Philosophy
I been t'inkin' 'bout de preachah; whut he said de othah night,
'Bout hit bein' people's dooty, fu' to keep dey faces bright;
How one ought to live so pleasant dat ouah tempah never riles,
Meetin' evahbody roun' us wid ouah very nicest smiles.
Dat 's all right, I ain't a-sputin' not a t'ing dat soun's lak fac',
But you don't ketch folks a-grinnin' wid a misery in de back;
An' you don't fin' dem a-smilin' w'en dey 's hongry ez kin be,
Leastways, dat 's how human natur' allus seems to 'pear to me.
We is mos' all putty likely fu' to have our little cares,
An' I think we 'se doin' fus' rate w'en we jes' go long and bears,
Widout breakin' up ouah faces in a sickly so't o' grin,
W'en we knows dat in ouah innards we is p'intly mad ez sin.
Oh dey 's times fu' bein' pleasant an' fu' goin' smilin' roun',
'Cause I don't believe in people allus totin' roun' a frown,
But it's easy 'nough to titter w'en de stew is smokin' hot,
But hit's mighty ha'd to giggle w'en dey's nuffin' in de pot.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Little Christmas Basket
De win' is hollahin' 'Daih you' to de shuttahs an' de fiah,
De snow's a-sayin' 'Got you' to de groun',
Fu' de wintah weathah 's come widout a-askin' ouah desiah,
An' he 's laughin' in his sleeve at whut he foun';
Fu' dey ain't nobody ready wid dey fuel er dey food,
An' de money bag look timid lak, fu' sho',
So we want ouah Chrismus sermon, but we 'd lak it ef you could
Leave a little Chrismus basket at de do'.
Wha 's de use o' tellin' chillen 'bout a Santy er a Nick,
An' de sto'ies dat a body allus tol'?
When de harf is gray wid ashes an' you has n't got a stick
Fu' to warm dem when dey little toes is col'?
Wha 's de use o' preachin' 'ligion to a man dat's sta'ved to def,
An' a-tellin' him de Mastah will pu'vide?
Ef you want to tech his feelin's, save yo' sermons an' yo' bref,
Tek a little Chrismus basket by yo' side.
'T ain't de time to open Bibles an' to lock yo' cellah do',
'T ain't de time to talk o' bein' good to men;
Ef you want to preach a sermon ez you nevah preached befo',
Preach dat sermon wid a shoat er wid er hen;
Bein' good is heap sight bettah den a-dallyin' wid sin,
An' dey ain't nobody roun' dat knows it mo',
But I t'ink dat 'ligion 's sweeter w'en it kind o' mixes in
Wid a little Chrismus basket at de do'.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Time To Tinker 'Roun'!
Summah 's nice, wif sun a-shinin',
Spring is good wif greens and grass,
An' dey 's some t'ings nice 'bout wintah,
Dough hit brings de freezin' blas;
But de time dat is de fines',
Whethah fiel's is green er brown,
Is w'en de rain 's a-po'in'
An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun.
Den you men's de mule's ol' ha'ness,
An' you men's de broken chair.
Hummin' all de time you 's wo'kin'
Some ol' common kind o' air.
Evah now an' then you looks out,
Tryin' mighty ha'd to frown,
But you cain't, you 's glad hit 's rainin',
An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun'.
Oh, you 'ten's lak you so anxious
Evah time it so't o' stops.
W'en hit goes on, den you reckon
Dat de wet 'll he'p de crops.
But hit ain't de crops you 's aftah;
You knows w'en de rain comes down
Dat's hit's too wet out fu' wo'kin',
An' dey 's time to tinker roun'.
Oh, dey 's fun inside de co'n-crib.
An' dey 's laffin' at de ba'n;
An' dey 's allus some one jokin',
Er some one to tell a ya'n.
Dah 's a quiet in yo' cabin,
Only fu' de rain's sof soun';
So you 's mighty blessed happy
W'en dey 's time to tinker 'roun'!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Accountability
FOLKS ain't got no right to censuah othah folks about dey habits;
Him dat giv' de squir'ls de bushtails made de bobtails fu' de rabbits.
Him dat built de gread big mountains hollered out de little valleys,
Him dat made de streets an' driveways wasn't shamed to make de alleys.
We is all constructed diff'ent, d'ain't no two of us de same;
We cain't he'p ouah likes an' dislikes, ef we'se bad we ain't to blame.
Ef we'se good, we need n't show off, case you bet it ain't ouah doin'
We gits into su'ttain channels dat we jes' cain't he'p pu'suin'.
But we all fits into places dat no othah ones could fill,
An' we does the things we has to, big er little, good er ill.
John cain't tek de place o' Henry, Su an' Sally ain't alike;
Bass ain't nuthin' like a suckah, chub ain't nuthin' like a pike.
When you come to think about it, how it's all planned out it's splendid.
Nuthin's done er evah happens, 'dout hit's somefin' dat's intended;
Don't keer whut you does, you has to, an' hit sholy beats de dickens,--
Viney, go put on de kittle, I got one o' mastah's chickens.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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How Lucy Backslid
De times is mighty stirrin' 'mong de people up ouah way,
Dey 'sputin' an' dey argyin' an' fussin' night an' day;
An' all dis monst'ous trouble dat hit meks me tiahed to tell
Is 'bout dat Lucy Jackson dat was sich a mighty belle.
