Swazy folks and others; poems . The Kettle Song. T wish the kettle would sing again Just as it used to do;I wish it would sing of a lion slain—Of a pirate crew on the Spanish main—Of a clipper ship on the sea-way, high,With a cabin boy and the Boy was I—Just as it used to do. I wish the kettle would sing again, Just as it used to do,Of a little girl in a bonnet, saved by a prince from a hydra-headThat lurked in the corn that towered high,And the girl was She and the Prince was I— Just as it used to do. I wish the kettle would sing again, Just as it used to do—I wish it would sing of wa
Swazy folks and others; poems . The Kettle Song. T wish the kettle would sing again Just as it used to do;I wish it would sing of a lion slain—Of a pirate crew on the Spanish main—Of a clipper ship on the sea-way, high,With a cabin boy and the Boy was I—Just as it used to do. I wish the kettle would sing again, Just as it used to do,Of a little girl in a bonnet, saved by a prince from a hydra-headThat lurked in the corn that towered high,And the girl was She and the Prince was I— Just as it used to do. I wish the kettle would sing again, Just as it used to do—I wish it would sing of wars alarms,The booming of cannon and clash of armsOf a blue-clad boy where the strife ran highWith face to the steel and willing to die— Just as it used to do. I wish the kettle would sing again. Just as it used to lyrics it crooned and the tales it told—But the hearth is chill, and the years are old—The fancies it whispered have all taken wingAnd never again will the kettle sing Just as it used to do I ). The Kettles Song SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 25 The Street Musician. A vagabond! A rover in the street,A derelict upon a human sea,And scorned by those who passed with hurried feet, Who heeded not, nor heard, his piteous plea!But, O the song from his old reached the spot my memries linger in! He touched the strings as if with magic bow,And sweet it crooned above the din and all; It seemed to come from, O, so long ago,Across the years, a sympathetic call! It sang a song of fields and pleasant ways, And faces sweet I knew in other days. It called across the tortuous winding spanThat I have trod so long with wearied feet— The rocky path that leads from boy to man;He sang the song, so beautiful and sweet, Thats writ for those who have to sigh and roam; I Wonder, Do They Miss Their Boy At Home ? A vagabond, tis true, but glorified By those sweet strains from his old violin, That called across Times chasm, deep and reached the spot my memries l
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