图书图片
PDF
ePub

But glory is a kin' o' thing I shan't pursue no furder,

Coz thet's the off'cers parquisite,-yourn's on'y jest the murder.

Wal, arter I git glory up, thinks I at least the

one

Thing in the bills we aint hed yit, an' thet's the GLORIOUS FUN;
Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may presume we
All day an' night shall revel in the halls o' Montezumy.

I'll tell ye wut my revels wuz, an' see how you would like 'em;
We never gut inside the hall: the nighest ever I come
Wuz stan'in' sentry in the sun (an', fact, it seemed a cent❜ry)
A ketchin' smells o' biled an' roast thet come out thru the entry,
An' hearin', ez I sweltered thru my passes an' repasses,
A rat-tat-too o' knives an' forks, a clinkty-clink o' glasses:
I can't tell off the bill o' fare the Gin'rals hed inside;

All I know is, thet out o' doors a pair o' soles wuz fried,
An' not a hundred miles away frum ware this child wuz posted,
A Massachusetts citizen wuz baked an' biled an' roasted;
The only thing like revellin' thet ever come to me
Wuz bein' routed out o' sleep by thet darned revelee.

They say the quarrel's settled now; fer my part I've some doubt on 't,

'T'll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean

out on 't;

At any rate, I'm so used up I can't do no more fightin',
The on'y chance thet's left to me is politics or writin';
Now, ez the people's gut to hev a milingtary man,
An' I aint nothin' else jest now, I've hit upon a plan;
The can'idatin' line, you know, 'ould suit me to a T,
An' ef I lose, 'twunt hurt my ears to lodge another flea;
So I'll set up ez can'idate fer any kin' o' office,

(I mean fer any thet includes good easy-cheers an' soffies;

Fer ez to runnin' fer a place ware work's the time o' day,
You know thet's wut I never did, except the other way;)
Ef it's the Presidential cheer fer wich I'd better run,
Wut two legs anywares about could keep up with my one?
There ain't no kin' o' quality in can'idates, it's said,
So useful ez a wooden leg,-except a wooden head;
There's nothin' aint so poppylar-(wy, it's a parfect sin
To think wut Mexico hez paid fer Santy Anny's pin;)-
Then I haint gut no principles, an', sence I wuz knee-high,
I never did hev any gret, ez you can testify;

I'm decided peace-man, tu, an' go agin the war,—

Fer now the holl on 't 's gone an' past, wut is there to go for? Ef, wile you're 'lectioneerin' round, some curus chaps should

beg

To know my views o' state affairs, jest answer wOODEN LEG!
Ef they aint settisfied with thet, an' kin' o' pry an' doubt
An' ax fer sutthin' deffynit, jest say ONE EYE PUT OUT!
Thet kin' o' talk I guess you'll find'll answer to a charm,
An' wen you're druv tu nigh the wall, hol' up my missin' arm;
Ef they should nose round fer a pledge, put on a vartoous look
An' tell 'em thet's percisely wut I never nor-took!

Then you can call me "Timbertoes,"—thet's wut the people likes;

Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes; Some say the people's fond o' this, or thet, or wut you please,I tell ye wut the people want is jest correct idees;

"Old Timbertoes," you see, 's a creed it's safe to be quite bold

on,

There's nothin' in 't the other side can any ways git hold on; It's a good tangible idee, a sutthin' to embody

Thet valooable class o' men who look thru brandy-toddy;

It gives a Party Platform, tu, jest level with the mind.
Of all right-thinkin', honest folks thet mean to go it blind;
Then there air other good hooraws to dror on ez you need 'em,
Sech ez the ONE-EYED SLARTERER, the BLOODY BIRDOFREDUM:
Them's wut takes hold o' folks thet think, ez well ez o' the

masses,

An' makes you sartin o' the aid o' good men of all classes.

There's one thing I'm in doubt about; in order to be Presidunt, It's absolutely ne'ssary to be a Southern residunt;

The Constitution settles thet, an' also thet a feller

Must own a nigger o' some sort, jet black, or brown, or yeller. Now I haint no objections agin particklar climes,

Nor agin ownin' anythin' (except the truth sometimes),
But, ez I haint no capital, up there among ye, may be,
You might raise funds enough fer me to buy a low-priced baby,
An' then, to suit the No'thern folks, who feel obleeged to say
They hate an' cuss the very thing they vote fer every day,
Say you're assured I go full butt fer Libbaty's diffusion
An' made the purchis on'y jest to spite the Institootion;—
But, golly! there's the currier's hoss upon the pavement pawin'!
I'll be more 'xplicit in my next.

Yourn,

BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN.

-"Biglow Papers."

The Courtin'

GOD makes sech nights, all white an' still
Fur'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill
All silence an' all glisten.

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown
An' peeked in thru' the winder,
An' there sot Huldy all alone,

'Ith no one nigh to hender.

A fireplace filled the room's one side
With half a cord o' wood in-
There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)
To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out
Toward the pootiest, bless her,
An' leetle flames danced about
The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
An' in amongst 'em rusted

The ole queen's-arm thet Gran'ther Young Fetched back from Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in,

Seemed warm from floor to ceilin',
An' she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez the apple she was peelin'.

'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look
On sech a blessed cretur,
A dogrose blushin' to a brook
Ain't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A 1,

Clear grit an' human natur'; None couldn't quicker pitch a ton Nor dror a furrer straighter.

He'd sparked it with full twenty gals,

He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spellsAll is, he couldn't love 'em.

But long o' her his veins 'ould run

All crinkly like curled maple,
The side she breshed felt full o' sun
Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing
Ez hisn in the choir;

My! when he made "Ole Hundred" ring, She knowed the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upon it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some!
She seemed to've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

« 上一页继续 »