She was de preachah's favoured, an' he tol' de chu'ch one night
Dat she travelled thoo de cloud o' sin a-bearin' of a light;
But, now, I 'low he t'inkin' dat she mus' 'a' los' huh lamp,
Case Lucy done backslided an' dey trouble in de camp.
Huh daddy wants to beat huh, but huh mammy daihs him to,
Fu' she lookin' at de question f'om a ooman's pint o' view;
An' she say dat now she would n't have it diff'ent ef she could;
Dat huh darter only acted jes' lak any othah would.
Cose you know w'en women argy, dey is mighty easy led
By dey hea'ts an' don't go foolin' 'bout de reasons of de haid.
So huh mammy laid de law down (she ain' reckernizin' wrong),
But you got to mek erlowance fu' de cause dat go along.
Now de cause dat made Miss Lucy fu' to th'ow huh grace away
I 's afeard won't baih no 'spection w'en hit come to jedgement day;
Do' de same t'ing been a-wo'kin' evah sence de worl' began,--
De ooman disobeyin' fu' to 'tice along a man.
Ef you 'tended de revivals which we held de wintah pas',
You kin rickolec' dat convuts was a-comin' thick an' fas';
But dey ain't no use in talkin', dey was all lef' in de lu'ch
W'en ol' Mis' Jackson's dartah foun' huh peace an' tuk de chu'ch.
W'y, she shouted ovah evah inch of Ebenezah's flo';
Up into de preachah's pulpit an' f'om dah down to de do';
Den she hugged an' squeezed huh mammy, an' she hugged an' kissed
huh dad,
An' she struck out at huh sistah, people said, lak she was mad.
I has 'tended some revivals dat was lively in my day,
An' I 's seed folks git 'uligion in mos' evah kin' o' way;
But I tell you, an' you b'lieve me dat I 's speakin' true indeed,
Dat gal tuk huh 'ligion ha'dah dan de ha'dest yit I 's seed.
Well, f'om dat, 't was 'Sistah Jackson, won't you please do dis er dat?'
She mus' allus sta't de singin' w'en dey 'd pass erroun' de hat,
An' hit seemed dey was n't nuffin' in dat chu'ch dat could go by
'Dout sistah Lucy Jackson had a finger in de pie.
But de sayin' mighty trufeful dat hit easiah to sail
W'en de sea is ca'm an' gentle dan to weathah out a gale.
Dat 's whut made dis ooman's trouble; ef de sto'm had kep' away,
She 'd 'a' had enough 'uligion fu' to lasted out huh day.
Lucy went wid 'Lishy Davis, but w'en she jined chu'ch, you know
Dah was lots o' little places dat, of cose, she could n't go;
An' she had to gin up dancin' an' huh singin' an' huh play.--
Now hit's nachul dat sich goin's-on 'u'd drive a man away.
So, w'en Lucy got so solemn, Ike he sta'ted fu' to go
Wid a gal who was a sinnah an' could mek a bettah show.
Lucy jes' went on to meetin' lak she did n't keer a rap,
But my 'sperunce kep' me t'inkin dah was somep'n' gwine to drap.
Fu' a gal won't let 'uligion er no othah so't o' t'ing
Stop huh w'en she teks a notion dat she wants a weddin' ring.
You kin p'omise huh de blessin's of a happy aftah life
(An' hit's nice to be a angel), but she 'd ravah be a wife.
So w'en Chrismus come an' mastah gin a frolic on de lawn,
Did n't 'sprise me not de littlest seein' Lucy lookin' on.
An' I seed a wa'nin' lightnin' go a-flashin' f'om huh eye
Jest ez 'Lishy an' his new gal went a-gallivantin' by.
An' dat Tildy, umph! she giggled, an' she gin huh dress a flirt
Lak de people she was passin' was ez common ez de dirt;
An' de minit she was dancin', w'y dat gal put on mo' aihs
Dan a cat a-tekin' kittens up a paih o' windin' staihs.
She could 'fo'd to show huh sma'tness, fu' she could n't he'p but know
Dat wid jes' de present dancahs she was ownah of de flo';
But I t'ink she 'd kin' o' cooled down ef she happened on de sly
Fu' to noticed dat 'ere lightnin' dat I seed in Lucy's eye.
An' she would n't been so 'stonished w'en de people gin a shout,
An' Lucy th'owed huh mantle back an' come a-glidin' out.
Some ahms was dah to tek huh an' she fluttahed down de flo'
Lak a feddah f'om a bedtick w'en de win' commence to blow.
Soon ez Tildy see de trouble, she jes' tu'n an' toss huh haid,
But seem lak she los' huh sperrit, all huh darin'ness was daid.
Did n't cut anothah capah nary time de blessid night;
But de othah one, hit looked lak could n't git enough delight.
W'en you keeps a colt a-stan'nin' in de stable all along,
W'en he do git out hit 's nachul he 'll be pullin' mighty strong.
Ef you will tie up yo' feelin's, hyeah 's de bes' advice to tek,
Look out fu' an awful loosin' w'en de string dat hol's 'em brek.
Lucy's mammy groaned to see huh, an' huh pappy sto'med an' to',
But she kep' right on a-hol'in' to de centah of de flo'.
