T'uz Chused'y-night at Wetherell's, er We'nsd'y-night at Strawn's, Er Fourth-o'-July-night at uther Tomps's house er John's!-- With old Lew Church from Sugar Crick, with that old fiddle he Had sawed clean through the Army, from Atlanty to the sea-- And yit he'd fetched, her home ag'in, so's he could play fer me One't more afore my dancin'-days wuz over! The woods 'at's all ben cut away wuz growin' same as then; The youngsters all wuz boys ag'in 'at's now all oldish men; And all the girls 'at _then_ wuz girls--I saw 'em, one and all, As _plain_ as then--the middle-sized, the short-and-fat, and tall-- And, 'peared-like, I danced "Tucker" fer 'em up and down the wall Jes like afore my dancin' days wuz over! * * * * * Yer _po_-leece they can holler "Say! _you_, Uncle! drive ahead!-- You can't use _all_ the right-o'-way!"--fer that wuz what they said!-- But, jes the same,--in spite of all 'at you call "interprise And prog-gress of _you_-folks Today," we're all of _fambly-ties_-- We're all got feelin's fittin' fer the _tears_ 'at's in our eyes Er the _smiles_ afore our dancin'-days is over. HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS O your hands--they are strangely fair! Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,-- Fair--for the witchery of the spell That ivory keys alone can tell; But when their delicate touches rest Here in my own do I love them best, As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans My glorious treasure of beautiful hands! Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands! They can coax roses to bloom in the strands Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine. Under mysterious touches of thine, Into such knots as entangle the soul, And fetter the heart under such a control As only the strength of my love understands-- My passionate love for your beautiful hands. As I remember the first fair touch Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled, Kissing the glove that I found unfilled-- When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow, As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!" And dazed and alone in a dream I stand Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand. When first I loved, in the long ago, And held your hand as I told you so-- Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss, And said "I could die for a hand like this!" Little I dreamed love's fulness yet Had to ripen when eyes were wet, And prayers were vain in their wild demands For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands! Could you reach out of the alien lands Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night, Only a touch--were it ever so light-- My heart were soothed, and my weary brain Would lull itself into rest again; For there is no solace the world commands Like the caress of your beautiful hands. [Illustration] End of Project Gutenberg's Riley Songs of Home, by James Whitcomb Riley