James Russell Lowell
The Courtin’
Zekle crep’ up, quite unbeknown,
An’ peeked in thru the winder,
An’ there sot Huldy all alone,
‘ith no one nigh to hender.
Agin the chimbly crooknecks hung,
An’ in amongst ’em rusted
The ole queen’s arm thet Gran’ther Young
Fetched back from Concord busted.
The wannut logs shot sparkles out
Toward the pootiest, bless her!
An’ leetle fires danced all about
The chiny on the dresser.
The very room, coz she wuz in,
Looked warm from floor to ceilin’,
An’ she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez th’ apples she wuz peelin’.
She heerd a foot an’ knowed it, tu,
A-raspin’ on the scraper;
All ways to once her feelin’s new
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.
He kin’ o’ l’itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle o’ the seekle;
His heart kep’ goin’ pitypat,
But hern went pity Zekle.
The Pious Editor’s Creed
[From Biglow Papers.]
I du believe in Freedom’s cause,
Ez fur away as Paris is;
I love to see her stick her claws
In them infarnal Pharisees;
It’s wal enough agin a king
To dror resolves an’ triggers—
But libbaty’s a kind o’ thing
Thet don’t agree with niggers.
I du believe the people want
A tax on teas an’ coffees,
Thet nothin’ aint extravygunt,
Pervidin’ I’m in office;
Fer I hev loved my country sence
My eye-teeth filled their sockets,
An’ Uncle Sam I reverence—
Partic’larly his pockets.
I du believe in any plan
O’ levyin’ the taxes,
Ez long ez, like a lumberman,
I git jest wut I axes;
I go free-trade thru thick an’ thin,
Because it kind o’ rouses
The folks to vote—an’ keeps us in
Our quiet custom-houses.
I du believe with all my soul
In the gret Press’s freedom,
To pint the people to the goal
An’ in the traces lead ’em;
Palsied the arm thet forges jokes
At my fat contracts squintin’,
An’ withered be the nose that pokes
Inter the gov’ment printin’!
I du believe thet I should give
Wut’s his’n unto Caesar,
Fer it’s by him I move an’ live,
Frum him my bread and cheese air;
I du believe thet all o’ me
Doth bear his souperscription,—
Will, conscience, honor, honesty,
An’ things o’ thet description.
I du believe in prayer an’ praise
To him thet hez the grantin’
O’ jobs,—in every thin’ that pays,
But most of all in CANTIN’;
This doth my cup with marcies fill,
This lays all thought o’ sin to rest,—
I don’t believe in princerple,
But, O, I du in interest.
I du believe in bein’ this
Or thet, ez it may happen
One way or t’other hendiest is
To ketch the people nappin’;
It aint by princerples nor men
My preudent course is steadied,—
I scent wich pays the best; an’ then
Go into it baldheaded.
I du believe thet holdin’ slaves
Comes nat’ral tu a Presidunt,
Let ‘lone the rowdedow it saves
To hev a wal-broke precedunt;
Fer any office, small or gret,
I couldn’t ax with no face,
Without I’d ben, thru dry an’ wet,
Th’ unrizzost kind o’ doughface.
I du believe wutever trash
’ll keep the people in blindness,—
Thet we the Mexicuns can thrash
Right inter brotherly kindness;
Thet bombshells, grape, an’ powder ’n’ ball
Air good-will’s strongest magnets;
Thet peace, to make it stick at all,
Must be druv in with bagnets.
In short, I firmly du believe
In Humbug generally,
Fer it’s a thing that I perceive
To hev a solid vally;
This heth my faithful shepherd ben,
In pasturs sweet heth led me,
An’ this ’ll keep the people green
To feed ez they hev fed me.