So dey went an' ast de pastoh ef he could n't mek huh quit,
But de tellin' of de sto'y th'owed de preachah in a fit.
Tildy Taylor chewed huh hank'cher twell she 'd chewed it in a hole,--
All de sinnahs was rejoicin' 'cause a lamb had lef de fol',
An' de las' I seed o' Lucy, she an' 'Lish was side an' side:
I don't blame de gal fu' dancin', an' I could n't ef I tried.
Fu' de men dat wants to ma'y ain't a-growin' 'roun' on trees,
An' de gal dat wants to git one sholy has to try to please.
Hit's a ha'd t'ing fu' a ooman fu 'to pray an' jes' set down,
An' to sacafice a husban' so 's to try to gain a crown.
Now, I don' say she was justified in follerin' huh plan;
But aldough she los' huh 'ligion, yit she sholy got de man.
Latah on, w'en she is suttain dat de preachah 's made 'em fas'
She kin jes' go back to chu'ch an' ax fu'giveness fu' de pas'!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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An Ante-Bellum Sermon
We is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs,
In dis howlin' wildaness,
Fu' to speak some words of comfo't
To each othah in distress.
An' we chooses fu' ouah subjic'
Dis - we'll 'splain it by an' by;
'An' de Lawd said, ' Moses, Moses,'
An' de man said, 'Hyeah am I.''
Now ole Pher'oh, down in Egypt,
Was de wuss man evah bo'n,
An' he had de Hebrew chillun
Down dah wukin' in his co'n;
'T well de Lawd got tiahed o' his foolin',
An' sez he: 'I'll let him know -
Look hyeah, Moses, go tell Pher'oh
Fu' to let dem chillun go.'
'An' ef he refuse to do it,
I will make him rue de houah,
Fu' I'll empty down on Egypt
All de vials of my powah.'
Yes, he did - an' Pher'oh's ahmy
Was n't wuth a ha'f a dime;
Fu' de Lawd will he'p his chillun,
You kin trust him evah time.
An' yo' enemies may 'sail you
In de back an' in de front;
But de Lawd is all aroun' you,
Fu' to ba' de battle's brunt.
Dey kin fo'ge yo' chains an' shackles
F'om de mountains to de sea;
But de Lawd will sen' some Moses
Fu' to set his chillun free.
An' de lan' shall hyeah his thundah,
Lak a blas' f'om Gab'el's ho'n,
Fu' de Lawd of hosts is mighty
When he girds his ahmor on.
But fu' feah some one mistakes me,
I will pause right hyeah to say,
Dat I'm still a-preachin' ancient,
I ain't talkin' 'bout to-day.
But I tell you, fellah christuns,
Things'll happen mighty strange;
Now, de Lawd done dis fu' Isrul,
An' his ways don't nevah change,
An, de love he showed to Isrul
Was n't all on Isrul spent;
Now don't run an' tell yo' mastahs
Dat I's preachin' discontent.
'Cause I is n't; I'se a-judgin'
Bible people by deir ac's;
I'se a-givin' you de Scriptuah,
I'se a-handin' you de fac's.
Cose ole Pher'oh b'lieved in slav'ry,
But de Lawd he let him see,
Dat de people he put bref in, -
Evah mothah's son was free.
An' dahs othahs thinks lak Pher'oh,
But dey calls de Scriptuah liar,
Fu' de Bible says 'a servant
Is a-worthy of his hire.'
An' you cain't git roun' nor thoo dat
An' you cain't git ovah it,
Fu' whatevah place you git in,
Dis hyeah Bible too 'll fit.
So you see de Lawd's intention,
Evah sence de worl' began,
Was dat His almighty freedom
Should belong to evah man,
But I think it would be bettah,
Ef I'd pause agin to say,
Dat I'm talkin' 'bout ouah freedom
In a Bibleistic way.
But de Moses is a-comin',
An' he's comin', suah and fas'
We kin hyeah his feet a-trompin',
We kin hyeah his trumpit blas'.
But I want to wa'n you people,
Don't you git too brigity;
An' don't you git to braggin'
'Bout dese things, you wait an' see.
But when Moses wif his powah
Comes an' sets us chillun free,
We will praise de gracious Mastah
Dat has gin us liberty;
An' we'll shout ouah halleluyahs,
On dat mighty reck'nin' day,
When we'se reco'nised ez citiz'-
Huh uh! Chillun, let us pray!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Warning to Ladies
Deah Ladies,
Let me wawn you, theah are feahful taimes to come,
And a mos' ter-ific strugge is at hand;
And we have no taime to speah
If we wish to do ouah sheah
To defend, like Joan of Awk, ouah native land.
Foah a really fraightful monstah is preparing to devouah
All that's uppab-clauss and propah and quaite naice;
And if we should be behaind
In the battle aye shall faind
All ouah priveleges vanish in a traice.
O, it makes me shuddah, ladies, when Ai ventuah to reflect
On the ravages this mongstah contemplates.
He will break up all ouah homes,
And where'er the creatuah roams,
We'll be sundered from ouah lawful Tory mates.
We'll be tawn from ouah poah husbands in a most fe-rocious way,
0, deah ladies, can you realise ouah lot?
