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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521219" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Mountain Whippoorwill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up in the mountains, it's lonesome all the time,<br>(Sof' win' slewin' thu' the sweet-potato vine.)<br>Up in the mountains, it's lonesome for a child,<br>(Whippoorwills a-callin' when the sap runs wild.)<br>Up in the mountains, mountains in the fog,<br>Everythin's as lazy as an old houn' dog.<br>Born in the mountains, never raised a pet,<br>Don't want nuthin' an' never got it yet.<br>Born in the mountains, lonesome-born,<br>Raised runnin' ragged thu' the cockleburrs and corn.<br>Never knew my pappy, mebbe never should.<br>Think he was a fiddle made of mountain laurel-wood.<br>Never had a mammy to teach me pretty-please.<br>Think she was a whippoorwill, a-skittin' thu' the trees.<br>Never had a brother ner a whole pair of pants,<br>But when I start to fiddle, why, yuh got to start to dance!<br>Listen to my fiddle -- Kingdom Come -- Kingdom Come!<br>Hear the frogs a-chunkin' 'Jug o' rum, Jug o' rum!'<br>Hear that mountain whippoorwill be lonesome in the air,<br>An' I'll tell yuh how I travelled to the Essex County Fair.<br>Essex County has a mighty pretty fair,<br>All the smarty fiddlers from the South come there.<br>Elbows flyin' as they rosin up the bow<br>For the First Prize Contest in the Georgia Fiddlers' Show.<br>Old Dan Wheeling, with his whiskers in his ears,<br>King-pin fiddler for nearly twenty years.<br>Big Tom Sergeant, with his blue wall-eye,<br>An' Little Jimmy Weezer that can make a fiddle cry.<br>All sittin' roun', spittin' high an' struttin' proud,<br>(Listen, little whippoorwill, yuh better bug yore eyes!)<br>Tun-a-tun-a-tunin' while the jedges told the crowd<br>Them that got the mostest claps'd win the bestest prize.<br>Everybody waitin' for the first tweedle-dee,<br>When in comes a-stumblin' -- hill-billy me!<br>Bowed right pretty to the jedges an' the rest,<br>Took a silver dollar from a hole inside my vest,<br>Plunked it on the table an' said, 'There's my callin' card!<br>An' anyone that licks me -- well, he's got to fiddle hard!'<br>Old Dan Wheeling, he was laughin' fit to holler,<br>Little Jimmy Weezer said, 'There's one dead dollar!'<br>Big Tom Sergeant had a yaller-toothy grin,<br>But I tucked my little whippoorwill spang underneath my chin,<br>An' petted it an' tuned it till the jedges said, 'Begin!'<br>Big Tom Sargent was the first in line;<br>He could fiddle all the bugs off a sweet-potato vine.<br>He could fiddle down a possum from a mile-high tree,<br>He could fiddle up a whale from the bottom of the sea.<br>Yuh could hear hands spankin' till they spanked each other raw,<br>When he finished variations on 'Turkey in the Straw.'<br>Little Jimmy Weezer was the next to play;<br>He could fiddle all night, he could fiddle all day.<br>He could fiddle chills, he could fiddle fever,<br>He could make a fiddle rustle like a lowland river.<br>He could make a fiddle croon like a lovin' woman.<br>An' they clapped like thunder when he'd finished strummin'.<br>Then came the ruck of the bob-tailed fiddlers,<br>The let's-go-easies, the fair-to-middlers.<br>They got their claps an' they lost their bicker,<br>An' they all settled back for some more corn-licker.<br>An' the crowd was tired of their no-count squealing,<br>When out in the center steps Old Dan Wheeling.<br>He fiddled high and he fiddled low,<br>(Listen, little whippoorwill, yuh got to spread yore wings!)<br>He fiddled and fiddled with a cherrywood bow,<br>(Old Dan Wheeling's got bee-honey in his strings).