Old England
I’ve a longin’ in me dept’s of heart dat I can conquer not,
’Tis a wish dat I’ve been havin’ from since I could form a t’o’t,[1]
’Tis to sail athwart the ocean an’ to hear de billows roar,
When dem ride aroun’ de steamer, when dem beat on England’s shore.
Just to view de homeland England, in de streets of London walk,
An’ to see de famous sights dem ’bouten which dere’s so much talk,
An’ to watch de fact’ry chimneys pourin’ smoke up to de sky, An’ to see de matches-children, dat I hear ’bout, passin’ by.
I would see Saint Paul’s Cathedral, an’ would hear some of de great
Learnin’ comin’ from de bishops, preachin’ relics of old fait’;
I would ope me mout’ wid wonder at de massive organ soun’, An’ would ’train me eyes to see de beauty Iyin’ all aroun’.
I’d go to de City Temple, where de ’old fait’ is a wreck,
An’ de parson is a-preachin’ views dat most folks will not tek; I’d go where de men of science meet togeder in deir hall,
To give light unto de real truths, to obey king Reason’s call.
I would view Westminster Abbey, where de great of England sleep,
An’ de solemn marble statues o’er deir ashes vigil keep;
I would see immortal Milton an’ de wul’-famous Shakespeare, Past’ral Wordswort’, gentle Gray, an’ all de great souls buried dere.
I would see de ancient chair where England’s kings deir crowns put on,
Soon to lay dem by again when all de vanity is done;
An’ I’d go to view de lone spot where in peaceful solitude Rests de body of our Missis Queen,[2] Victoria de Good.
An’ dese places dat I sing of now shall afterwards impart
All deir solemn sacred beauty to a weary searchin’ heart;
So I’ll rest glad an’ contented in me min’[3] for evermore,
When I sail across de ocean back to my own native shore.
Dat Dirty Rum
If you must drink it, do not come
An’ chat up in my face;
I hate to see de dirty rum,
Much more to know de tas’e.
What you find dere to care about[1]
I never understan’;
It only dutty up you mout’,
An’ mek you less a man.
I see it throw you ’pon de grass
An’ mek you want no food,
While people scorn you as dey pass
An’ see you vomit blood.
De fust beginnin’ of it all,
You stood up calm an’ cool,
An’ put you’ back agains’ de wall
An’ cuss our teacher fool.[2]
You cuss me too de se’fsame day
Because a say you wrong,[3]
An’ pawn you’ books an’ went away
Widout anedder song.[4]
Your parents’ hearts within dem sink,
When to your yout’ful lip
Dey watch you raise de glass to drink,
An’ shameless tek each sip.’
I see you in de dancing-booth,
But all your joy is vain,
For on your fresh an’ glowin’ youth
Is stamped dat ugly stain.
Dat ugly stain of drink, my frien’,
Has cost you your best girl,
An’ mek you fool ’mongst better men
When your brain’s in a whirl.
You may smoke just a bit indeed,
I like de “white seal” a well;
Aldough I do not use de weed,
I’m fond o’ de nice smell.
But wait until you’re growin’ old
An’ gettin’ weak an’ bent,
An’ feel your blood a-gettin’ cold
’Fo’ you tek stimulent.
Then it may mek you stronger feel
While on your livin’ groun’;[5]
But ole Time, creepin’ on your heel,
Soon, soon will pull you down:
Soon, soon will pull you down, my frien’,
De rum will help her[6] too;
An’ you’ll give way to better men,
De best dat you can do.[7]
Heart-Stirrings
You axe me as de bell begin fe ’trike,
Me Mikey, ef de wuk a didn’ like;
De queshton, like de bell, soun’ in me heart
Same how de anvil usual mek me ’tart.[1]
You’s a chil’[2] an’ know naught ’bout de wul’ yet,
But you’ll grow an’ larn t’ings you won’t feget;
You lub you’ life, an’ t’ink dere’s nuttin’ better,
Yet all you’ pickny dream dem soon will ’ketter.[3]
Tek me advice ya, chil’, an’ as you grow
Don’t choose a wuk dat you no like: aldough
You might see money in o’ it, at lengt’
You will get tired o’ it an’ repent.