For the monstah has his eye
On the Sacred Marriage Tie;
And he'll eat up all the babes we haven't got.
And remembah, deahest ladies, all ouah comfort now depends
On destroying this wild Socialistic beast.
Ouah sassiety diversions
Would be vulgah mob excursions
If we pandered to the monstah in the least.
He is bent on confiscating all the houses, land and wealth
Of ouah husbands, and ouah brothahs, and ouah friends.
He is jealous of his bettahs.
And he calls ouah men-folk sweatahs,
He'll do anything to gain his awful ends.
He's vulgah and unchivalrous this feahful Labah thing.
He is teaching all ouah servants to despise us.
He would drag us to his level,
And he'd send to the - ah - devil
All the luxuries with which his toil supplies us.
He harps upon equality when, as of course you know,
And as all the very naicest people know,
It would simply mean disaster
To imagine ev'ry master
Quaite as ignorant as workers or as 'low.'
0, smaite the Socialistic monstah! Smaite him hard, mai deahs!
0, gathah up youah skirts and join the fray.
Pray, do not shirk the battle, or, with wailing and with teahs,
You'll regret youah negligence on polling day,
We must teach the vulgah working class their raight position here;
We must keep them in their places; we must faight them without fear,
Or there'll be a bittah wail, mai deahs,
If Socialists prevail, mai deahs,
And all 'raight thinking' people and the 'naicest' disappear.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Encouragement
WHO dat knockin' at de do'?
Why, Ike Johnson, -- yes, fu' sho!
Come in, Ike. I's mighty glad
You come down. I t'ought you's
mad
At me 'bout de othah night,
An' was stayin' 'way fu' spite.
Say, now, was you mad fu' true
W'en I kin' o' laughed at you?
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
'T ain't no use a-lookin' sad,
An' a-mekin' out you's mad;
Ef you's gwine to be so glum,
Wondah why you evah come.
I don't lak nobody 'roun'
Dat jes' shet dey mouf an' frown,--
Oh, now, man, don't act a dunce!
Cain't you talk? I tol' you once,
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
Wha'd you come hyeah fu' to-night?
Body'd t'ink yo' haid ain't right.
I's done all dat I kin do,--
Dressed perticler, jes' fu' you;
Reckon I'd 'a' bettah wo'
My ol' ragged calico.
Aftah all de pains I's took,
Cain't you tell me how I look?
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
Bless my soul! I 'mos' fu'got
Tellin' you 'bout Tildy Scott.
Don't you know, come Thu'sday
night,
She gwine ma'y Lucius White?
Miss Lize say I allus wuh
Heap sight laklier 'n huh;
An' she'll git me somep'n new,
Ef I wants to ma'y too.
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
I could ma'y in a week,
Ef de man I wants 'ud speak.
Tildy's presents'll be fine,
But dey would n't ekal mine.
Him whut gits me fu' a wife
'Ll be proud, you bet yo' life.
I's had offers; some ain't quit;
But I has n't ma'ied yit!
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.
Ike, I loves you,--yes, I does;
You's my choice, and allus was.
Laffin' at you ain't no harm.--
Go 'way, dahky, whaih's yo' arm?
Hug me closer--dah, dat's right!
Was n't you a awful sight,
Havin' me to baig you so?
Now ax whut you want to know,--
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Old Cabin
IN de dead of night I sometimes,
Git to t'inkin' of de pas'
An' de days w'en slavery helt me
In my mis'ry — ha'd an' fas'.
Dough de time was mighty tryin',
In dese houahs somehow hit seem
Dat a brightah light come slippin'
Thoo de kivahs of my dream.
An' my min' fu'gits de whuppins
Draps de feah o' block an' lash
An' flies straight to somep'n' joyful
In a secon's lightnin' flash.
Den hit seems I see a vision
Of a dearah long ago
Of de childern tumblin' roun' me
By my rough ol' cabin do'.
Talk about yo' go'geous mansions
An' yo' big house great an' gran',
Des bring up de fines' palace
Dat you know in all de lan'.
But dey's somep'n' dearah to me,
Somep'n' faihah to my eyes
In dat cabin, less you bring me
To yo' mansion in de skies.
I kin see de light a-shinin'
Thoo de chinks atween de logs,
I kin hyeah de way-off bayin'
Of my mastah's huntin' dogs,
An' de neighin' of de hosses
Stampin' on de ol' bahn flo',
But above dese soun's de laughin'
At my deah ol' cabin do'.
We would gethah daih at evenin',
All my frien's 'ud come erroun'
An' hit wan't no time, twell, bless you,
You could hyeah de banjo's soun'.
You could see de dahkies dancin'
Pigeon wing an' heel an' toe, —
Joyous times I tell you people
Roun' dat same ol' cabin do'.
But at times my t'oughts gits saddah,
Ez I riccolec' de folks,
An' dey frolickin' an' talkin'
Wid dey laughin' an' dey jokes.
An' hit hu'ts me w'en I membahs
Dat I'll nevah see no mo'
Dem ah faces gethered smilin'
Roun' dat po' ol' cabin do'.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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When Sam'l Sings
Hyeah dat singin' in de medders
Whaih de folks is mekin' hay?
Wo'k is pretty middlin' heavy
Fu' a man to be so gay.