<br>He fiddled a wind by the lonesome moon,<br>He fiddled a most almighty tune.<br>He started fiddling like a ghost.<br>He ended fiddling like a host.<br>He fiddled north an' he fiddled south,<br>He fiddled the heart right out of yore mouth.<br>He fiddled here an' he fiddled there.<br>He fiddled salvation everywhere.<br>When he was finished, the crowd cut loose,<br>(Whippoorwill, they's rain on yore breast.)<br>An' I sat there wonderin' 'What's the use?'<br>(Whippoorwill, fly home to yore nest.)<br>But I stood up pert an' I took my bow,<br>An' my fiddle went to my shoulder, so.<br>An' -- they wasn't no crowd to get me fazed --<br>But I was alone where I was raised.<br>Up in the mountains, so still it makes yuh skeered.<br>Where God lies sleepin' in his big white beard.<br>An' I heard the sound of the squirrel in the pine,<br>An' I heard the earth a-breathin' thu' the long night-time.<br>They've fiddled the rose, and they've fiddled the thorn,<br>But they haven't fiddled the mountain-corn.<br>They've fiddled sinful an' fiddled moral,<br>But they haven't fiddled the breshwood-laurel.<br>They've fiddled loud, and they've fiddled still,<br>But they haven't fiddled the whippoorwill.<br>I started off with a dump-diddle-dump,<br>(Oh, hell's broke loose in Georgia!)<br>Skunk-cabbage growin' by the bee-gum stump.<br>(Whippoorwill, yo're singin' now!)<br>My mother was a whippoorwill pert,<br>My father, he was lazy,<br>But I'm hell broke loose in a new store shirt<br>To fiddle all Georgia crazy.<br>Swing yore partners -- up an' down the middle!<br>Sashay now -- oh, listen to that fiddle!<br>Flapjacks flippin' on a red-hot griddle,<br>An' hell's broke loose,<br>Hell's broke loose,<br>Fire on the mountains -- snakes in the grass.<br>Satan's here a-bilin' -- oh, Lordy, let him pass!<br>Go down Moses, set my people free;<br>Pop goes the weasel thu' the old Red Sea!<br>Jonah sittin' on a hickory-bough,<br>Up jumps a whale -- an' where's yore prophet now?<br>Rabbit in the pea-patch, possum in the pot,<br>Try an' stop my fiddle, now my fiddle's gettin' hot!<br>Whippoorwill, singin' thu' the mountain hush,<br>Whippoorwill, shoutin' from the burnin' bush,<br>Whippoorwill, cryin' in the stable-door,<br>Sing tonight as yuh never sang before!<br>Hell's broke loose like a stompin' mountain-shoat,<br>Sing till yuh bust the gold in yore throat!<br>Hell's broke loose for forty miles aroun'<br>Bound to stop yore music if yuh don['t sing it down.<br>Sing on the mountains, little whippoorwill,<br>Sing to the valleys, an' slap 'em with a hill,<br>For I'm struttin' high as an eagle's quill,<br>An' hell's broke loose,<br>Hell's broke loose,<br>Hell's broke loose in Georgia!<br>They wasn't a sound when I stopped bowin',<br>(Whippoorwill, yuh can sing no more.)<br>But, somewhere or other, the dawn was growin',<br>(Oh, mountain whippoorwill!)<br>An' I thought, 'I've fiddled all night an' lost,<br>Yo're a good hill-billy, but yuh've been bossed.'<br>So I went to congratulate old man Dan,<br>-- But he put his fiddle into my han' --<br>An' then the noise of the crowd began!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Stephen+Vincent+Benet">Stephen Vincent Benet</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521219" data-title="The Mountain Whippoorwill de Stephen Vincent Benet" data-description="Up in the mountains, it's lonesome all the time,
(Sof' win' slewin' thu' the sweet-potato vine.)
Up in the mountains, it's lonesome for a child,
(Whippoorwills a-callin' when the sap runs wild.)
Up in the mountains, mountains in the fog,
Everythin..."></div>
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