A suffer, but I t’ink it mek me wise;
It wasn’ fe de money ’trike me yeyes,[4]
But “water mo’ ’an flour”[5] is true wud,
An’ eye-water run too long tu’n to blood.[6]
Hard life caan’ kill me, but annoyance might,
Me lub me right, an’ fe it me wi’ fight:
Me wi’ lef beef fe nyam an’ choose cow-lung,
Fe sabe meself from an annoying tongue.[7]
But sometime’, chil’, you jump from fryin’-pan
’Traight in a fire; an’, try as you can,
You caan’ come out, but always wishin’ den
Fe get back in de fryin’-pan again.
Ole Buccra Dabis, libing easy life,
One night get mad an’ kill himself an’ wife;
Den we hear t’ings we neber be’n know yet,
De b’uccra man was ears an’ han’s in debt.
Miss Laura lean back in her rockin’-chair
So sweet dat we might jes’ t’ink she no care
’Bout naught; yet some say dat ’cos she caan’ get
Mas’ Charley fe him husban’ she deh fret.
Dat’s how life ’tan’,[8] me chil’; dere is somet’ing
Deep down in we dat you can neber bring
People, howeber wise, fe understan’:
Caan’ feel man heart same how you feel dem han’.
Fe lub, me chil’, lub wha’ you natur’ hate![9]—
You’ll live in misery, prayin’ hard fe fait’,
Which won’t come eben ef you ’crub you’ knees
In fifty quart o’ corn an’ lady-peas.[10]
Fe hate a t’ing you whole min’ come in one:
You try fe keep it[11] back much as you can,
But” flesh caan’ conquer ’perit” Bible say,
You hab fe give it up,[12] an’ den ’top pray.
Me carry hell, me chit’, in a me ches’,
Me laugh, me cry, me couldn’ get no res’;
Eat all de same an’ neber fatter less[13]
Dan now, aldough me min’ was so distress’.
An’ though a feel it hard, a wouldn’ fret;
Me min’ don’t mek so, but it eber set
Fe conquer, yet it couldn’ wash away
De t’oughts dem dat come ’tronger ebery day.
You ’stan’,[14] me chil’? I caan’ explain it mo’:
Life funny bad, so is de ways also;
For what we fink is right is often wrong,
We live in sorrow as we journey ’long.
De Dog-Rose
Growin’ by de corner-stone,[1]
See de pretty flow’r-tree blows,
Sendin’ from de prickly branch
A lubly bunch o’ red dog-rose.[2]
An’ de bunch o’ crimson red,
Boastin’ on de dark blue tree,
Meks it pretty, prettier yet
Jes’ as dat dog-rose can be.[3]
Young Miss Sal jes’[4] come from school:
Freddy, fresh from groun’ an’ grub,
Pick de dog-rose off de tree,
Gib Miss Sal to prove his lub.
Then I watch on as dem kiss
Right aroun’ de corner-stone,
An’ my heart grow vex’ fe see
How dem foolish when alone.
An’ I listen to deir talk,
As dey say dey will be true;
“Eber true” I hear dem pledge,
An’ dat naught can part dem two.
De petchary[5] laugh an’ jig,
Sittin’ on a bamboo low;
Seems him guess, jes’ like mese’f
How de whole t’ing gwin’ fe go.
Time gwon[6], an’ de rose is not:
I see Fred, wi’ eyes all dim,
Huggin’ up de corner-stone,
For his love has jilted him;
Left him for anedder man
Wid a pile o’ money,
Dat he carried from his land
O’ de Injin coney.[7]
Wonder whe’ de petchary?
De rose-tree is dead an’ gone;
Sal sit in de big great-house,[8]
Cooin’ to her baby son.