You kin tell dey 's somep'n special
F'om de canter o' de song;
Somep'n sholy pleasin' Sam'l,
W'en he singin' all day long.
Hyeahd him wa'blin' 'way dis mo'nin'
'Fo' 't was light enough to see.
Seem lak music in de evenin'
Allus good enough fu' me.
But dat man commenced to hollah
'Fo' he 'd even washed his face;
Would you b'lieve, de scan'lous rascal
Woke de birds erroun' de place?
Sam'l took a trip a-Sad'day;
Dressed hisse'f in all he had,
Tuk a cane an' went a-strollin',
Lookin' mighty pleased an' glad.
Some folks don' know whut de mattah,
But I do, you bet yo' life;
Sam'l smilin' an' a-singin'
'Case he been to see his wife.
She live on de fu' plantation,
Twenty miles erway er so;
But huh man is mighty happy
Wen he git de chanst to go.
Walkin' allus ain' de nices'--
Mo'nin' fin's him on de way--
But he allus comes back smilin',
Lak his pleasure was his pay.
Den he do a heap o' talkin',
Do' he mos'ly kin' o' still,
But de wo'ds, dey gits to runnin'
Lak de watah fu' a mill.
'Whut 's de use o' havin' trouble,
Whut 's de use o' havin' strife?'
Dat 's de way dis Sam'l preaches
W'en he been to see his wife.
An' I reckon I git jealous,
Fu' I laff an' joke an' sco'n,
An' I say, 'Oh, go on, Sam'l,
Des go on, an' blow yo' ho'n.'
But I know dis comin' Sad'day,
Dey 'll be brighter days in life;
An' I 'll be ez glad ez Sam'l
W'en I go to see my wife.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Interloper
The Honourable TORYPHAT addressed the meeting: 'Hem!
(Prolonged applause.) Ah - Mistah Chairman, gentlemen. To stem
The tide of Socialism - rabid Socialism, sir
Which threatens to engulf us, hez - ah - always been - um - er
Hez always been ouah object in the past, and Ai may say,
We hev succeeded, somewhat, in - er - standing in the way.
We hev been firm, sir, in the past, and fought without - ah - feah
Foah the Empiah and the - ah - the uppah classes, sir. (Heah. heah.)
In ouah endeavahs to - um - ah - promote the public good
It hez always been - that is to say - been - ah - been understood.
Bai the people - bai the - um - ha - people, sir, of this - er - land
That we and the Empiah, so to speak, are hand in hand.
The British - er - authorities, at all times, hev been glad
To listen - ah - to any - er - suggestions thet we had.
We hev been the Empiah's mouthplece, in - ah - this benighted land,
And hitherto the Empiah was the - aw - best card in ouah hand.
The word 'Imperial' is, Ai maintain, sir, ouahs bai raight;
It hez been ouah battle-cry in the - ah - forefront of the faight.
And, hitherto, the pahs at Home weah quick to recognise
Ouah undoubted raight to use it in refuting Labah lies.
At Empiah celebrations we hev been the leading ones
In saluting the - aw - flag, sir, and distributing - ah - buns.
And all raight-thinking persons who - ah - who support ouah cause
Will agree that we alone - er - stand for 'Empiah.'.. (Loud applause.)
But now what do we faind, sir? Mistah Chairman, Ai'm dismayed!
It would seem that ouah - ah - trust in the - ah - pahs has been betrayed.
For they hev - aw - confided, with regard to woah and loans,
In this common Labah person named - ah - named - ah - FISAH. (Groans.)
They've actu'ly consulted him and - aw - and made a fuss;
They've told him - er - State secrets, sir, which they withhold from us !
Things that concern ouah Empiah, sir! Ai - (splutter) - Ai PROTEST!
They hev no raight to trust this PEARCE and FISHAH and the rest!
Who is he? Ai repeat, sir - ah - who is this fellow? (Jeers.)
He's gone to see the crowning of ouah gracious Soveriegn. (Cheers.)
But why, sir? Mistah Chairman, Ai repeat the question - Why?
He's gine in the ecapacity of - er - a Labah spy!
He's gone to worm out secrets, sir - State secrets, which he seeks
To use against ouah party, sir, when he returns. (Loud shrieks.)
He hopes to use his knowledge to upset our cherished schemes.
And oust us from ouah office as Empiah's champions! (Screams.)
And, Ai repeat, who is he sir - this meddling FISHAH? (Hoots.)
A minah, sir! (Intense digust.) Not fit to black ouah boots!
A common minah! And foah him the pahs have passed us by!
But Ai defy the pahs, sir! Ai repeat it, Ai defy
The pahs at Home! (Commotion.) Sir! Ai'll not stand such disgrace!
This man will not usurp ouah raights, and drag us from ouah place!
Ai'll lead a revolution, sir! Blood, sir! Ai'll rend to bits,
THE SILKEN BONDS OF EMPIAH, SIR! (Sensation.) DEM IT!!! (Fits.)
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Chrismus On The Plantation
It was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit fu' a mighty gloomy day--
Bofe de weathah an' de people--not a one of us was gay;
Cose you 'll t'ink dat 's mighty funny 'twell I try to mek hit cleah,
Fu' a da'ky 's allus happy when de holidays is neah.
