 | The poetical works of John Townsend Trowbridge |  |
WATCHING THE CROWS
“
Caw
, caw!”—You don't say so!—“Caw, caw!”—What, once more?
Seems to me I 've heard that observation before,
And I wish you would some time begin to talk sense.
Come, I 've sat here about long enough on the fence,
And I 'd like you to tell me in confidence what
Are your present intentions regarding this lot?
Why don't you do something? or else go away?
“Caw, caw!”—Does that mean that they'll go or they'll stay?
While I'm watching to learn what they 're up to, I see
That for similar reasons they 're just watching me!
Seems to me I 've heard that observation before,
And I wish you would some time begin to talk sense.
Come, I 've sat here about long enough on the fence,
And I 'd like you to tell me in confidence what
Are your present intentions regarding this lot?
Why don't you do something? or else go away?
“Caw, caw!”—Does that mean that they'll go or they'll stay?
While I'm watching to learn what they 're up to, I see
That for similar reasons they 're just watching me!
That's right! Now be brave, and I'll show you some fun!
Just light within twenty-nine yards of my gun!
I 've hunted and hunted you all round the lot,
Now you must come here, if you want to be shot!
“Caw, caw!”—There they go again! Is n't it strange
How they always contrive to keep just out of range?
The scamps have been shot at so often, they know
To a rod just how far the old shot-gun will throw.
Just light within twenty-nine yards of my gun!
I 've hunted and hunted you all round the lot,
Now you must come here, if you want to be shot!
“Caw, caw!”—There they go again! Is n't it strange
How they always contrive to keep just out of range?
The scamps have been shot at so often, they know
To a rod just how far the old shot-gun will throw.
Now I 've thought how I'll serve 'em to-morrow: I'll play
The game old Jack Haskell played with 'em one day.
His snares would n't catch 'em, his traps would n't spring,
And, in spite of the very best guns he could bring
To bear on the subject, the powder he spent,
And the terriblest scarecrows his wits could invent—
Loud-clattering windmills and fluttering flags,
Straw-stuffed old codgers rigged out in his rags,
And looking quite lifelike in tail-coat and cap,
Twine stretched round the cornfield, suggesting a trap,—
Spite of all,—and he did all that ever a man did,—
They pulled his corn almost before it was planted!
The game old Jack Haskell played with 'em one day.
His snares would n't catch 'em, his traps would n't spring,
And, in spite of the very best guns he could bring
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And the terriblest scarecrows his wits could invent—
Loud-clattering windmills and fluttering flags,
Straw-stuffed old codgers rigged out in his rags,
And looking quite lifelike in tail-coat and cap,
Twine stretched round the cornfield, suggesting a trap,—
Spite of all,—and he did all that ever a man did,—
They pulled his corn almost before it was planted!
Then he built him an ambush right out in the field,
Where a man could lie down at his ease, quite concealed;
But though he kept watch in it, day after day,
And the thieves would light on it when he was away,
And tear up the corn all around it, not once
Did a crow, young or old, show himself such a dunce
As to come within hail while the old man was there;
For they are the cunningest fools, I declare!
And, seeing him enter, they reasoned, no doubt,
That he must be in there until he came out!
Where a man could lie down at his ease, quite concealed;
But though he kept watch in it, day after day,
And the thieves would light on it when he was away,
And tear up the corn all around it, not once
Did a crow, young or old, show himself such a dunce
As to come within hail while the old man was there;
For they are the cunningest fools, I declare!
And, seeing him enter, they reasoned, no doubt,
That he must be in there until he came out!
Then, one morning, says he to young Jack, “Now I bet
I 've got an idee that 'll do for 'em yet!
Go with me down into the corn-lot to-day;
Then, when I'm well placed in the ambush, I'll stay,
While you shoulder your gun and march back to the barn;
For there 's this leetle notion crows never could larn:
They can't count, as I'll show ye!” And show him he did!
Young Haskell went home while old Haskell lay hid.
I 've got an idee that 'll do for 'em yet!
Go with me down into the corn-lot to-day;
Then, when I'm well placed in the ambush, I'll stay,
While you shoulder your gun and march back to the barn;
For there 's this leetle notion crows never could larn:
They can't count, as I'll show ye!” And show him he did!
Young Haskell went home while old Haskell lay hid.
And the crows' education had been so neglected,—
They were so poor in figures,—they never suspected,
If two had come down, and one only went back,
Then one must remain! So, no sooner was Jack
Out of sight, than again to the field they came flocking
As thick as three rats in a little boy's stocking.
They darkened the air, and they blackened the ground;
They came in a cloud to the windmill, and drowned
Its loudest clack-clack with a louder caw-caw!
They lit on the tail-coat, and laughed at the straw.
“By time!” says old Jack, “now I 've got ye!” Bang! bang!
Blazed his short double-shooter right into the gang!
Then, picking the dead crows up out of the dirt, he
Was pleased to perceive that he 'd killed about thirty!
They were so poor in figures,—they never suspected,
If two had come down, and one only went back,
Then one must remain! So, no sooner was Jack
Out of sight, than again to the field they came flocking
As thick as three rats in a little boy's stocking.
They darkened the air, and they blackened the ground;
They came in a cloud to the windmill, and drowned
Its loudest clack-clack with a louder caw-caw!
They lit on the tail-coat, and laughed at the straw.
“By time!” says old Jack, “now I 've got ye!” Bang! bang!
Blazed his short double-shooter right into the gang!
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Was pleased to perceive that he 'd killed about thirty!
Now that 's just the way I'll astonish the rascals!
I'll set up an ambush, like old Mr. Haskell's—
“Caw, caw!”—You 're as knowing a bird as I know;
But there are things a little too deep for a crow!
Just add one to one now, and what 's the amount?
You 're mighty 'cute creeturs, but, then, you can't count!
You'll see if I don't get a shot! Yes, I'll borrow
Another boy somewhere and try ye to-morrow!
I'll set up an ambush, like old Mr. Haskell's—
“Caw, caw!”—You 're as knowing a bird as I know;
But there are things a little too deep for a crow!
Just add one to one now, and what 's the amount?
You 're mighty 'cute creeturs, but, then, you can't count!
You'll see if I don't get a shot! Yes, I'll borrow
Another boy somewhere and try ye to-morrow!
| The poetical works of John Townsend Trowbridge | |