cotton was ready to bale), And I come to a place on the side o' the pike Whar a peert little winter branch jest had throw'd The sand in a kind of a sand-bar like, And I seed, a leetle ways up the road, A man squattin' down, like a big bull-toad, On the ground, a-figgerin' thar in the sand With his finger, and motionin' with his hand, And he looked like Ellick Garry.

And as I driv up, I heerd him bleat To hisself, like a lamb: "Hauh? nine from eight Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry?"

And Ellick's bull-cart was standin'

A cross-wise of the way, And the little bull was a-expandin', Hisself on a wisp of hay.

But Ellick he sat with his head bent down, A-studyin' and musin' powerfully, And his forrud was creased with a turrible frown, And he was a-wurken' appearently A 'rethmetic sum that wouldn't gee, Fur he kep' on figgerin' away in the sand With his finger, and motionin' with his hand, And I seed it WAS Ellick Garry.

And agin I heard him softly bleat To hisself, like a lamb: "Hauh? nine from eight Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry!"

I woa'd my mules mighty easy (Ellick's back was towards the road And the wind hit was sorter breezy) And I got down off'n my load, And I crep' up close to Ellick's back, And I heerd him a-talkin' softly, thus: "Them figgers is got me under the hack.

I caint see how to git out'n the muss, Except to jest nat'ally fail and bus'!

My c.r.a.p-leen calls for nine hundred and more.

My counts o' sales is eight hundred and four, Of cotton for Ellick Garry.

Thar's eight, ought, four, jest like on a slate: Here's nine and two oughts -- Hauh? nine from eight Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry.

"Them c.r.a.p-leens, oh, them c.r.a.p-leens!

I giv one to Pardman and Sharks.

Hit gobbled me up like snap-beans In a patch full o' old fiel'-larks.

But I thought I could fool the c.r.a.p-leen nice, And I hauled my cotton to Jammel and Cones.

But shuh! 'fore I even had settled my price They tuck affidavy without no bones And levelled upon me fur all ther loans To the 'mount of sum nine hundred dollars or more, And sold me out clean for eight hundred and four, As sure as I'm Ellick Garry!

And thar it is down all squar and straight, But I can't make it gee, fur nine from eight Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry."

Then I says "h.e.l.lo, here, Garry!

However you star' and frown Thare's somethin' fur YOU to carry, Fur you've worked it upside down!"

Then he riz and walked to his little bull-cart, And made like he neither had seen nor heerd Nor knowed that I knowed of his raskilly part, And he tried to look as if HE wa'nt feared, And gathered his lines like he never keered, And he driv down the road 'bout a quarter or so, And then looked around, and I hollered "h.e.l.lo, Look here, Mister Ellick Garry!

You may git up soon and lie down late, But you'll always find that nine from eight Leaves nuthin' -- and none to carry."

____ Macon, Georgia, 1870.

"Thar's more in the Man than thar is in the Land".

I knowed a man, which he lived in Jones, Which Jones is a county of red hills and stones, And he lived pretty much by gittin' of loans, And his mules was nuthin' but skin and bones, And his hogs was flat as his corn-bread pones, And he had 'bout a thousand acres o' land.

This man -- which his name it was also Jones -- He swore that he'd leave them old red hills and stones, Fur he couldn't make nuthin' but yallerish cotton, And little o' THAT, and his fences was rotten, And what little corn he had, HIT was boughten And dinged ef a livin' was in the land.

And the longer he swore the madder he got, And he riz and he walked to the stable lot, And he hollered to Tom to come thar and hitch Fur to emigrate somewhar whar land was rich, And to quit raisin' c.o.c.k-burrs, thistles and sich, And a wastin' ther time on the cussed land.

So him and Tom they hitched up the mules, Pertestin' that folks was mighty big fools That 'ud stay in Georgy ther lifetime out, Jest scratchin' a livin' when all of 'em mought Git places in Texas whar cotton would sprout By the time you could plant it in the land.

And he driv by a house whar a man named Brown Was a livin', not fur from the edge o' town, And he bantered Brown fur to buy his place, And said that bein' as money was skace, And bein' as sheriffs was hard to face, Two dollars an acre would git the land.

They closed at a dollar and fifty cents, And Jones he bought him a waggin and tents, And loaded his corn, and his wimmin, and truck, And moved to Texas, which it tuck His entire pile, with the best of luck, To git thar and git him a little land.

But Brown moved out on the old Jones' farm, And he rolled up his breeches and bared his arm, And he picked all the rocks from off'n the groun', And he rooted it up and he plowed it down, Then he sowed his corn and his wheat in the land.