Out of Debt
De Christmas is finish’;
It was rather skinnish,[1]
Yet still we are happy, an’ so needn’ fret,
For dinner is cookin’,
An’ baby is lookin’
An’ laughin’; she knows dat her pa owe no debt.
De pas’ hab de debtor,[2]
An’ we cannot get her[3]
To come back an’ grin at us as in time gone:
Dere’s no wine fe breakfas’,[4]
An’ no one fe mek fuss,
We all is contented fe suck one dry bone.
No two bit o’ brater[5]
Wid shopkeeper Marter,
I feel me head light sittin’ down by me wife;
No weight lef behin’ me
No gungu a line fe[6]
De man who was usual[7] to worry me life.
We’re now out o’ season,[8]
But dat is no reason
Why we shan’t be happy wid heart free and light:
We feel we are better
Dan many dat fetter
Wid burden dey shoulder to mek Christmas bright.
Some ’crape out de cupboard,
Not ’memberin’ no wud[9]
Dat say about fegettin’ when rainy day:
It comes widout warning
’Fo’ daylight a marnin’,[10]
An’, wakin’, de blue cloud ta’n black dat was gay.
De days dat gwin’ follow
No more will be hollow,
Like some dat come after de Christmas before:
We’ll lay by some money
An’ lick at de honey,[11]
An’ neber will need to lock up our front door.[12]
Jes’[13] look at de brightness
Of dat poor an’ sightless
Old man on de barrel a playin’ de flute:
Wha’ mek him so joyful?
His lap is of toy full,
A pick’ninny play wid de patch on his suit.
Ours too de same blessin’,
An’ we’ve learn’ a lesson
We should have been learnin’ from years long ago:
A Christmas ’dout pleasure[14]
Gave dat darlin’ treasure,[15]
An’ duty to Milly is all dat we owe.
The Hermit
Far in de country let me hide myself
From life’s sad pleasures an’ de greed of pelf,
Dwellin’ wid Nature primitive an’ rude,
Livin’ a peaceful life of solitude.
Dere by de woodland let me build my home
Where tropic roses[1] ever are in bloom,
An’ t’rough de wild cane[2] growin’ thick and tall
Rushes in gleeful mood de waterfall.
Roof strong enough to keep out season rain,[3]
Under whose eaves loved swallows will be fain
To build deir nests, an’ deir young birdlings rear
Widouten have de least lee t’ought of fear.[4]
An’ in my study I shall view de wul’,
An’ learn of all its doin’s to de full;
List to de woodland creatures’ music sweet—
Sad, yet contented in my lone retreat.
Fetchin’ Water
Watch how dem touris’ like fe look
Out ’pon me little daughter,
Whenever fe her tu’n[1] to cook
Or fetch a pan of water:
De sight look gay;
Dat is one way,
But I can tell you say,[2]
’Nuff rock’tone in de sea, yet none
But those ’pon lan’ know ’bouten sun.[3]
De pickny comin’ up de hill,
Fightin’ wid heavy gou’d,[4]
Won’t say it sweet him, but he will
Complain about de load:
Him feel de weight,
Dem watch[5] him gait;
It’s so some of de great
High people fabour t’ink[6] it sweet
Fe batter[7] in de boilin’ heat.
Dat boy wid de karásene pan,[8]
Sulky down to him toe,
His back was rollin’ in a san’,[9]
For him pa mek him crow:[10]
Him feel it bad,
Near mek him mad,
But teach him[11] he’s a lad;
Go disobey him fader wud,[12]
When he knows dat his back would sud![13]
But Sarah Jane she wus ’an all,
For she t’row ’way[14] de pan,
An’ jam her back agains’ de wall
Fe fight her mumma Fan:
Feelin’ de pinch,
She mek a wrinch
An’ get ’way; but de wench
Try fe put shame upon her ma,
Say dat she cook de bittle raw.[15]
Dis water-fetchin’ sweet dem though
When day mek up dem min’,
An’ ’nuff o’ dem ’tart out fe go,
An’ de weader is fine:
De pan might leak,
Dem don’t a ’peak,
Nor eben try fe seek
Some clay or so[16] to mek it soun’;
Dem don’t care ef dem wet all roun’.