But we wasn't, fu' dat mo'nin' Mastah 'd tol' us we mus' go,
He 'd been payin' us sence freedom, but he couldn't pay no mo';'
He wa'n't nevah used to plannin' 'fo' he got so po' an' ol',
So he gwine to give up tryin', an' de homestead mus' be sol'.
I kin see him stan'in' now erpon de step ez cleah ez day,
Wid de win' a-kind o' fondlin' thoo his haih all thin an' gray;
An' I 'membah how he trimbled when he said, 'It's ha 'd fu' me,
Not to mek yo' Chrismus brightah, but I 'low it wa'n't to be.'
All de women was a-cryin', an' de men, too, on de sly,
An' I noticed somep'n shinin' even in ol' Mastah's eye.
But we all stood still to listen ez ol' Ben come f'om de crowd
An' spoke up, a-try'n' to steady down his voice and mek it loud:--
'Look hyeah, Mastah, I 's been servin' you' fu' lo! dese many yeahs,
An' now, sence we 's got freedom an' you 's kind o' po', hit 'pears
Dat you want us all to leave you 'cause you don't t'ink you can pay.
Ef my membry has n't fooled me, seem dat whut I hyead you say.
'Er in othah wo'ds, you wants us to fu'git dat you 's been kin',
An' ez soon ez you is he'pless, we 's to leave you hyeah behin'.
Well, ef dat 's de way dis freedom ac's on people, white er black,
You kin jes' tell Mistah Lincum fu' to tek his freedom back.
'We gwine wo'k dis ol' plantation fu' whatevah we kin git,
Fu' I know hit did suppo't us, an' de place kin do it yit.
Now de land is yo's, de hands is ouahs, an' I reckon we 'll be brave,
An' we 'll bah ez much ez you do w'en we has to scrape an' save.'
Ol' Mastah stood dah trimblin', but a-smilin' thoo his teahs,
An' den hit seemed jes' nachul-like, de place fah rung wid cheahs,
An' soon ez dey was quiet, some one sta'ted sof an' low:
'Praise God,' an' den we all jined in, 'from whom all blessin's flow!'
Well, dey was n't no use tryin', ouah min's was sot to stay,
An' po' ol' Mastah could n't plead ner baig, ner drive us 'way,
An' all at once, hit seemed to us, de day was bright agin,
So evahone was gay dat night, an' watched de Chrismus in.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Turning Of The Babies In The Bed
Woman's sho' a cur'ous critter, an' dey ain't no doubtin' dat.
She's a mess o' funny capahs f'om huh slippahs to huh hat.
Ef you tries to un'erstan' huh, an' you fails, des' up an' say:
'D' ain't a bit o' use to try to un'erstan' a woman's way.'
I don' mean to be complainin', but I 's jes' a-settin' down
Some o' my own obserwations, w'en I cas' my eye eroun'.
Ef you ax me fu' to prove it, I ken do it mighty fine,
Fu' dey ain't no bettah 'zample den dis ve'y wife o' mine.
In de ve'y hea't o' midnight, w'en I 's sleepin' good an' soun',
I kin hyeah a so't o' rustlin' an' somebody movin' 'roun'.
An' I say, 'Lize, whut you doin'?' But she frown an' shek huh haid,
'Heish yo' mouf, I's only tu'nin' of de chillun in de bed.
'Don' you know a chile gits restless, layin' all de night one way?
An' you' got to kind o' 'range him sev'al times befo' de day?
So de little necks won't worry, an' de little backs won't break;
Don' you t'ink case chillun 's chillun dey hain't got no pain an' ache.'
So she shakes 'em, an' she twists 'em, an' she tu'ns 'em 'roun' erbout,
'Twell I don' see how de chillun evah keeps f'om hollahin' out.
Den she lif's 'em up head down'ards, so's dey won't git livahgrown,
But dey snoozes des' ez peaceful ez a liza'd on a stone.
W'en hit's mos' nigh time fu' wakin' on de dawn o' jedgment day,
Seems lak I kin hyeah ol' Gab'iel lay his trumpet down an' say,
'Who dat walkin' 'roun' so easy, down on earf ermong de dead?'--
'T will be Lizy up a-tu'nin' of de chillun in de bed.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Faith
I'S a-gittin' weary of de way dat people do,
De folks dat's got dey 'ligion in dey fiahplace an' flue;
Dey's allus somep'n comin' so de spit'll have to turn,
An' hit tain't no p'oposition fu' to mek de hickory bu'n.
Ef de sweet pertater fails us an' de go'geous yallah yam,
We kin tek a bit o' comfo't f'om ouah sto' o' summah jam.
W'en de snow hit git to flyin', dat's de Mastah's own desiah,
De Lawd'll run de wintah an' yo' mammy'll run de fiah.
I ain' skeered because de win' hit staht to rain and blow,
I ain't bothahed w'en he come er rattlin' at de do',
Let him taih hisse'f an' shout, let him blow an' bawl,
Dat's de time de branches shek an' bresh-wood 'mence to fall.
W'en de sto'm er railin' an' de shettahs blowin' 'bout,
Dat de time de fiah-place crack hits welcome out.
Tain' my livin' business fu' to trouble ner enquiah
De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.
Ash-cake allus gits ez brown w'en February's hyeah
Ez it does in bakin' any othah time o' yeah.
