Riley Farm-Rhymes






UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE

     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