 | Young folks' centennial rhymes |  |
62
THE PARENTS' FAREWELL.
FATHER.
Shoulder arms, my good boy; never a minute pause;
Off to the patriot army, an' fight for your country's cause.
Though I be turned o' seventy, I'd go with you to-day,
Only upon a long march a crutch gets in the way.
Off to the patriot army, an' fight for your country's cause.
Though I be turned o' seventy, I'd go with you to-day,
Only upon a long march a crutch gets in the way.
Long I fought for England before she broke her trust;
I stood close by Braddock
the day he bit the dust.
Oft have I showed the Britishers that Yankees was no sham;
An' didn't I leave my right leg on the Plains of Abraham?
I stood close by Braddock
General Edward Braddock was commander of the British and Americans, when they together were fighting the French, in the “French War,” which took place a few years before the Revolution. This, of course, was while our forefathers were still under the power and protection of England. On the 9th of July, 1755, General Braddock marched, with a force of two thousand men, British and Americans, against Fort Du Quesne, now Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, which was held by the French. On the way there, a band of French and Indians suddenly sprung out of the forest, and, after a severe fight, General Braddock's army was beaten, and ran away in disorder. After having five horses shot under him, the general was wounded, and died a few days after.
Oft have I showed the Britishers that Yankees was no sham;
An' didn't I leave my right leg on the Plains of Abraham?
Didn't I fight the Indians as well as a man could do?
Didn't they know for a certain that I was enough for two?
An' when I buried your brothers, with Indian bullets slain,
Could any body tell me I sought revenge in vain?
Didn't they know for a certain that I was enough for two?
An' when I buried your brothers, with Indian bullets slain,
Could any body tell me I sought revenge in vain?
63
But now with sword an' musket there's nothing I can do;
My strength is all in the old time—my fighting days are through;
An' all I am lately good for is to sit by the chimney-jamb,
An' tell the boys how we whipped 'em on the Plains of Abraham.
My strength is all in the old time—my fighting days are through;
An' all I am lately good for is to sit by the chimney-jamb,
An' tell the boys how we whipped 'em on the Plains of Abraham.
64
I'd thought I might doze peaceful the evenin' of my days,
With you to wait upon me, with all your kindly ways;
But now the land of England I fought so faithful for
Is raising up against us the blood-red hand of war.
With you to wait upon me, with all your kindly ways;
But now the land of England I fought so faithful for
Is raising up against us the blood-red hand of war.
She's up an' dressed for conflict—she's comin' over here,
As if we couldn't keep house with none to interfere;
But we the sour old lady a piece of our mind will give,
And show her to the door-way, an' send her home to live.
As if we couldn't keep house with none to interfere;
But we the sour old lady a piece of our mind will give,
And show her to the door-way, an' send her home to live.
And if there's scarce o' soldiers, you just sit down and write,
An' I'll come an' stop a bullet from some one who can fight;
An' if defeat awaitin' our army you may see,
Then do not mind my game leg, but hurry an' send for me.
An' I'll come an' stop a bullet from some one who can fight;
An' if defeat awaitin' our army you may see,
Then do not mind my game leg, but hurry an' send for me.
MOTHER.
Four have to the death-shades gone
Of the five sons I have known:
One fell on a war-ship's deck,
One in sight of strong Quebec;
Two were dead before me laid
By the Indians' bloody blade;
One was struck down in his prime
By the hardships of the time,
And his manly heart lies still
'Neath the maples on the hill.
But the moments will not stay;
Shoulder arms, and march away!
Of the five sons I have known:
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One in sight of strong Quebec;
Two were dead before me laid
By the Indians' bloody blade;
One was struck down in his prime
By the hardships of the time,
And his manly heart lies still
'Neath the maples on the hill.
But the moments will not stay;
Shoulder arms, and march away!
Wait a moment yet, my son!
My heart's words are not yet done.
We are losing fast our hold—
We are feeble, bent, and old;
Wealth has never found our door—
We are helpless, weak, and poor.
But your arm, that was our stay;
Your bright smile, that cheered our way;
Your love, which the food has given
For which our poor hearts have striven,
We unto our country owe.
Shoulder arms, my boy, and go!
My heart's words are not yet done.
We are losing fast our hold—
We are feeble, bent, and old;
Wealth has never found our door—
We are helpless, weak, and poor.
But your arm, that was our stay;
Your bright smile, that cheered our way;
Your love, which the food has given
For which our poor hearts have striven,
We unto our country owe.
Shoulder arms, my boy, and go!
66
Wait a minute! one word more!
I've so many thoughts in store!
May be in your childhood's year
We were somewhat too severe;
But for any word or blow
That we gave you long ago,
If it would have served the call,
We had rather they did fall
Wheresoever they were due—
On ourselves, and not on you.
But my poor old tongue is slow;
Shoulder arms, my boy, and go!
I've so many thoughts in store!
May be in your childhood's year
We were somewhat too severe;
But for any word or blow
That we gave you long ago,
If it would have served the call,
We had rather they did fall
Wheresoever they were due—
On ourselves, and not on you.
But my poor old tongue is slow;
Shoulder arms, my boy, and go!
Wait! if e'er a hasty word
From our trembling lips you've heard,
Do not mind it when you're gone;
Let your love for us keep on.
Old folks' weakness, aches, an' pains
Oft are o'ermuch for their brains;
Old folks' sorrows, fear, and care
Are a load for them to bear.
You must due allowance make
In your memory for our sake.
But my words too many grow;
Shoulder arms, my boy, and go!
From our trembling lips you've heard,
Do not mind it when you're gone;
Let your love for us keep on.
Old folks' weakness, aches, an' pains
Oft are o'ermuch for their brains;
Old folks' sorrows, fear, and care
Are a load for them to bear.
You must due allowance make
In your memory for our sake.
67
Shoulder arms, my boy, and go!
One word more, and then adieu!
We had fondly hoped that you,
When we lay in death's repose,
Might be near, our eyes to close.
But 'tis overplain to see
How that joy may never be.
Ere your flag in victory waves,
We may sleep in lonely graves.
Nothing do, in toil or mirth,
That will grieve us, if on earth;
And if dead, perhaps our love
Will look on you from above;
We had fondly hoped that you,
When we lay in death's repose,
Might be near, our eyes to close.
But 'tis overplain to see
How that joy may never be.
Ere your flag in victory waves,
We may sleep in lonely graves.
Nothing do, in toil or mirth,
That will grieve us, if on earth;
And if dead, perhaps our love
Will look on you from above;
So do nothing that if named
E'er need make you feel ashamed.
Either here, or else on high,
We shall meet you by-and-by;
Live so, when our forms you see,
Wheresoever it may be,
If victorious in your fight,
By our fireside warm and bright,
Or within a brighter place,
You can look us in the face.
But they need you 'gainst the foe;
Shoulder arms, my boy, and go!
E'er need make you feel ashamed.
Either here, or else on high,
We shall meet you by-and-by;
Live so, when our forms you see,
Wheresoever it may be,
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By our fireside warm and bright,
Or within a brighter place,
You can look us in the face.
But they need you 'gainst the foe;
Shoulder arms, my boy, and go!
| Young folks' centennial rhymes | |