De bacon smell ez callin'-like, de kittle rock an' sing,
De same way in de wintah dat dey do it in de spring;
Dey ain't no use in mopin' 'round an' lookin' mad an' glum
Erbout de wintah season, fu' hit's des plumb boun' to come;
An' ef it comes to runnin' t'ings I's willin' to retiah,
De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Back-Log Song
De axes has been ringin' in de woods de blessid day,
An' de chips has been a-fallin' fa' an' thick;
Dey has cut de bigges' hick'ry dat de mules kin tote away,
An' dey's laid hit down and soaked it in de crik.
Den dey tuk hit to de big house an' dey piled de wood erroun'
In de fiah-place f'om ash-flo' to de flue,
While ol' Ezry sta'ts de hymn dat evah yeah has got to soun'
When de back-log fus' commence a-bu'nin' thoo.
Ol' Mastah is a-smilin' on de da'kies f'om de hall,
Ol' Mistus is a-stannin' in de do',
An' de young folks, males an' misses, is a-tryin', one an' all,
Fu' to mek us feel hit 's Chrismus time fu' sho'.
An' ouah hea'ts are full of pleasure, fu' we know de time is ouahs
Fu' to dance er do jes' whut we wants to do.
An' dey ain't no ovahseer an' no othah kind o' powahs
Dat kin stop us while dat log is bu'nin thoo.
Dey 's a-wokin' in de qua'tahs a-preparin' fu' de feas',
So de little pigs is feelin' kind o' shy.
De chickens ain't so trus'ful ez dey was, to say de leas',
An' de wise ol' hens is roostin' mighty high.
You could n't git a gobblah fu' to look you in de face--
I ain't sayin' whut de tu'ky 'spects is true;
But hit's mighty dange'ous trav'lin' fu' de critters on de place
F'om de time dat log commence a bu'nin' thoo.
Some one's tunin' up his fiddle dah, I hyeah a banjo's ring,
An', bless me, dat's de tootin' of a ho'n!
Now dey 'll evah one be runnin' dat has got a foot to fling,
An' dey 'll dance an' frolic on f'om now 'twell mo'n.
Plunk de banjo, scrap de fiddle, blow dat ho'n yo' level bes',
Keep yo' min' erpon de chune an' step it true.
Oh, dey ain't no time fu' stoppin' an' dey ain't no time fu' res',
Fu' hit 's Chrismus an' de back-log 's bu'nin' thoo!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Noddin' By De Fire
SOME folks t'inks hit's right an' p'opah,
Soon ez bedtime come erroun',
Fu' to scramble to de kiver,
Lak dey'd hyeahed de trumpet soun'.
But dese people day all misses
Whut I mos'ly does desiah;
Dat's de settin' roun' an' dozin',
An' a-noddin' by de fiah.
When you's tiahed out a-hoein',
Er a-followin' de plough,
Whut's de use of des a-fallin'
On yo' pallet lak a cow?
W'y, de fun is all in waitin'
In de face of all de tiah,
An' a-dozin' and a-drowsin'
By a good ol' hick'ry fiah.
Oh, you grunts an' groans an' mumbles
Case yo' bones is full o' col',
Dough you feels de joy a-tricklin'
Roun' de co'nahs of yo' soul.
An' you 'low anothah minute
'S sho to git you wa'm an' dryah,
W'en you set up pas' yo' bedtime,
Case you hates to leave de fiah.
Whut's de use o' downright sleepin'?
You can't feel it while it las',
An' you git up feelin' sorry
W'en de time fu' it is pas'.
Seem to me dat time too precious,
An' de houahs too short entiah,
Fu' to sleep, w'en you could spen' 'em
Des a-noddin' by de fiah.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Snowin
Dey is snow upon de meddahs, dey is snow upon de hill,
An' de little branch's watahs is all glistenin' an' still;
De win' goes roun' de cabin lak a sperrit wan'erin' 'roun'.
An' de chillen shakes an' shivahs as dey listen to de soun'.
Dey is hick'ry in de fiahplace, whah de blaze is risin' high,
But de heat it meks ain't wa'min' up de gray clouds in de sky.
Now an' den I des peep outside, den I hurries to de do',
Lawd a mussy on my body, how I wish it would n't snow!
I kin stan' de hottes' summah, I kin stan' de wettes' fall,
I kin stan' de chilly springtime in de ploughland, but dat's all;
Fu' de ve'y hottes' fiah nevah tells my skin a t'ing,
W'en de snow commence a-flyin', an' de win' begin to sing.
Dey is plenty wood erroun' us, an' I chop an' tote it in,
But de t'oughts dat I 's a t'inkin' while I 's wo'kin' is a sin.
I kin keep f'om downright swahin' all de time I 's on de go,
But my hea't is full o' cuss-wo'ds w'en I's trampin' thoo de snow.
What you say, you Lishy Davis, dat you see a possum's tracks?
Look hyeah, boy, you stop yo' foolin', bring ol' Spot, an' bring de ax.
Is I col'? Go way, now, Mandy, what you t'ink I's made of?--sho,
W'y dis win' is des ez gentle, an' dis ain't no kin' o' snow.
Dis hyeah weathah 's des ez healthy ez de wa'mest summah days.
