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The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme

The witch of Shiloh, the last of the Wampanoags, the gentle earl, the enchanted voyage

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“At last” (thus read his Commentaries)
“I, Downing, rose upon my trotters,

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An' shoved aside the leaves an' berries,
An' hollered louder than the waters.
They kinder harked, an' stopt their dancin,'
An' sorter made a start to foller;
But while they puzzled I was prancin'
To git another hole to holler.
I found it, an' agin I hooted,
This time, I reckon, rather louder;
Then squatted clost an' softly scooted
Along the brushwood quicker'n powder.
An' so from pint to pint I bellered
Enough to shake Apollyon's courage,
An' every time I done it, mellered
Their sposhy hearts to softer porridge.
I watched 'em, saw they wasn't steady,
But flocked in shaky squads together,
An' jedged that they were gittin' ready
To sport the whitest kind of feather.
“At last I showed my regimentals:
You oughter seen the creeturs travel!
They s'posed a thousen continentals
Had come to lay 'em under gravel.
Away they scooted, all a-straddle
To git aboard their flimsy birches,
An', launchin' spry, begun to paddle
Acrost the rapid's frothy curchies.
They scuffled smart, but man's resistance
Was naught amidst the river's revels;
I heern their deathsong in the distance,
An' seen 'em die like Mingo devils.
Then, bein' hungry as a sharky,

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I made a dinner off their vittle,
And also grabbed a birchen barky
The coots had finished off to whittle.”