The Old Homestead
JEST as atween the awk'ard lines a hand we love has penn'd
Appears a meanin' hid from other eyes,
So, in your simple, homespun art, old honest Yankee friend,
A power o' tearful, sweet seggestion lies.
We see it all--the pictur' that our mem'ries hold so dear--
The homestead in New England far away,
An' the vision is so nat'ral-like we almost seem to hear
The voices that were heshed but yesterday.
Ah, who'd ha' thought the music of that distant childhood time
Would sleep through all the changeful, bitter years
To waken into melodies like Chris'mas bells a-chime
An' to claim the ready tribute of our tears!
Why, the robins in the maples an' the blackbirds round the pond,
The crickets an' the locusts in the leaves,
The brook that chased the trout adown the hillside just beyond,
An' the swallers in their nests beneath the eaves--
They all come troopin' back with you, dear Uncle Josh, to-day,
An' they seem to sing with all the joyous zest
Of the days when we were Yankee boys an' Yankee girls at play,
With nary thought of 'livin' way out West'!
God bless ye, Denman Thomps'n, for the good y' do our hearts,
With this music an' these memories o' youth--
God bless ye for the faculty that tops all human arts,
The good ol' Yankee faculty of Truth!
poem by Eugene Field
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Related quotes
Another Yankee Doodle
Yankee Doodle had a mind
To whip the Southern traitors,
Because they didn't choose to live
On codfish and potatoes,
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
And to keep his courage up
He took a drink of brandy.
Yankee Doodle said he found
By all the census figures,
That he could starve the rebels out,
If he could steal their niggers.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
And then he took another drink
Of gunpowder and brandy.
Yankee Doodle made a speech;
'Twas very full of feeling;
'I fear,' he says, 'I cannot fight,
But I am good at stealing.'
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
Hurrah for Lincoln, he's the boy
To take a drop of brandy.
Yankee Doodle drew his sword,
And practiced all the passes;
Come, boys, we'll take another drink
When we get to Manassas.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
They never reached Manassas plain,
And never got the brandy.
Yankee Doodle soon found out
That Bull Run was no trifle;
For if the North knew how to steal,
The South knew how to rifle.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
'Tis very clear I took too much
Of that infernal brandy.
Yankee Doodle wheeled about,
And scampered off at full run,
And such a race was never seen
As that he made at Bull Run.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
I haven't time to stop right now
To take a drop of brandy.
Yankee Doodle, oh! for shame,
You're always intermeddling;
Let guns alone, they're dangerous things;
You'd better stick to peddling.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
When next I go to Bully Run
I'll throw away the brandy.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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God Save The South
It was a red hot night night in mobile
Sweat glistened on the reverends chin
His mohair suit was shinin
He told us all about sin
It could be wall to wall in wall street
We could be livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
Across the street in the pool hall
Bubba put the eight ball down
Its a high five celebration
They passed the jack around
Its wall to wall in wall street
Were livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Shut your mouth
Some long haired boys with guitars
Playin behind the chicken wire
Theyre goin up to new york city
Gonna sing about atlantas fire
It could be wall to wall in wall street
We could be livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
And God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
And God saved the south
So,yankee boy shut your mouth
And God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
So, yankee boy shut your mouth
God saved the south
So, yankee boy shut your mouth
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yankee Was A Bad Man, Yankee Was A Thief,
Yankee was a bad man, Yankee was a thief,
Yankee came to my house and stole a side of beef;
I went to Yankee's house, Yankee he had fled,
Caught him on the battle-field, and there I killed him dead.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Our Yankee Girls
LET greener lands and bluer skies,
If such the wide earth shows,
With fairer cheeks and brighter eyes,
Match us the star and rose;
The winds that lift the Georgian's veil,
Or wave Circassia's curls,
Waft to their shores the sultan's sail,--
Who buys our Yankee girls?
The gay grisette, whose fingers touch
Love's thousand chords so well;
The dark Italian, loving much,
But more than one can tell;
And England's fair-haired, blue-eyed dame,
Who binds her brow with pearls;--
Ye who have seen them, can they shame
Our own sweet Yankee girls?
And what if court or castle vaunt
Its children loftier born?--
Who heeds the silken tassel's flaunt
Beside the golden corn?
They ask not for the dainty toil
Of ribboned knights and earls,
The daughters of the virgin soil,
Our freeborn Yankee girls!
By every hill whose stately pines
Wave their dark arms above
The home where some fair being shines,
To warm the wilds with love,
From barest rock to bleakest shore
Where farthest sail unfurls,
That stars and stripes are streaming o'er,--
God bless our Yankee girls!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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To pitch a perfect game wearing pinstripes at Yankee Stadium, it's unbelievable. Growing up a Yankee fan, to come out here and make history, it really is a dream come true.
quote by David Wells
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kangaroo Power
NOW, Yankee inventors can beat a retreat,
And German professors may take a back seat,
For their colours we’re going to lower:
They’ve invented a wonderful plough in the West,
The scientists call it “the latest and best”;
It ploughs, sows, and reaps without taking a rest,
And they drive it by kangaroo power.
Sing hey!
Sing ho!
Then it’s bully for kangaroo power!
O wondrous the changes our children shall meet,
For soon we may travel the principal street
In something far short of an hour.
The traffic shall flow without stoppage or jambs
And sharp little screeches and naughty big damns,
For soon all the hansoms and ’busses and trams
Shall travel by kangaroo power.
Sing hey!
Sing ho!
Then it’s bully for kangaroo power!
Advance, Young Australia, thy banner unfurled,
And jump through the years and astonish the world;
Thou art of all nations the flower.
And Bismarck with envy shall grind his old stumps,
And Yankee inventors shall sit in the dumps,
To see young Australia advancing by jumps,
When driven by kangaroo power.
Sing hey!
Sing ho!
Then it’s bully for kangaroo power!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Yankee Doodle Never Went To Town
Arthur freed / bernie hanighan
Yankee doodle never went to town
I just discovered the story was phony
Let me give you all the real low-down
He didnt even own a pony
He was really very short and fat
While in the story so skinny and moany
And so hungry that he ate his hat
And called the felt macaroni
Underneath the chestnut tree
He and the blacksmith would sip that tea
Then hed bring out his uniform down
Thats how he went to town
Yankee doodle tried to leave one day
Took his belongings and mounted his saddle
But he never got it on his way
Cause he didnt have a pony
And the fairy tale is phony
How could yankee doodle go to town?
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O, lord
Listen to my prayer O, Lord,
You are powerful and might God,
Give me courage and word,
Power to rule and sway over world,
I should have divine power,
Healing power and mercy to shower,
Pity on needy and blessings to poor,
Hear and bless to our urge sincere,
No misuse but application right,
Injustice challenge and rightful fight,
But will be good in hands of man?
Can earthly people act as human?
You may lament after giving power,
Complete chaos in the hands of wrong doer,
No more preachers and religious nun,
Seers, peers and God man on run,
You may be tired when facing alone,
I may prove honest and single one,
I may be your right hand and simple soul,
You will have no reason to smell foul,
Try at the outset and bless at once,
Declare it open and simply pronounce,
Rest my work will do and announce,
Not your word will ever bounce,
You might not have tried any more,
New ideas and ground to explore,
All human beings will sleep and snore,
No ill will and grudges bore,
I may still be the best bat,
It is simple but not ideas fat,
Neither has it had connivance of cat,
Nor it may wait hunt for rat,
You may not listen to my request,
Never may I claim it as conquest,
I thought it means honest and best,
Words to be kept amidst acid test,
I may look fool in your eyes,
Don’t intend to score run in byes,
I thought you may have one good hand,
Healer, compatriot and very good friend
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Lord
Listen to my prayer O, Lord,
You are powerful and mighty God,
Give me courage and word,
Power to rule and sway over world,
I should have divine power,
Healing power and mercy to shower,
Pity on needy and blessings to poor,
Hear and bless to our urge sincere,
No misuse but application right,
Injustice challenge and rightful fight,
But will be good in hands of man?
Can earthly people act as human?
You may lament after giving power,
Complete chaos in the hands of wrong doer,
No more preachers and religious nun,
Seers, peers and God man on run,
You may be tired when facing alone,
I may prove honest and single one,
I may be your right hand and simple soul,
You will have no reason to smell foul,
Try at the outset and bless at once,
Declare it open and simply pronounce,
Rest my work will do and announce,
Not your word will ever bounce,
You might not have tried any more,
New ideas and ground to explore,
All human beings will sleep and snore,
No ill will and grudges bore,
I may still be the best bat,
It is simple but not ideas fat,
Neither has it had connivance of cat,
Nor it may wait hunt for rat,
You may not listen to my request,
Never may I claim it as conquest,
I thought it means honest and best,
Words to be kept amidst acid test,
I may look fool in your eyes,
Don’t intend to score run in byes,
I thought you may have one good hand,
Healer, compatriot and very good friend
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mark Twain and Joan of Arc
When Yankee soldiers reach the barricade
Then Joan of Arc gives each the accolade.
For she is there in armor clad, today,
All the young poets of the wide world say.
Which of our freemen did she greet the first,
Seeing him come against the fires accurst?
Mark Twain, our Chief, with neither smile nor jest,
Leading to war our youngest and our best.
The Yankee to King Arthur's court returns.
The sacred flag of Joan above him burns.
For she has called his soul from out the tomb.
