The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes

I've written out a little song
To give you decent warning
Between the first and second gongs
All of a Thursday morning—morning, morning, all of a Thursday morning.

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At 7 Oclock on Tuesday morn
They roused each ancient dreamer
With hunting gun & powder horn
To go on board the steamer

So when they got us all on board
They made the water boil and
In half a shake they had us down
Upon the little Island Island, Island, upon the little Island

The Governor & his suite were there
To bid us welcome gaily
With broad brimmed hat & long tailed coat
Which is his habit daily.

The air was soft, the sky was blue
The Isle was all before us
And whelp and hound were baying round
All joining in the chorus chorus, chorus, all joining in the chorus

But just before We took our stand,
We all went in the closet
When each pet bank beneath our ribs
Received a small deposit

And when the lunch was stowed below
And fingers all were wipéd
We stroked that little pig you know
That is so very stripéd. stripéd, stripéd, that is so very stripéd.

Then off we sett to scour the woods
With our unhappy drivers
Uncertain if the deer or they
Would be the days survivors

But having safely met at last
And all our laurels housing
The knowing ones made bets on wine
And there was some carousing carousing, carousing, and there was some carousing

The first days victim was a Doe
Shot by Nantucket Upton
They say he dodged a little though
Or else his toes she trod on

Then Clifford thought that he must fire
Peabody fain would hit too
With William, Holmes & many more
But all their Does were dittos dittos, dittos, but all their Does were dittos

On Wednesday morn the doctors twain
Went in a new direction
For once they could not kill 'twas plain
So took to resurrection

And with them in the little boat
The Speaker too did seat him
Perhaps 'twas by a special vote
That body rose to meet him to meet him, to meet him, that body rose to meet him

The second day now blazed away
Each doubled barrelled hero
They made the number up to ten
If ten is one and Zero

The night before We drank until
The wines ran from our scuppers
Which made us on the second night
Like Deacons at their suppers suppers, suppers, like Deacons at their suppers

Tomorrow I shall add a verse
To finish out the story
In which I shall at length rehearse
The Candidates for glory

Long live the glorious Governor
For whom my song was written
I should have finished it tonight
But that I was frost bitten bitten, bitten, but that I was frost bitten

University of Virginia Library

SUNG AT THE HUNT

NAUSHON ISLAND