James Riley - Neghborly Poems and Dialect Sketches

The pore 'ud git theyr dues some times —
Ef I only had my ruthers, —
And be paid dollars 'stid o' dimes ,
Fer childern, wives and mothers:
Theyr boy that slaves; theyr girl that sews —
Fer others – not herself, God knows! —
The grave's her only change of clothes!
… Ef I only had my ruthers,
They'd all have "stuff" and time enugh
To answer one-another's
Appealin' prayer fer "lovin' care" —
Ef I only had my ruthers.

They'd be few folks 'ud ast fer trust,
Ef I only had my ruthers,
And blame few business-men to bu'st
Theyrselves, er harts of others:
Big Guns that come here durin' Fair-
Week could put up jest anywhare,
And find a full-and-plenty thare,
Ef I only had my ruthers:
The rich and great 'ud 'sociate
With all theyr lowly brothers,
Feelin' we done the honorun —
Ef I only had my ruthers.

Fly away! thou heavenly one! —
I do hail thee on thy flight!
Sorrow? thou hath tasted none —
Perfect joy is yourn by right.
Fly away! and bear our love
To thy kith and kin above!

I can tetch thy finger-tips
Ca'mly, and bresh back the hair
From thy forr'ed with my lips,
And not leave a teardrop thare. —
Weep fer Tomps and Ruth – and me —
But I can not weep fer thee .

It's the curiousest thing in creation,
Whenever I hear that old song
"Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered,
My life seems as short as it's long! —
Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly
It 'peared in the years past and gone, —
When I started out sparkin', at twenty,
And had my first neckercher on!

Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer
Right now than my parents was then,
You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me,"
And I'm jest a youngster again! —
I'm a-standin' back thare in the furries
A-wishin' fer evening to come,
And a-whisperin' over and over
Them words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"

You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it
The first time I heerd it; and so,
As she was my very first sweethart,
It reminds me of her, don't you know; —
How her face ust to look, in the twilight,
As I tuck her to Spellin'; and she
Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her,
Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me !

I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,
And hear her low answerin' words;
And then the glad chirp of the crickets,
As clear as the twitter of birds;
And the dust in the road is like velvet,
And the ragweed and fennel and grass
Is as sweet as the scent of the lillies
Of Eden of old, as we pass.

" Do They Miss Me at Home? " Sing it lower —
And softer – and sweet as the breeze
That powdered our path with the snowy
White bloom of the old locus'-trees!
Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it,
And the echoes 'way over the hill,
Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus
Of stars, and our voices is still.

But oh! "They's a chord in the music
That's missed when her voice is away!"
Though I listen from midnight tel morning,
And dawn tel the dusk of the day!
And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards
And on through the heavenly dome,
With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'
The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"

"Coon-dog Wess" – he allus went
'Mongst us here by that-air name.
Moved in this-here Settlement
From next county – he laid claim, —
Lived down in the bottoms – whare
Ust to be some coons in thare! —

In nigh Clayton's, next the crick, —
Mind old Billy ust to say
Coons in thare was jest that thick,
He'p him corn-plant any day! —
And, in rostneer-time, be then
Aggin' him to plant again!

Well, – In Spring o' '67,
This-here "Coon-dog Wess" he come —
Fetchin' 'long 'bout forty-'leven
Ornriest-lookin' hounds, I gum!
Ever mortul-man laid eyes
On sence dawn o' Christian skies!

Wife come traipsin' at the rag-
Tag-and-bobtail of the crowd,
Dogs and childern, with a bag
Corn-meal and some side-meat, — Proud
And as independunt — My! —
Yit a mild look in her eye.

Well – this "Coon-dog Wess" he jest
Moved in that-air little pen
Of a pole-shed, aidgin' west
On "The Slues o' Death," called then. —
Otter- and mink-hunters ust
To camp thare 'fore game vam-moosd.

Abul-bodied man, – and lots
Call fer choppers – and fer hands
To git cross-ties out. – But what's
Work to sich as understands
Ways appinted and is hence
Under special providence? —

"Coon-dog Wess's" holts was hounds
And coon-huntin' ; and he knowed
His own range, and stayed in bounds
And left work for them 'at showed
Talents fer it – same as his
Gifts regardin' coon-dogs is.

Hounds of ev'ry mungerl breed
Ever whelped on earth! – Had these
Yeller kind, with punkin-seed
Marks above theyr eyes – and fleas
Both to sell and keep! – Also