And where she stands, there he will stand till doom.
But I, I can but mourn, and mourn again
At bloodshed caused by angels, saints, and men.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Little Birds In Yonder Grove
Little birds in yonder grove,
Making nests, and making love,
Come sing upon your favorite tree,
Once more your sweetest songs to me:
An exile from these scenes I go,
Whither, I neither care nor know:
Perhaps to some far distant shore,
Never again to hear you more.
The river Lea glides smoothly by,
Unconscious of my agony.
This bursting sigh-this last sad tear,
On quitting all I hold so dear,
Are felt-are heard-are seen by none,
Left as I am by every one.
Farewell to Brocket's gladsome hall,
Farewell to Dawson's fruitful wall,
Farewell to Hassard's cheering smile,
His hearty laugh, which cares no guile:
Ever supported, 'till a sad tear,
Dimm'd his bright eye for me this year.
Farewell the faithful Welwyn band,
The poor-the kind-my own dear land.
Where'er I go, God bless you all;
And thus I leave thee, Brocket Hall:
Time was, a youthful happy child,
Thoughtless, undaunted-wanton-gay, and wild,
I came from home and parents dear,
To find a home and husband here,
My joyous days with youth are fled,
My friends are either chang'd or dead:
My faults-my follies-leave these alone,
They live in the mouth of every one,
And still remain when all is gone.
This is my twentieth marriage year,
They celebrate with Hassard's beer;
They dance-they sing-they bless the day,
I weep the while-and well I may:
Husband, nor child, to greet me come,
Without a friend-without a home:
I sit beneath my favorite tree,
Sing then, my little birds, to me,
In music, love, and liberty.
poem by Lady Caroline Lamb
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Southern Son
Born on the hudson, twenty-two years gone
Bred and raised in the city
From my daddys knee I learned the union songs
But grandma sang lullabies of dixie
And though the northern winter fills my heart with joy
Oh its a southern sun that shines down
On this yankee boy
Mama dreamed of paris nights
And boatin on the seine
She said, were gonna make it there too
Soon as papa comes home again
And shed speak to me in broken french
Dressed like a painting of lautrecs
In the night shed clutch me to her breast
And say, well make it outta here yet
And though parisian women
Strut so fine down the eiffel mall
Its a southern one I sing my songs for
Well with the local bunch of do-good boys
And an old man from the west
We crossed the land in the caravan
Yes we traveled with the best
With circus acts and vaudeville hacks
And the mississippi delta queen
She told me the news and sold me her blues
In an alley in new orleans
And though the western plains are still stained
With the blood of great cowboys
Its a southern sun
That shine down on this yankee boy
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Thousand Miles Away
Hurrah for the Roma railway! Hurrah for Cobb and Co.,
And oh! for a good fat horse or two to carry me Westward Ho
To carry me Westward Ho! my boys, that's where the cattle stray
On the far Barcoo, where they eat nardoo, a thousand miles away.
Chorus
Then give your horses rein across the open plain,
We'll ship our meat both sound and sweet, nor care what some folks say;
And frozen we'll send home the cattle that now roam
On the far Barcoo and the Flinders too, a thousand miles away.
Knee-deep in grass we've got to pass—for the truth I'm bound to tell
Where in three weeks the cattle get as fat as they can swell
As fat as they can swell, my boys; a thousand pounds they weigh,
On the far Barcoo, where they eat nardoo, a thousand miles away.
No Yankee hide e'er grew outside such beef as we can freeze;
No Yankee pastures make such steers as we send o'er the sea
As we send o'er the seas, my boys, a thousand pounds they weigh
From the far Barcoo, where they eat nardoo, a thousand miles away.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Guess
There is a certain Yankee phrase
I always have revered,
Yet, somehow, in these modern days,
It's almost disappeared;
It was the usage years ago,
But nowadays it's got
To be regarded coarse and low
To answer: 'I guess not!'
The height of fashion called the pink
Affects a British craze--
Prefers 'I fancy' or 'I think'
To that time-honored phrase;
But here's a Yankee, if you please,
That brands the fashion rot,
And to all heresies like these
He answers, 'I--guess not!'--
When Chaucer, Wycliff, and the rest
Express their meaning thus,
I guess, if not the very best,
It's good enough for us!
Why! shall the idioms of our speech
Be banished and forgot
For this vain trash which moderns teach?
Well, no, sir; I guess not!
There's meaning in that homely phrase
No other words express--
No substitute therefor conveys
Such unobtrusive stress.
True Anglo-Saxon speech, it goes
Directly to the spot,
And he who hears it always knows
The worth of 'I--guess--not!'
poem by Eugene Field
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Learning To Read
Very soon the Yankee teachers
Came down and set up school;
But, oh! how the Rebs did hate it, -
It was agin' their rule.
