C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Elizabeth Williams Champney (1850–1922)
How Persimmons Took Care ob der Baby
P
’Way down in Lou’siany,
And all the teaching that he had
Was given him by his granny.
But he did his duty ever
As well as you, it may be;
With faithfulness and pride always,
He minded missus’s baby.
He loved the counsels of the saints,—
And sometimes those of sinners,
To run off ’possum-hunting and
Steal “watermilion” dinners.
And fervently at meetin’ too,
On every Sunday night,
He’d with the elders shout and pray
By the pine-knots’ flaring light,
And sing their rudest melodies
With voice so full and strong
You could almost think he learned them
From the angels’ triumph song.
Dan de white folks,—and dey knows it:
See de glory-gate unbarred;
Walk in darkies, past de guard—
Bet you dollar he won’t close it.
Hear de kullered angels holler;
Go ’way, white folks, you’re too late,—
We’s de winnin’ kuller. Wait
Till de trumpet blow to foller.”
As he lay out in the sun;
But the song he heard most often—
His granny’s favorite one—
Was—“Jawge Washington
Thomas Jefferson
Persimmons Henry Clay, be
Quick! shut de do’,
Get up off dat flo’,
Come heah and mind de baby.”
Almost a second flood;
The river rose, a torrent swoln
Of beaten, yellow mud.
It bit at its embankments,
And lapped them down in foam,
Till surging through a wide crevasse,
The waves seethed round their home.
They scaled the high veranda,
They filled the parlors clear,
Till floating chairs and tables
Clashed against the chandelier.
’Twas then Persimmons’s granny,
Stout of arm and terror-proof,
By means of axe and lever,
Pried up the veranda roof;
Bound mattresses upon it
With stoutest cords of rope,
Lifted out her fainting mistress,
Saying, “Honey, dar is hope!
“You, Jawge Washington
Thomas Jefferson
Persimmons Henry Clay, be
Quick on dat raf’;
Don’t star’ like a calf,
But take good cah ob baby!”
Out on its turbid tide,
And for a while they floated on
Together, side by side;
Till, broken by the current strong,
The frail raft snapt in two,
And Persimmons saw his granny
Fast fading from his view.
Heard, as they passed in haste,
A child’s voice singing in the dark,
Upon the water’s waste,
A song of faith and triumph,
Of Moses and the Lord;
And throwing out a coil of rope,
They drew him safe on board.
Persimmons wandered through,
“A-totin’ ob der baby,” and
Singing songs he knew.
At length some City Fathers
Objected to his plan,
Arresting as a vagrant
Our valiant little man.
They carried out their purposes,
Persimmons “’lowed he’d spile ’em,”
So, sloping from the station-house,
He stole baby from the ’sylum.
As it was growing dark,
He sang, beside the fountain in
The crowded city park,
A rude camp-meeting anthem,
Which he had sung before,
While on his granny’s fragile raft
He drifted far from shore:—
De sea gabe away;
De chillen dey passed ober, for
De sea gabe away.
O Lord! I feel so glad,
It am always dark ’fo’ day;
So, honey, don’t yer be sad,
De sea ’ll gib away.”
Turned with a sudden start,
Gave one glance at the baby,
Then caught it to her heart;
While a substantial shadow
That was walking by her side
Seized Persimmons by the shoulder,
And while she shook him, cried:—
“You, Jawge Washington
Thomas Jefferson
Persimmons Henry Clay, be
Quick! splain yerself, chile,—
Stop dat ar fool smile,—
Whar you done been wid baby?”