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Colored Girls and Boys’ Inspiring United States History

by William Henry Harrison Jr.

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On the Farm — Chestnut Hunting

It was after four, one Friday when
    We all rejoiced at school-week end,
And plans were made for Saturday roves
    Among the trees of chestnut groves.

And half that night we thought of fun
    That we would have when day begun;
So up we got with early sun
    To get our chores real quickly done.

The cross-roads by the old mill-dam
    Was where we formed our happy band
Of laughing girls and whistling boys,
    Who vied their chums in making noise.

Blushing maids in tam-o’-shanters,
    And teasing lads with roguish banters
All romped away one happy crew
    To where we knew the best nuts grew.

What luck to be a boy or girl,
    When leaves begin to brown and curl!
What joy it is to feel the thrill
    That’s in the air from hill to hill!

Tramping over knolls and dales,
    We saw a woods fenced in with rails;
And there tree limbs were bending down
    Thick with burs all big and round.

Then we raced by rocky juts,
    Until we spied the brownish nuts
Peeping down from sticky burs
    Smooth inside as softest furs.

Boys shook boughs and nuts rained down
    Rolling over frost-bit ground:
Those whose hands the burs did bruise
    Upon them stamped with heavy shoes.

Some stood on the ground below
    So their clubs to better throw:
Girls with sacks from flour mill
    Picked enough each bag to fill.

When on a fence we climbed to chat,
    The top rail broke and down we sat
On sticky burs all round about
    That made us dance as well as pout.

What jolly times we had out there
    Joking some two as a loving pair,
’Till baskets all were well heaped up,
    When home we went to get our sup’.

We hid the nuts clear out of sight,
    To roast or boil some winter night,
When coals glowed red within the grate
    And snow outdoors fell deep and late.

Oh! that I were a youth once more
    To gather chestnuts as of yore
From trees that once had blooming health
    But long since dead from insects’ stealth.

Whenever now through woods I go,
    My anguished heart does overflow
To see the blighted chestnut die
    While puzzled science no cure does spy.

—Harrison.

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