Our masters always tried to hide
Book learning from our eyes;
Knowledge did'nt agree with slavery -
'Twould make us all too wise.
But some of us would try to steal
A little from the book,
And put the words together,
And learn by hook or crook.
I remember Uncle Caldwell,
Who took pot liquor fat
And greased the pages of his book,
And hid it in his hat.
And had his master ever seen
The leaves upon his head,
He'd have thought them greasy papers,
But nothing to be read.
And there was Mr. Turner's Ben,
Who heard the children spell,
And picked the words right up by heart,
And learned to read 'em well.
Well, the Northern folks kept sending
The Yankee teachers down;
And they stood right up and helped us,
Though Rebs did sneer and frown.
And I longed to read my Bible,
For precious words it said;
But when I begun to learn it,
Folks just shook their heads,
And said there is no use trying,
Oh! Chloe, you're too late;
But as I was rising sixty,
I had no time to wait.
So I got a pair of glasses,
And straight to work I went,
And never stopped till I could read
The hymns and Testament.
Then I got a little cabin
A place to call my own -
And I felt as independent
As the queen upon her throne.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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A Good-Bye
FAREWELL! How soon unmeasured distance rolls
Its leaden clouds between our parted souls!
How little to each other now are we--
And once how much I dreamed we two might be!
I, who now stand with eyes undimmed and dry
To say good-bye--
To say good-bye to all sweet memories,
Good-bye to tender questions, soft replies;
Good bye to hope, good-bye to dreaming too,
Good-bye to all things dear--good-bye to you,
Without a kiss, a tear, a prayer, a sigh--
Our last good-bye.
I had no chain to bind you with at all;
No grace to charm, no beauty to enthral;
No power to hold your eyes with mine, and make
Your heart on fire with longing for my sake,
Till all the yearning passed into one cry:
'Love, not good-bye!'
Ah, no--I had no strength like that, you know;
Yet my worst weakness was to love you so!
So much too well--so much too well--or ill--
Yet even that might have been pardoned still--
It would have been had I been you--you I!
But now--good-bye!
How soon the bitter follows on the sweet!
Could I not chain your fancy's flying feet?
Could I not hold your soul--to make you play
To-morrow in the key of yesterday--?
Dear--do you dream that I would stoop to try?
Ah, no--Good-bye!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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De Bell Of St. Michel
Go 'way, go 'way, don't ring no more, ole bell of Saint Michel,
For if you do, I can't stay here, you know dat very well,
No matter how I close ma ear, I can't shut out de soun',
It rise so high 'bove all de noise of dis beeg Yankee town.
An' w'en it ring, I t'ink I feel de cool, cool summer breeze
Dat's blow across Lac Peezagonk, an' play among de trees,
Dey're makin' hay, I know mese'f, can smell de pleasant smell
O! how I wish I could be dere to-day on Saint Michel!
It's fonny t'ing, for me I'm sure, dat's travel ev'ryw'ere,
How moche I t'ink of long ago w'en I be leevin' dere;
I can't 'splain dat at all, at all, mebbe it's naturel,
But I can't help it w'en I hear de bell of Saint Michel.
Dere's plaintee t'ing I don't forget, but I remember bes'
De spot I fin' wan day on June de small san'piper's nes'
An' dat hole on de reever w'ere I ketch de beeg, beeg trout
Was very nearly pull me in before I pull heem out.
An' leetle Elodie Leclaire, I wonner if she still
Leev jus' sam' place she use to leev on 'noder side de hill,
But s'pose she marry Joe Barbeau, dat's alway hangin' roun'
Since I am lef' ole Saint Michel for work on Yankee town.
Ah! dere she go, ding dong, ding dong, its back, encore again
An' ole chanson come on ma head of 'a la claire fontaine,'
I'm not surprise it soun' so sweet, more sweeter I can tell
For wit' de song also I hear de bell of Saint Michel.
It's very strange about dat bell, go ding dong all de w'ile
For when I'm small garçon at school, can't hear it half a mile;
But seems more farder I get off from Church of Saint Michel,
De more I see de ole village an' louder soun' de bell.
O! all de monee dat I mak' w'en I be travel roun'
Can't kip me long away from home on dis beeg Yankee town,
I t'ink I'll settle down again on Parish Saint Michel,
An' leev an' die more satisfy so long I hear dat bell.
poem by William Henry Drummond
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I'd like to thank the good Lord for making me a Yankee.
quote by Joe DiMaggio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To play 18 years in Yankee Stadium is the best thing that could ever happen to a ballplayer.
quote by Mickey Mantle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every day I went to the ballpark in Yankee Stadium as well as on the road people were on my back. The last six years in the American League were mental hell for me. I was drained of all my desire to play baseball.
quote by Roger Maris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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