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Thinkin' o' nothin', I've heerd ole

folks say,

Is a hard kind o' dooty in its way: It's thinkin' every thin' you ever knew,

Or ever hearn, to make your feelins blue.

I sot there tryin' thet on for a spell: I thought o' the Rebellion, then o' Hell,

Which some folks tell ye now is jes' a metterfor,

(A the'ry, p'raps, it wun't feel none the better for);

I thought o' Reconstruction, wut we'd win

Patchin' our patent self-blow-up agin:

I thought ef this 'ere milkin' o' the wits,

So

much a month, warn't givin' Natur' fits,

Ef folks warn't druv, findin' their own milk fail,

To work the cow thet hes an iron tail, An' ef idees 'thout ripenin' in the

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Though mos' folks write ez ef they hoped jes' quickenin’ The churn would argoo skim-milk into thickenin';

But skim-milk ain't a thing to change its view

O' wut it's meant for more'n a smoky flue.

But du pray tell me, 'fore we furder go,

How in all Natur' did you come to know

'Bout our affairs," sez I, "in Kingdom Come?""Wal, I worked round at sperritrappin' some,

An' danced the tables till their legs wuz gone,

In hopes o' larnin' wut wuz goin' on,"

Sez he, "but mejums lie so like allsplit

Thet I concluded it wuz best to quit. But, come now, ef you wun't confess to knowin',

You've some conjectures how the thing's a-goin'.". "Gran'ther," sez I, "a vane warn't never known

Nor asked to hev a jedgment of its Own;

An' yit, ef 'tain't gut rusty in the jints,

It's safe to trust its say on certin pints:

It knows the wind's opinions to a T, An' the wind settles wut the weather'll be.”

"I never thought a scion of our stock

Could grow the wood to make a weathercock;

When I wuz younger'n you, skurce more'n a shaver,

No airthly wind,'

sez he, "could make me waver!" (Ez he said this, he clinched his jaw an' forehead,

-

Hitchin' his belt to bring his swordhilt forrard.) — "Jes' so it wuz with me," sez I, "I swow,

When I wuz younger'n what you

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We hain't to punish only, but to keep,

An' the cure's gut to go a cent❜ry deep."

"Wal, milk-an'-water ain't the best o' glue,'

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Sez he, an' so you'll find before you're thru;

Ef reshness venters sunthin', shillyshally

Lozes ez often wut's ten times the vally.

Thet exe of ourn, when Charles's neck gut split,

Opened a gap thet ain't bridged over yit:

Slav'ry's your Charles, the Lord hez gin the exe"

"Our Charles," sez I, "hez gut eight million necks.

The hardest question ain't the black man's right,

The trouble is to 'mancipate the white;

One's chained in body an' can be sot

free,

But t'other's chained in soul to an idee:

It's a long job, but we shall worry thru it;

Ef bag'nets fail, the spellin'-book must du it."

"Hosee," sez he, "I think you're goin' to fail:

The rettlesnake ain't dangerous in the tail:

This 'ere rebellion's nothin' but the rettle,

You'll stomp on thet an' think you've won the bettle; Slavery thet's the fangs an' thinkin' head,

But you forgit how long it's ben

It's

A.D.;

You think thet's ellerkence, — I

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call it shoddy,

dead,

A thing," sez I,

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nor body;

cresh it suddin, or you'll larn by waitin'

I like the plain all-wool o' common

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Thet Chance wun't stop to listen to debatin'

"God's truth!' sez 1,-"an' ef I held the club,

An' knowed jes' where to strike, but there's the rub!" "Strike soon," sez he, "or you'll be deadly ailin',

Folks thet's afeared to fail are sure

o' failin';

God hates your sneakin' creturs thet believe

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Once from these heights I shrank,

beheld afar,

In the soft lap of quiet, easy days.

I might (I will not hide it) once I might

Have lost, in the warm whirlpools of your voice,

The sense of Evil, the stern cry of Right;

But truth has steered me free, and

I rejoice:

Not with the triumph that looks back to jeer

At the poor herd that call their misery bliss;

But as a mortal speaks when God is

near,

I drop you down my answer; it is this:

I am not yours, because you seek in

me

What is the lowest in my own es

teem:

Only my flowery levels can you

see,

Nor of my heaven-smit summits do you dream.

I am not yours, because you love yourself:

Your heart has scarcely room for me beside.

I could not be shut in with name and pelf;

I spurn the shelter of your narrow pride!

Not yours; because you are not man enough

To grasp your country's measure of a man!

If such as you, when Freedom's ways are rough,

Cannot walk in them, learn that women can!

Not yours, because, in this the nation's need,

You stoop to bend her losses to your gain,

And do not feel the meanness of your deed;

I touch no palm defiled with such a stain!

Whether man's thought can find too lofty steeps

For woman's scaling, care not I to know;

But when he falters by her side, or creeps,

She must not clog her soul with him to go.

Who weds me must at least with equal pace

Sometimes move with me at my being's height:

To follow him to his more glorious place,

His purer atmosphere, were keen delight.

You lure me to the valley: men should call

Up to the mountains, where the air is clear.

Win me and help me climbing, if at all!

Beyond these peaks rich harmonies I hear,

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