 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
MOSES PARSLEY.
Natur'! why, yes; I know what natur' is
Ef onredeemed by grace, an' I allow
The human kind of it, ef fa'rly riz,
Is desput wicked. I remember now
The case of Mosis Passley, showin' you
What, ef a man's ontetched by grace, he'll do.
Ef onredeemed by grace, an' I allow
The human kind of it, ef fa'rly riz,
Is desput wicked. I remember now
The case of Mosis Passley, showin' you
What, ef a man's ontetched by grace, he'll do.
Mosis was well-to-do. Of this world's goods
He had his sheer. He raised a house as fine,
All chinked an' daubed, as lies thar in the woods;
A punshing fence aroun' his garding, swine,
Hosses and cow beasts; forty acres cleared,
An' lots of dollars hid away, I've heerd.
He had his sheer. He raised a house as fine,
All chinked an' daubed, as lies thar in the woods;
A punshing fence aroun' his garding, swine,
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An' lots of dollars hid away, I've heerd.
I rid the cirkit thar two year, an' used
To stop at Mosis's to lodge bekase
He'd heaps of chickens, nuvver holp refused
Onto the church; an', spite of foolin' ways,
I liked the man; then Sister Passley, she
Was a good woman, so it seemed to me.
To stop at Mosis's to lodge bekase
He'd heaps of chickens, nuvver holp refused
Onto the church; an', spite of foolin' ways,
I liked the man; then Sister Passley, she
Was a good woman, so it seemed to me.
Old Peter Markham was her father; he
Lived upon Caney waters; ef I'd been
At home when she was growed, it seems to me
Peter an' I had been of nigher kin;
For somehow woman's weakness allus lay
To lovin' when a preacher's in the way.
Lived upon Caney waters; ef I'd been
At home when she was growed, it seems to me
Peter an' I had been of nigher kin;
For somehow woman's weakness allus lay
To lovin' when a preacher's in the way.
I used to stop at Mosis's of nights,
Gwine to app'intments on the cirkit roun',
It seemed I had that couple dead to rights,
Allus warm welcome an' fried chickens foun',
Hot biscuit an' good coffee, an' the place
Kinder lit up with Sister Passley's face.
Gwine to app'intments on the cirkit roun',
It seemed I had that couple dead to rights,
Allus warm welcome an' fried chickens foun',
Hot biscuit an' good coffee, an' the place
Kinder lit up with Sister Passley's face.
An' only wunst I went thar in the day;
I'd preached a funeral the night afore
At Peter Stollin's; bein' on my way,
I thought I'd stop in Passley's house wunst more;
So hitched my hoss on to a swingin' limb,
An' then went in a hummin' of a hymn.
I'd preached a funeral the night afore
At Peter Stollin's; bein' on my way,
I thought I'd stop in Passley's house wunst more;
So hitched my hoss on to a swingin' limb,
An' then went in a hummin' of a hymn.
“Sister, good mornin'.” “Mornin', Brother Brooks.”
“Whar's Brother Passley?” “Gone away a spell.”
An' then she laughed. A somethin' in her looks
Seemed morn'n frien'ly; but I couldn't tell
Edzacly how the words come onto me,
But I spoke out—“How beautiful you be!”
“Whar's Brother Passley?” “Gone away a spell.”
An' then she laughed. A somethin' in her looks
Seemed morn'n frien'ly; but I couldn't tell
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But I spoke out—“How beautiful you be!”
“Law, sakes,” she said, an' then she kinder smiled,
“I thought you nuvver noticed women's looks;
Eve by the sarpint one time was beguiled;
I hope you ain't a sarpint, Brother Brooks.”
I said, says I—“No, ne'er a sarpint, sister;”
An', takin' of her hand, I bent an' kissed her.
“I thought you nuvver noticed women's looks;
Eve by the sarpint one time was beguiled;
I hope you ain't a sarpint, Brother Brooks.”
I said, says I—“No, ne'er a sarpint, sister;”
An', takin' of her hand, I bent an' kissed her.
Jerusalem! she fotched me setch a lick;
It sot my face a stingin' then like mad;
I saw more stars than shined upon that crick—
Who would hev thought what strength the critter had?
An' then quite suddint, without warnin' thar,
I felt myself a risin' in the a'r.
It sot my face a stingin' then like mad;
I saw more stars than shined upon that crick—
Who would hev thought what strength the critter had?
An' then quite suddint, without warnin' thar,
I felt myself a risin' in the a'r.
It wasn't with joy—'twas Mosis Passley's toe;
An' he kep' usin' it with wicked fo'ce,
Ontell he kicked me through the lane below,
Then back agin to whar I'd hitched me hoss;
An' then he said—“Now jest you mount and scoot.”
An' she said—“Mose, you hev'n't spiled your boot?”
An' he kep' usin' it with wicked fo'ce,
Ontell he kicked me through the lane below,
Then back agin to whar I'd hitched me hoss;
An' then he said—“Now jest you mount and scoot.”
An' she said—“Mose, you hev'n't spiled your boot?”
I've nuvver been to Mosis Passley's sence—
I'm on a different cirkit; but I'm shore,
To one who nuvver meant to give offence,
'Twas hard setch parsecution mus' be bore;
Pra'r is the only thing to meet the case,
That Passley's heart may yit be tetched by grace.
I'm on a different cirkit; but I'm shore,
To one who nuvver meant to give offence,
'Twas hard setch parsecution mus' be bore;
Pra'r is the only thing to meet the case,
That Passley's heart may yit be tetched by grace.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |