Up and down old Brandywine, In the days 'at's past and gone— With a dad-burn hook-and line And a saplin' pole—swawn! I've had more fun, to the square Inch, than ever ANYwhere! Heaven to come can't discount MINE Up and down old Brandywine! Hain't no sense in WISHIN'—yit Wisht to goodness I COULD jes "Gee" the blame' world round and git Back to that old happiness!— Kindo' drive back in the shade "The old Covered Bridge" there laid 'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak My soul over, hub and spoke! Honest, now!—it hain't no DREAM 'At I'm wantin',—but THE FAC'S As they wuz; the same old stream, And the same old times, i jacks!— Gim me back my bare feet—and Stonebruise too!—And scratched and tanned! And let hottest dog-days shine Up and down old Brandywine! In and on betwixt the trees 'Long the banks, pour down yer noon, Kindo' curdled with the breeze And the yallerhammer's tune; And the smokin', chokin' dust O' the turnpike at its wusst— SATURD'YS, say, when it seems Road's jes jammed with country teams!— Whilse the old town, fur away 'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land, Dozed-like in the heat o' day Peaceful' as a hired hand. Jolt the gravel th'ough the floor O' the old bridge!—grind and roar With yer blame percession-line— Up and down old Brandywine! Souse me and my new straw-hat Off the foot-log!—what I care?— Fist shoved in the crown o' that— Like the old Clown ust to wear. Wouldn't swop it fer a' old Gin-u-wine raal crown o' gold!— Keep yer KING ef you'll gim me Jes the boy I ust to be! Spill my fishin'-worms! er steal My best "goggle-eye!"—but you Can't lay hands on joys I feel Nibblin' like they ust to do! So, in memory, to-day Same old ripple lips away At my "cork" and saggin' line, Up and down old Bradywine! There the logs is, round the hill, Where "Old Irvin" ust to lift Out sunfish from daylight till Dewfall—'fore he'd leave "The Drift" And give US a chance—and then Kindo' fish back home again, Ketchin' 'em jes left and right Where WE hadn't got "a bite!" Er, 'way windin' out and in,— Old path th'ough the iurnweeds And dog-fennel to yer chin— Then come suddent, th'ough the reeds And cat-tails, smack into where Them—air woods—hogs ust to scare Us clean 'crosst the County-line, Up and down old Brandywine! But the dim roar o' the dam It 'ud coax us furder still To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm, Slidin' on to Huston's mill— Where, I'spect, "The Freeport crowd" Never WARMED to us er 'lowed We wuz quite so overly Welcome as we aimed to be. Still it 'peared like ever'thing— Fur away from home as THERE— Had more RELISH-like, i jing!— Fish in stream, er bird in air! O them rich old bottom-lands, Past where Cowden's Schoolhouse stands! Wortermelons—MASTER-MINE! Up and down old Brandywine! And sich pop-paws!—Lumps o' raw Gold and green,—jes oozy th'ough With ripe yaller—like you've saw Custard-pie with no crust to: And jes GORGES o' wild plums, Till a feller'd suck his thumbs Clean up to his elbows! MY!— ME SOME MORE ER LEM ME DIE! Up and down old Brandywine!... Stripe me with pokeberry-juice!— Flick me with a pizenvine And yell "Yip!" and lem me loose! —Old now as I then wuz young, 'F I could sing as I HAVE sung, Song 'ud surely ring DEE-VINE Up and down old Brandywine!
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg