"Dozed away fer an hour, And I tackled the thing agin: And I sung, and sung, Tel I knowed my lung Was jest about give in; And THEN, thinks I, ef hit don't rain NOW, They's nothin' in singin', anyhow! "Onc't in a while some farmer Would come a-drivin' past; And he'd hear my cry, And stop and sigh-- Tel I jest laid back, at last, And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat Would bust wide open at ever' note! "But I FETCHED her!--O _I_ FETCHED her!-- 'Cause a little while ago, As I kindo' set, With one eye shet, And a-singin' soft and low, A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, A-sayin',--'EF YOU'LL JEST HUSH I'LL RAIN!'" A SONG OF LONG AGO A song of Long Ago: Sing it lightly--sing it low-- Sing it softly--like the lisping of the lips we used to know When our baby-laughter spilled From the glad hearts ever filled With music blithe as robin ever trilled! Let the fragrant summer breeze, And the leaves of locust-trees, And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the wings of honey-bees, All palpitate with glee, Till the happy harmony Brings back each childish joy to you and me. Let the eyes of fancy turn Where the tumbled pippins burn Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled grass and fern,-- There let the old path wind In and out and on behind The cider-press that chuckles as we grind. Blend in the song the moan Of the dove that grieves alone, And the wild whir of the locust, and the bumble's drowsy drone; And the low of cows that call Through the pasture-bars when all The landscape fades away at evenfall. Then, far away and clear, Through the dusky atmosphere, Let the wailing of the killdee be the only sound we hear: O sad and sweet and low As the memory may know Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago! OLD WINTERS ON THE FARM I have jest about decided It 'ud keep a town-boy hoppin' Fer to work all winter, choppin' Fer a' old fireplace, like I did! Lawz! them old times wuz contrairy!-- Blame' backbone o' winter, 'peared-like WOULDN'T break!--and I wuz skeered-like Clean on into FEB'UARY! Nothin' ever made me madder Than fer Pap to stomp in, layin' In a' extra forestick, say'in', "Groun'-hog's out and seed his shadder!" ROMANCIN' I' b'en a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, and I'm About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto' solum-like and low!