All you chillen step up lively, pile on wood an' keep a blaze.
What's de use o' gittin' skeery case dey 's snow upon de groun'?
Huh-uh, I 's a reg'lar snowbird ef dey 's any possum 'roun'.
Go on, Spot, don' be so foolish; don' you see de signs o' feet.
What you howlin' fu? Keep still, suh, cose de col' is putty sweet;
But we goin' out on bus'ness, an' hit 's bus'ness o' de kin'
Dat mus' put a dog an' dahky in a happy frame o' min'.
Yes, you 's col'; I know it, Spotty, but you des stay close to me,
An' I 'll mek you hot ez cotton w'en we strikes de happy tree.
No, I don' lak wintah weathah, an' I 'd wush 't uz allus June,
Ef it was n't fu' de trackin' o' de possum an' de coon.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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After a Visit
I BE'N down in ole Kentucky
Fur a week er two, an' say,
'T wuz ez hard ez breakin' oxen
Fur to tear myse'f away.
Allus argerin' 'bout fren'ship
An' yer hospitality-
Y' ain't no right to talk about it
Tell you be'n down there to see.
See jest how they give you welcome
To the best that 's in the land,
Feel the sort o' grip they give you
When they take you by the hand.
Hear 'em say, 'We 're glad to have you,
Better stay a week er two;'
An' the way they treat you makes you
Feel that ev'ry word is true.
Feed you tell you hear the buttons
Crackin' on yore Sunday vest;
Haul you roun' to see the wonders
Tell you have to cry for rest.
Drink yer health an' pet an' praise you
Tell you git to feel ez great
Ez the Sheriff o' the county
Er the Gov'ner o' the State.
Wife, she sez I must be crazy
'Cause I go on so, an' Nelse
He 'lows, 'Goodness gracious! daddy,
Cain't you talk about nuthin' else?'
Well, pleg-gone it, I 'm jes' tickled,
Bein' tickled ain't no sin;
I be'n down in ole Kentucky,
An' I want o' go ag'in
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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These Chains
These chai-ains won't keep me from bein' a free man
I'm doin' what I can to get out of here
And these chai-ains won't keep me from seein' my freedom
I'm changin' my name and startin' over agai-ain
I was a foo-ool for a good lookin' woman
Till I found out the hard way there was some other man
Now what else could I do, how could anyone blame me
He was standin' there smilin' with a gun in his ha-and
These chai-ains won't keep me from bein' a free man
I'm doin' what I can to get out of here
And these chai-ains won't keep me from seein' my freedom
I'm changin' my name and startin' over again
She had a known reputation but I paid no attention
With love and affection, can make anything right
The judge had no mercy for my infatuation
He said killin's a sin boy, you gotta pay-ay the price
These chai-ains won't keep me from bein' a free man
I'm doin' what I can to get out of here
And these chai-ains won't keep me from seein' my freedom
I'm changin' my name and startin' over again
Down the hall there's a window, you can barely fit through it
And deep in the night I see the lights of town
And it started me thinkin' 'bout a mystical ladder
That's as high as these walls and I'm climbin' it rung by-y ru-ung
These chains won't keep me from bein' a free man
I'm doin' what I can to get out of here
And these chai-ains won't keep me from seein' my freedom
I'm changin' my name and startin' over again
These chai-ains won't keep me from bein' a free man
I'm doin' what I can to get out of here
These chai-ains won't keep me from seein' my freedom
I'm
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Protest
Who say my hea't ain't true to you?
Dey bettah heish dey mouf.
I knows I loves you thoo an' thoo
In watah time er drouf.
I wush dese people 'd stop dey talkin',
Don't mean no mo' dan chicken's squawkin':
I guess I knows which way I's walkin',
I knows de norf f'om souf.
I does not love Elizy Brown,
I guess I knows my min'.
You allus try to tek me down
Wid evaht'ing you fin'.
Ef dese hyeah folks will keep on fillin'
Yo' haid wid nonsense, an' you's willin'
I bet some day dey 'll be a killin'
Somewhaih along de line.
O' cose I buys de gal ice-cream,
Whut else I gwine to do?
I knows jes' how de t'ing 'u'd seem
Ef I 'd be sho't wid you.
On Sunday, you's at chu'ch a-shoutin',
Den all de week you go 'roun' poutin'--
I's mighty tiahed o' all dis doubtin',
I tell you cause I's true.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Looking-Glass
DINAH stan' befo' de glass,
Lookin' moughty neat,
An' huh purty shadder sass
At huh haid an' feet.
While she sasshay 'roun' an' bow,
Smilin' den an' poutin' now,
An' de lookin'-glass, I 'low
Say: 'Now, ain't she sweet?'
All she do, de glass it see,
Hit des see, no mo',
Seems to me, hit ought to be
Drappin' on de flo'.
She go w'en huh time git slack,
Kissin' han's an' smilin' back,
Lawsy, how my lips go smack,
Watchin' at de do'.
Wisht I was huh lookin'-glass,
W'en she kissed huh han';
Does you t'ink I'd let it pass,
Settin' on de stan'?
No; I'd des' fall down an' break,
Kin' o' glad 't uz fu' huh sake;
But de diffunce, dat whut make
Lookin'-glass an' man.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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