Of mornings, bright and early, When the lark is on the wing And the robin in the maple Hops from her nest to sing, From yonder cheery chamber Cometh a mellow coo-- 'T is the sweet, persuasive treble Of my little Googly-Goo! The sunbeams hear his music, And they seek his little bed, And they dance their prettiest dances Round his golden curly head: Schottisches, galops, minuets, Gavottes and waltzes, too, Dance they unto the music Of my googling Googly-Goo. My heart--my heart it leapeth To hear that treble tone; What music like thy music, My darling and mine own! And patiently--yes, cheerfully I toil the long day through-- My labor seemeth lightened By the song of Googly-Goo! I may not see his antics, Nor kiss his dimpled cheek: I may not smooth the tresses The sunbeams love to seek; It mattereth not--the echo Of his sweet, persuasive coo Recurreth to remind me Of my little Googly-Goo. And when I come at evening, I stand without the door And patiently I listen For that dear sound once more; And oftentimes I wonder, "Oh, God! what should I do If any ill should happen To my little Googly-Goo!" Then in affright I call him-- I hear his gleeful shouts! Begone, ye dread forebodings-- Begone, ye killing doubts! For, with my arms about him, My heart warms through and through With the oogling and the googling Of my little Googly-Goo! THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice. Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose From his predisposition to chronic repose; But, rouse his ambition, he couldn't be beat-- Yer bet yer he got thar on all his four feet! Mos' dorgs hez some forte--like huntin' an' such, But the sports o' the field didn't bother him much; Wuz just a plain dorg, an' contented to be On peaceable terms with the neighbors an' me; Used to fiddle an' squirm, and grunt "Oh, how nice!" When I tickled the back of that bench-legged fyce! He wuz long in the bar'l, like a fyce oughter be; His color wuz yaller as ever you see; His tail, curlin' upward, wuz long, loose, an' slim-- When he didn't wag it, why, the tail it wagged him! His legs wuz so crooked, my bench-legged pup Wuz as tall settin' down as he wuz standin' up! He'd lie by the stove of a night an' regret The various vittles an' things he had et; When a stranger, most likely a tramp, come along, He'd lift up his voice in significant song-- You wondered, by gum! how there ever wuz space In that bosom o' his'n to hold so much bass!