Dén all ’bout de road dem ’catter
Marchin’ álong quite at ease;
Dat time listen to deir chatter,
Talkin’ anyt’ing dem please:
Dem don’t a fear,
Neider a care,
For who can interfere?
T’ree mile—five, six tu’n,—an’ neber[17]
W’ary, but could do it[18] for eber.
School-Teacher Nell’s Lub-Letter
If you promise to lub me alway,
I will foreber be true,
An’ you don’t mek me sorry[1] I de day
Dat I give myself to you.
How I ’member de night when we meet,[2]
An’ chat fe de first time of lub!
I go home, an’ den neber could eat
None o’ de plateful o’ grub.
An’ de day it was empty to me,
Wakin’, but dreamin’ of you,
While de school it was dull as could be,
An’ me hate me wuk fe do.[3]
Oh, I knew of your lub long before
My school friends tell[4] me of it,
And I watch at you from de school door,
When you pass to de cockpit.[5]
Den I hear too dat you use’ fe talk,
Say,[6] if you caan’ ketch me dark night,
You would sure ketch me as me deh walk[7]
In a de[8] open moonlight.
An’ you’ wud come to pass 4 very soon,
For scarcely a mont’ did gone
When de light of de star an’ de moon
Shine[9] bright as we kiss all alone.
I can neber remember de times
Ma scolded her little Nell;[10]
All day her tongue wuks like de chimes
Dat come from de old school-bell.
I have given up school-life fe you:
Sweetheart, my all[11] is your own;
Den say you will ever be true,
An’ live fe you’ Nellie alone.
Nellie White
Sweetheart, I have loved you well,
More than dis lee tongue can tell,
An’ you need not hab no fear,
For I’ll marry you, my dear.
What are you talkin’ about?
Don’t say that I’ll play you out;[1]
Swif’ ole Time, me Nell, will prove
Dat ’tis you alone I love.
Cry not, except ’tis for joy;
Can’t you trus’ dis big-heart boy?
Nell, I hate fe see you weep;
Tek my heart, an’ go to sleep.
How could I deceive you, Nell?
Don’t I love you much too well?
Could I fool dat plump black cheek?
Don’t cry, darlin’—look up—speak I
Nellie of the pretty feet
An’ the palm-like shape so neat,
I have eyes to see but you;
Darling, trust me to be true!
Nell, me dear, you need not fret,
For you are my food, my breat’;
Trust me, trust me, Nellie White,
Kiss me, lee sweetheart—good-night!
Retribution
De mule dem in de pasture an’ de donkey ’pon red groun’,[1]
An’ we boys mus’ ketch dem all befo’ de evenin’ sun go do’n;
De tas’ it isn’t easy for de whole o’ dem can run,
An’ grass-lice[2] lie do’n set.’
Grass-lice dat mek you trimble long time more dan when you meet
A man dat mean to fight you who you know you cannot beat;
Dem mek you feel you’ blood crawl from you’ head do’n to you’ feet,
An’ wish dat you b’en wet.
An’, like a ’pite, see all de mule a ’ketter t’rough de grass,
So chupidly a-followin’ de foolish ole jackass;
But when you hea’ we ketch dem, we wi’ serve dem such a sauce
By ridin’ dem to deat’!
We breat’ is partly givin’ out as up de hill we go up;
De beast dem seem to understan’ say “Day longer ’an rope,”[3]
An’ dat de night wi’ come befo’ we ketch dem is deir hope;
But we shall conquer yet.
For though dem t’ink dem hab some sense, dem all run right between
De rocky road above de swamp, where it hab eber been
Our luck to nab dem in de trap dat neber can be seen
By dem—Dey’re in de net!
We hab dem pullin’ on de bit as we race mile ’pon mile,
An’ grass-lice in we back a crawl an’ ’ting us all de while;
But blood is drippin’ from dem mout’, ’twill teach dem not fe vile,
We’ll race dem out o’ breat’.