Cape Cod Ballads, and Other Verse eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 71 pages of information about Cape Cod Ballads, and Other Verse.

He’s used ter me, and he knows, yer see,
  Down jest which lane ter turn;
Fact is—­well, yes—­he’s been, I guess,
  Quite times enough ter learn;
And he knows the hedge by the brook’s damp edge,
  Where the twinklin’ fireflies shine,
And he knows who waits by the pastur’ gates—­
  That old gray nag of mine.

So he stops, yer see, fer he thinks, like me,
  That a buggy’s made fer two;
Then along the lane, with a lazy rein,
  He jogs in the shinin’ dew;
And he do’n’t fergit he can loaf a bit
  In the shade of the birch and pine;
Oh, he knows his road, and he knows his load—­
  That old gray nag of mine.

No, he ain’t the sort that the big-bugs sport,
  Docked up in the latest style,
But he suits us two, clean through and through,
  And, after a little while,
When the cash I’ve saved brings the home we’ve craved,
  So snug, and our own design,
He’ll take us straight ter the parson’s gate—­
  That old gray nag of mine.

* * * * *

THROUGH THE FOG

The fog was so thick yer could cut it
  ‘Thout reachin’ a foot over-side,
The dory she’d nose up ter butt it,
  And then git discouraged an’ slide;
No noise but the thole-pins a-squeakin’,
  Or, maybe, the swash of a wave,
No feller ter cheer yer by speakin’—­
  ’Twas lonesomer, lots, than the grave.

I set there an’ thought of my trouble,
  I thought how I’d worked fer the cash
That bust and went up like a bubble
  The day that the bank went ter smash. 
I thought how the fishin’ was failin’,
  How little this season I’d made,
I thought of the child that was ailin’,
  I thought of the bills ter be paid.

“And,” says I, “All my life I’ve been fightin’
  Through oceans of nothin’ but fog;
And never no harbor a-sightin’—­
  Jest driftin’ around like a log;
No matter how sharp I’m a-spyin’,
  I never see nothin’ ahead: 
I’m sick and disgusted with tryin’—­
  I jest wish ter God I was dead.”

It wa’n’t more’n a minute, I’m certain,
  The words was jest out er my mouth,
When up went the fog, like a curtain,
  And “puff” came the breeze from the south;
And ‘bout a mile off, by rough guessin’,
  I see my own shanty on shore,
And Mary, my wife and my blessin’,
  God keep her, she stood in the door.

And I says ter myself, “I’m a darlin’;
  A chap with a woman like that,
To set here a-grumblin’ and snarlin’,
  As sour as a sulky young brat—­
I’d better jest keep my helm steady,
  And not mind the fog that’s adrift,
For when the Lord gits good and ready,
  I reckon it’s certain ter lift.”

* * * * *

THE BALLADE OF THE DREAM-SHIP

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Project Gutenberg
Cape Cod Ballads, and Other Verse from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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