Country and river-side poems . er and his traps Old Lija Boon dont shoot to fail, He wings the flying duck, And does the same with snipe and quail,— Hes never out of luck; He shoots the rabbit as it leaps. When snow is on the ground. And muskrats where the river sleeps Fast in his traps are found. Old Lija Boon is mighty slick In ketchin turkeys, too, Them birds is shy and hard to trick, But Lij knows what to do; He digs a trench beneath the rail At bottom of a pen. Strews corn an crums, an—head an tail— Them birds go pickin in. Old Lija Boon hes got em then Where they will not git out. They s
Country and river-side poems . er and his traps Old Lija Boon dont shoot to fail, He wings the flying duck, And does the same with snipe and quail,— Hes never out of luck; He shoots the rabbit as it leaps. When snow is on the ground. And muskrats where the river sleeps Fast in his traps are found. Old Lija Boon is mighty slick In ketchin turkeys, too, Them birds is shy and hard to trick, But Lij knows what to do; He digs a trench beneath the rail At bottom of a pen. Strews corn an crums, an—head an tail— Them birds go pickin in. Old Lija Boon hes got em then Where they will not git out. They stretch their necks in that high pen, An chirp an prance about; An since they hold their heads so high, Just like some people do. An wont stoop down, an can not fly, Them turkeys dont git thro. Old Lija Boon he seems to me An ally-gory man. For when I look Im sure to see Things workin on his plan; For some is hunters on this ball. An some is fast in traps. Some swallow down the hook and all. Somes caught by pickin For always, in her work and Nature loiter still for man. Page Twenty-nine. THE TRAPPER AND HIS TRAPS Page Forty-one Of Lija Boon I always thinkWhen walkin thro the towns,I see young swells, who swear an drink,Upon their pleasure rouns;Sometimes I look in where they playWith chips, an cards, and craps,An to myself I always say,Young turkeys in the traps. Of Lija Boon I think agin When sittin in the court I see em bring the prisner in Where witnesses report; And as the guilt comes out so plain An draws the halter-wrap, I say it with a chokin pain, That turkeys in a trap. Old Lija Boon comes to my mind When Counts in search of game Come here a Yankee girl to find Wholl buy a title-name; And when the Count has got the right To hold her on his lap, I say in shame, and not in spite, Nother turkey in a trap. Old Lija Boon flits like a ghost And hants most every place. He lures by words, he traps by post, Compels, or wins with grace; Sometimes he baits
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