 | The miscellaneous writings of Henry Ware |  |
286
THANKSGIVING SONG.
November, 1841.
I remember, I remember, when I was a little boy,
How the last week in November always filled my heart with joy;
For then Thanksgiving always came with every kind of pie,
And I for once could eat my fill, though father did sit by.
How the last week in November always filled my heart with joy;
For then Thanksgiving always came with every kind of pie,
And I for once could eat my fill, though father did sit by.
I remember, I remember, how on Monday they began
With rolling paste, and chopping meat, and buttering patty-pan;
And proud was I to pound the crackers, or to stone the plums,
Or crack the shagbarks with flat-irons that often cracked my thumbs.
With rolling paste, and chopping meat, and buttering patty-pan;
And proud was I to pound the crackers, or to stone the plums,
Or crack the shagbarks with flat-irons that often cracked my thumbs.
I remember, I remember, how the two next busy days
Kept the kitchen in an uproar, and the oven in a blaze;
Till all was done and cleared away by Wednesday's evening skies,
And the proud tea-table smoked with four premonitory pies.
Kept the kitchen in an uproar, and the oven in a blaze;
Till all was done and cleared away by Wednesday's evening skies,
And the proud tea-table smoked with four premonitory pies.
I remember, I remember, when the morning came at last,
How joyfully at breakfast I perceived it was not Fast;
But loaded plates and smoking bowls assailed our winking sight,
With “Johnny cakes” and chocolate hot, to whet the appetite.
How joyfully at breakfast I perceived it was not Fast;
287
With “Johnny cakes” and chocolate hot, to whet the appetite.
I remember, I remember, when the dinner came at last,
How, like the kings of Banquo's race, the dishes came and passed:
The exhaustless line seemed threatening to run on till crack of doom,
While still a voice from every stomach cried, “There yet is room.”
How, like the kings of Banquo's race, the dishes came and passed:
The exhaustless line seemed threatening to run on till crack of doom,
While still a voice from every stomach cried, “There yet is room.”
I remember, I remember, how those lessons in gastronomy
Were sometimes mixed with questions upon Latin and astronomy,
And in geography how John did once, in accent murky,
Reply that Canaan was in Ham, and Paradise in Turkey.
Were sometimes mixed with questions upon Latin and astronomy,
And in geography how John did once, in accent murky,
Reply that Canaan was in Ham, and Paradise in Turkey.
I remember, I remember, then, how tight my jacket grew,
As if 'twould burst a button off with every breath I drew;
And so, to settle all, we boys kicked foot-ball down in town,
Or went to see the marksmen try to shoot the tied hens down.
As if 'twould burst a button off with every breath I drew;
And so, to settle all, we boys kicked foot-ball down in town,
Or went to see the marksmen try to shoot the tied hens down.
I remember, I remember—not—what happened after tea,
For we had then no grandfather whom we could go and see;
I only know we went to bed when nine o'clock was rung,
—And you had better do the same now that my song is sung.
For we had then no grandfather whom we could go and see;
I only know we went to bed when nine o'clock was rung,
—And you had better do the same now that my song is sung.
| The miscellaneous writings of Henry Ware | |