The poetical works of John Townsend Trowbridge

“The weasel's head is small an' trim,
An' he is leetle an' long an' slim,
An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb,
An' ef yeou'll be
Advised by me,
Keep wide awake when ye 're ketchin' him!”

So day after day
He stitched and tinkered and hammered away,
Till at last 't was done,—
The greatest invention under the sun!
“An' now,” says Darius, “hooray fer some fun!”

'T was the Fourth of July,
And the weather was dry,
And not a cloud was on all the sky,
Save a few light fleeces, which here and there,
Half mist, half air,
Like foam on the ocean went floating by:
Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen
For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.

Thought cunning Darius: “Now I shan't go
Along 'ith the fellers to see the show.
I'll say I 've got sich a terrible cough!
An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off,
I'll hev full swing
Fer to try the thing,
An' practyse a leetle on the wing.”

“Ain't goin' to see the celebration?”
Says Brother Nate. “No; botheration!
I 've got sich a cold—a toothache—I—
My gracious!—feel's though I should fly!”

Said Jotham, “'Sho!
Guess ye better go.”
But Darius said, “No!
Should n't wonder 'f yeou might see me, though,

'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red
O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head.”
For all the while to himself he said:—

“I tell ye what!
I'll fly a few times around the lot,
To see how 't seems, then soon 's I 've got
The hang o' the thing, ez likely 's not,
I'll astonish the nation,
An' all creation,
By flyin' over the celebration!
Over their heads I'll sail like an eagle;
I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull;
I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stan' on the steeple;
I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people!
I'll light on the libbe'ty-pole, an' crow;
An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below,
‘What world 's this 'ere
That I 've come near?’
Fer I'll make 'em b'lieve I'm a chap f'm the moon!
An' I'll try a race 'ith their ol' bulloon.”

He crept from his bed;
And, seeing the others were gone, he said,
“I'm a gittin' over the cold 'n my head.”
And away he sped,
To open the wonderful box in the shed.

His brothers had walked but a little way
When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say,
“What on airth is he up to, hey?”
“Don'o',—the' 's suthin' er other to pay,
Er he would n't ‘a’ stayed to hum to-day.”
Says Burke, “His toothache 's all 'n his eye!
He never 'd miss a Fo'th-o'-July,
Ef he hed n't got some machine to try.”
Then Sol, the little one, spoke: “By darn!
Le 's hurry back an' hide 'n the barn,
An' pay him fer tellin' us that yarn!”
“Agreed!” Through the orchard they creep back,

Along by the fences, behind the stack,
And one by one, through a hole in the wall,
In under the dusty barn they crawl,
Dressed in their Sunday garments all;
And a very astonishing sight was that,
When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat
Came up through the floor like an ancient rat.
And there they hid;
And Reuben slid
The fastenings back, and the door undid.
“Keep dark!” said he,
“While I squint an' see what the' is to see.”

As knights of old put on their mail,—
From head to foot
An iron suit,
Iron jacket and iron boot,
Iron breeches, and on the head
No hat, but an iron pot instead,
And under the chin the bail,—
I believe they called the thing a helm;
And the lid they carried they called a shield;
And, thus accoutred, they took the field,
Sallying forth to overwhelm
The dragons and pagans that plagued the realm:—
So this modern knight
Prepared for flight,
Put on his wings and strapped them tight;
Jointed and jaunty, strong and light;
Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip,—
Ten feet they measured from tip to tip!
And a helm had he, but that he wore,
Not on his head like those of yore,
But more like the helm of a ship.

“Hush!” Reuben said,
“He 's up in the shed!
He 's opened the winder,—I see his head!
He stretches it out,
An' pokes it about,

Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear,
An' nobody near;—
Guess he don'o' who 's hid in here!
He 's riggin' a spring-board over the sill!
Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still!
He 's a climbin' out now—Of all the things!
What 's he got on? I van, it 's wings!
An' that 't other thing? I vum, it 's a tail!
An' there he sets like a hawk on a rail!
Steppin' careful, he travels the length
Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength.
Now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat;
Peeks over his shoulder, this way an' that,
Fer to see 'f the' 's any one passin' by;
But the' 's on'y a ca'f an' a goslin' nigh.
They turn up at him a wonderin' eye,
To see—The dragon! he 's goin' to fly!
Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump!
Flop—flop—an' plump
To the ground with a thump!
Flutt'rin' an' flound'rin', all 'n a lump!”

As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear,
Heels over head, to his proper sphere,—
Heels over head, and head over heels,
Dizzily down the abyss he wheels,—
So fell Darius. Upon his crown,
In the midst of the barnyard, he came down,
In a wonderful whirl of tangled strings,
Broken braces and broken springs,
Broken tail and broken wings,
Shooting-stars, and various things!
Away with a bellow fled the calf,
And what was that? Did the gosling laugh?
'T is a merry roar
From the old barn-door,
And he hears the voice of Jotham crying,
“Say, D'rius! how de yeou like flyin'?”

Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,
Darius just turned and looked that way,

As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff.
“Wal, I like flyin' well enough,”
He said; “but the' ain't sich a thunderin' sight
O' fun in 't when ye come to light.”

University of Virginia Library

SONG