 | 'Weh Down Souf and other Poems : |  |
60
MY CHILDHOOD'S HAPPY DAYS.
Many poets great and gifted, whom the Muse's touch has blessed,
Have sung in rhythmic measure, at the spirit's high behest,
Of the days of childish glory, free from sorrow and from pain,
When all was joy and pleasure—and wished them back again;
But, somehow, when my mind turns back to sing in joyous lays,
I remember great discomforts in my childhood's happy days.
Have sung in rhythmic measure, at the spirit's high behest,
Of the days of childish glory, free from sorrow and from pain,
When all was joy and pleasure—and wished them back again;
But, somehow, when my mind turns back to sing in joyous lays,
I remember great discomforts in my childhood's happy days.
Why, my earliest recollections are of pains and colics sore,
With the meanest kinds of medicines the grown folks down would pour—
Ipecac and paregoric—and though I hard would kick,
They still would dose and physic, “'Cause the baby must be sick.”
When I think of this, how can I sing a song in joyous lays,
And speak in tones of rapture of my childhood's happy days?
With the meanest kinds of medicines the grown folks down would pour—
61
They still would dose and physic, “'Cause the baby must be sick.”
When I think of this, how can I sing a song in joyous lays,
And speak in tones of rapture of my childhood's happy days?
Off to school I then was started, and the simple rule of three
Was as hard as now quadratics or geometry's to me.
And then the awful thrashings with a paddle at the school,
And again at home with switches if I broke the simplest rule.
Oh! my life was one vast torment—so, of course, I'm bound to praise
The time that poets nickname “our childhood's happy days.”
Was as hard as now quadratics or geometry's to me.
And then the awful thrashings with a paddle at the school,
And again at home with switches if I broke the simplest rule.
Oh! my life was one vast torment—so, of course, I'm bound to praise
The time that poets nickname “our childhood's happy days.”
62
On a cold December morning, when lying snug in bed,
I heard the sound, “You, Webster!” and I wished that I was dead.
I knew I had the fires to make, bring water, and cut wood;
And then, perhaps, I might have chance to get a bit of food,
When on to school I trotted. These were the pleasant ways
In which I spent that “festive time,”—my childhood's happy days.
I heard the sound, “You, Webster!” and I wished that I was dead.
I knew I had the fires to make, bring water, and cut wood;
And then, perhaps, I might have chance to get a bit of food,
When on to school I trotted. These were the pleasant ways
In which I spent that “festive time,”—my childhood's happy days.
Father's breeches, cut to fit me, was, of course, the proper thing;
And nowhere did they touch me; my one “gallus” was a string;
I couldn't tell the front from back part; and my coat of navy blue
So variously was mended, it would match the rainbow's hue.
'Twill do all right for rich white boys to sing these merry lays,
But the average little “Jap” fared tough in childhood's happy days.
And nowhere did they touch me; my one “gallus” was a string;
I couldn't tell the front from back part; and my coat of navy blue
So variously was mended, it would match the rainbow's hue.
'Twill do all right for rich white boys to sing these merry lays,
But the average little “Jap” fared tough in childhood's happy days.
63
I had a place back of my head the comb could never touch—
I'd jump three feet when tested. At last I cried so much,
Mother said that she would cut it. Oh, fate! to see me then.
My head was picked by dull shears, as if some turkey hen
Had gotten in her cruel work; and the boys with jolly ways
Hallo'ed “buzzard!” when they saw me, “in childhood's happy days.”
I'd jump three feet when tested. At last I cried so much,
Mother said that she would cut it. Oh, fate! to see me then.
My head was picked by dull shears, as if some turkey hen
Had gotten in her cruel work; and the boys with jolly ways
Hallo'ed “buzzard!” when they saw me, “in childhood's happy days.”
In the evening, holding horses, selling papers—“Evening News!”
To earn an honest penny for the folks at home to use.
Yet, of course, I had my pleasures—stealing sugar, playing ball,—
But I can not go in raptures o'er that season, after all.
And we repeat our childhood, and all life's sterner ways
Are mixed with rain and sunshine, as were childhood's happy days.
To earn an honest penny for the folks at home to use.
Yet, of course, I had my pleasures—stealing sugar, playing ball,—
But I can not go in raptures o'er that season, after all.
And we repeat our childhood, and all life's sterner ways
Are mixed with rain and sunshine, as were childhood's happy days.
64
Still I find that life's a “hustle” from the cradle to the tomb,
With little beams of sunshine to lighten up the gloom.
If we can help a brother, and mix our cares with joys,
Old age will be as happy as the days when we were boys,
Till at last we sing in rapture heav'nly songs of love and praise,
When our bark is safely anchored,—there to spend our happiest days.
With little beams of sunshine to lighten up the gloom.
If we can help a brother, and mix our cares with joys,
Old age will be as happy as the days when we were boys,
Till at last we sing in rapture heav'nly songs of love and praise,
When our bark is safely anchored,—there to spend our happiest days.
| 'Weh Down Souf and other Poems : | |