THE MONIMENT She'll come out right bumby, thet I'll engage, 219 Soon ez she gits to seein' we 're of age; In spite of all the fools both sides the water. THE BRIDGE I b'lieve thet's so; but harken in your ear, I'm older 'n you,-Peace wun't keep house with Fear: Ef you want peace, the thing you've gut tu du Is jes' to show you're up to fightin', tu. I recollect how sailors' rights was won, 230 Yard locked in yard, hot gun-lip kissin' gun: Why, afore thet, John Bull sot up thet he Hed gut a kind o' mortgage on the sea; You'd thought he held by Gran'ther Adam's will, An' ef you knuckle down, he'll think so I say, ole boy, it ain't the Glorious Fourth: You'd oughto larned 'fore this wut talk wuz worth. It ain't our nose thet gits put out o' jint; When every flag-staff flapped its tethered flame, An' all the people, startled from their doubt, 250 Come must'rin' to the flag with sech a shout, I hoped to see things settled 'fore this fall, The Rebbles licked, Jeff Davis hanged, an' all; Then come Bull Run, an' sence then I've ben waitin' Like boys in Jennooary thaw for skatin', Nothin' to du but watch my shadder's trace Swing, like a ship at anchor, roun' my base, With daylight's flood an' ebb: it's gittin' slow, An' I 'most think we'd better let 'em go. I tell ye wut, this war's a-goin' to cost THE BRIDGE Ef we should part, it would n't be a week 'Fore your soft-soddered peace would spring aleak. We've turned our cuffs up, but, to put her thru, We must git mad an' off with jackets, tu; "T wun't du to think thet killin' ain't per lite, You've gut to be in airnest, ef you fight; Why, two thirds o' the Rebbles 'ould cut dirt, Ef they once thought thet Guv'ment meant to hurt; But when 't was done, we did n't count it dear; Why, law an' order, honor, civil right, Ef they ain't wuth it, wut is wuth a fight? I'm older 'n you: the plough, the axe, the mill, All kin's o' labor an' all kin's o' skill, Onsettle thet, an' all the world goes whiz, 302 I guess the gran'thers they knowed sunthin', An' God wun't leave us yit to sink or swim, O strange New World, thet yit wast never young, Whose youth from thee by gripin' need was wrung, Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose babybed Who saw in vision their young Ishmel strain With each hard hand a vassal ocean's mane, Thou, skilled by Freedom an' by gret events To pitch new States ez Old-World men pitch tents, Thou, taught by Fate to know Jehovah's plan Thet man's devices can't unmake a man, An' whose free latch-string never was drawed in 330 JONATHAN TO JOHN IT don't seem hardly right, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guess Thet 's fit for you an' me!' You wonder why we 're hot, John? Ole Uncle S. sez he, I guess There's human blood,' sez he, By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts, Though 't may surprise J. B. More 'n it would you an' me.' Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John, 350 381 When your rights was our wrongs, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guess, We own the ocean, tu, John: You mus' n' take it hard, Ef we can't think with you, John, It's jest your own back-yard. Ole Uncle S. sez he, I guess, Ef thet 's his claim,' sez he, 'The fencin'-stuff 'll cost enough To bust up friend J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!' 390 400 410 May happen to J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!' We ain't so weak an' poor, John, 'The surest plan to make a Man Ez much ez you or me!' Our folks believe in Law, John; 420 430 Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guess, Ef 't warn't for law,' sez he, 'There'd be one shindy from here to Indy; An' thet don't suit J. B. (When 't ain't 'twixt you an' me ! )' We know we've got a cause, John, Thet 's honest, just, an' true; We thought 't would win applause, John, Ef nowheres else, from you. Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guess His love of right,' sez he, Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton: There's natur' in J. B., Ez wal 'z in you an' me!' 440 (For, 'thout new funnitoor, wut good in life?), An' so ole clawfoot, from the precinks dread O' the spare chamber, slinks into the shed, Where, dim with dust, it fust or last subsides To holdin' seeds an' fifty things besides; 10 But better days stick fast in heart an' husk, An' all you keep in 't gits a scent o' musk. Jes' so with poets: wut they 've airly read Gits kind of worked into their heart an' head, So 's 't they can't seem to write but jest on sheers With furrin countries or played-out ideers, This makes 'em talk o' daisies, larks, an' things, Ez though we'd nothin' here that blows an' sings 20 1 He [Arthur Hugh Clough] often suggested that I should try my hand at some Yankee Pastorals, which would admit of more sentiment and a higher tone without foregoing the advantage offered by the dialect. I have never completed anything of the kind, but, in this Second Series, both my remembrance of his counsel and the deeper feeling called up by the great interests at stake, led me to venture some passages nearer to what is called poetical than could have been admitted without incongruity into the former series. (LOWELL, in the Introduction' to the Biglow Papers, 1866.) Tuggin' my foundered feet out by the roots. Hev seen ye come to fling on April's hearse Your muslin nosegays from the milliner's, Puzzlin' to find dry ground your queen to choose, An' dance your throats sore in morocker shoes: I've seen ye an' felt proud, thet, come wut would, Our Pilgrim stock wuz pethed with hardihood. Pleasure doos make us Yankees kind o' winch, Ez though 't wuz sunthin' paid for by the inch; But yit we du contrive to worry thru, 40 Then all the waters bow themselves an' come, Suddin, in one gret slope o' shedderin' foam, Jes' so our Spring gits everythin' in tune An' gives one leap from Aperl into June: Then all comes crowdin' in; afore you think, Young oak-leaves mist the side-hill woods with pink; The catbird in the laylock-bush is loud; The orchards turn to heaps o' rosy cloud; Red-cedars blossom tu, though few folks know it, An' look all dipt in sunshine like a poet; 90 |