I've lived so much it makes my mem❜ry ache, An' can't skurce take a cat-nap in my cheer "Thout hevin' 'em, some good, some bad, all queer. Now I wuz settin' where I'd ben, it seemed, An' ain't sure yit whether I r'ally dreamed, Nor, ef I did, how long I might ha' slep', When I hearn some un stompin' up the step, An' lookin' round, ef two an' two make four, I see a Pilgrim Father in the door. He wore a steeple-hat, tall boots, an' spurs Though mos' folks write ez ef they hoped jes' quickenin' The churn would argoo skim-milk into thickenin'; But skim-milk ain't change its view a thing to O' wut it's meant for more'n a smoky flue. But du pray tell me, 'fore we furder go, How in all Natur' did you come to know 'Bout our affairs," sez I, "in Kingdom Come?" "Wal, I worked round at sperritrappin' some, An' danced the tables till their legs wuz gone, In hopes o' larnin' wut wuz goin' on," Sez he, "but mejums lie so like allsplit Thet I concluded it wuz best to quit. But, come now, ef you wun't confess to knowin', You've some conjectures how the thing's a-goin'." "Gran'ther," 66 sez I, a vane warn't never known Sez he, an' so you'll find before you're thru; Ef reshness venters sunthin', shillyshally Lozes ez often wut's ten times the vally. Thet exe of ourn, when Charles's neck gut split, Opened a gap thet ain't bridged over yit: Slav'ry's your Charles, the Lord hez gin the exe "Our Charles," sez I, "hez gut eight million necks. The hardest question ain't the black man's right, The trouble is to 'mancipate the white; One's chained in body an' can be sot free, But t'other's chained in soul to an idee: It's a long job, but we shall worry thru it; Ef bag'nets fail, the spellin'-book must du it." "Hosee," sez he, "I think you're goin' to fail: The rettlesnake ain't dangerous in the tail; This 'ere rebellion's nothin' but the rettle, You'll stomp on thet an' think you've won the bettle; Slavery thet's the fangs an' thinkin' head, It's An' ef you want selvation, cresh it dead, An' cresh it suddin, or you'll larn by waitin' Fresh from the forest solitudes, Unchallenged of his sentry lines, The bursting of his cypress buds, And the warm fragrance of his pines. Ah, never braver bark and crew, mer!* But little gain by that dark ground Was ours, save, sometime, freer breath For friend or brother strangely found, 'Scaped from the drear domain of death. And little venture for the bold, Or laurel for our valiant Chief, Save some blockaded British thief, Full fraught with murder in his hold, Caught unawares at ebb or flood, Or dull bombardment, day by day, With fort and earth-work, far away, Low couched in sullen leagues of mud. A weary time, but to the strong The day at last, as ever, came; And the volcano, laid so long, Leaped forth in thunder and in flame! "Man your starboard battery!" The ship, with her hearts of oak, |