Perky hens, an’ turkey cocks, an’, ’pon my word, Ev’ry bird Thet I ever seen or heerd of—all a-croakin’, An’ a-soakin’ In ol’ Feebus’ dazzlin’ rajunce—all a-eatin’ An’ a-tweetin’— Jim’ny Crickets, Holy Kittens! Dew ye wonder Now, by thunder, ’T I was glad ter jes’ be livin’ on the earth? W’y, ’twas worth All the sorrer, all the pain ’t I ever had, ’Twas, by gad! But I gotta tell ye suthin’ ’t ’appened then; Ever b’en Whar a mockin’-bird was tunin’ up ’is fiddle? It’s a riddle How ’e symfonizes ev’ry sort o’ noise An’ employs A composer’s subterfujes (ez ye’ve noted) Single throated. Wal, I seen one settin’ up thar (knowed ’twas him) On a limb Of a deadish kind o’ ellum, ’n’ I could tell Jes’ ez well ’T ’e was cockyer than a roarin’ swearin’ pirate By the high rate He was thrashin’ o’ them wings o’ his, an’ tail Like a flail. First I tho’t I was a-list’nin’ tew a martin Sure for sartin; Then a blue-jay almos’ give me ’n awful shock With ’is squawk; I was jest a-gittin’ used ter hearin’ that bird, When a cat-bird Started in ter yowl an’ sputter, julluk Tabby When she’s gabby; Then some swallers, chickadees, an’ whippoorwills Give me thrills, An’ I tell ye I was altergether foozled, Jes’ bamboozled, Ez I watched that clever cynnic keep a-rockin’ An’ a-mockin’, Till at last he got so bubbly full o’ fizz Thet ’e riz Off thet lonely perch o’ his’n right up square Int’ the air, Still a-swingin’ an’ a-singin’ in ’is revel Like the devil! Then ’e come ri’ down agin an’ hit the spot Whar ’e’d sot; Hadn’t lost a single note—jes’ kep’ ’er goin’ ’S if he’s mowin’. * * * * * Dew ye reckon I’ll fergit thet garrylus Little cuss? Wal, ye got anuther “reckon” comin’ then— Mebbe ten. IV The Siren They’s a hull snarl o’ potes hez driveled ’bout Joon With its leefyness, freshness an’ greenth; ’N’ if I was anuther, I s’pose—which I ain’t— I’d be the four umpty an’ steenth. Ez regards ter the Skillet—wal, pardner, b’leeve me, It’s right in its prime, buggosh; Yew kin talk all yer wanter, it’s fine ter jes’ sawnter An’ look at ol’ Nacher a-slosh. I was thar spell ago—druv sixteen mile With Bill an’ a load o’ soy beans; An’ I swar ter the Dooce thet I never hed knowed Afore what _greenin’_ means. Be’n a-rainin’ like sin, but hed then faired up An’ the sky was julluk a gentian; I ain’t never knew sich a hevvenly blue, Ef ye’ll ’low me in passin’ ter mention.