The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
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OLD INDIANY
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 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
2182
OLD INDIANY
Intended for a Dinner of The Indiana Society of Chicago
Old Indiany, 'course we knowIs first, and best, and most, also,
Of all the States' whole forty-four:—
She's first in ever'thing, that's shore!—
And best in ever'way as yet
Made known to man; and you kin bet
She's most, because she won't confess
She ever was, or will be, less!
And yet, fer all her proud array
Of sons, how many gits away!—
No doubt about her bein' great
But, fellers, she's a leaky State!
And them that boasts the most about
Her, them's the ones that's dribbled out.
Law! jes' to think of all you boys
'Way over here in Illinoise
A-celebratin', like ye air,
Old Indiany, 'way back there
In the dark ages, so to speak,
A-prayin' for ye once a week
And wonderin' what's a-keepin' you
From comin', like you ort to do.
You're all a-lookin' well, and like
2183
As the tramp-shoemaker said
When “he sacked the boss and shed
The blame town, to hunt fer one
Where they didn't work fer fun!”
Lookin' extry well, I'd say,
Your old home so fur away.—
Maybe, though, like the old jour,
Fun hain't all yer workin' fer.
So you've found a job that pays
Better than in them old days
You was on The Weekly Press,
Heppin' run things, more er less;
Er a-learnin' telegraph-
Operatin', with a half-
Notion of the tinner's trade,
Er the dusty man's that laid
Out designs on marble and
Hacked out little lambs by hand,
And chewed finecut as he wrought,
“Shapin' from his bitter thought”
Some squshed mutterings to say,—
“Yes, hard work, and porer pay!”
Er you'd kind o' thought the far-
Gazin' kuss that owned a car
And took pictures in it, had
Jes' the snap you wanted—bad!
And you even wondered why
He kep' foolin' with his sky-
Light the same on shiny days
As when rainin'. ('T leaked always.)
2184
In there when he shet the door
And smelt like a burnt drug store
Next some orchard-trees, i swan!
With whole roasted apples on!
That's why Ade is, here of late,
Buyin' in the dear old state,—
So's to cut it up in plots
Of both town and country lots.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |