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My Dancin’

What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'at makes me ketch my breath
And ripples up my backbone tel I’m tickled most to death?—
Kindo’ like that sweet-sick feelin’, in the long sweep of a swing,
The first you ever swung in, with yer first sweet-heart, i jing!—
Yer first picnic—yer first ice-cream—yer first o’ _ever’thing_
‘At happened ’fore yer dancin’-days wuz over!
 
I never understood it—and I s’pose I never can,—
But right in town here, yisterd’y, I heerd a pore blindman
A-fiddlin’ old 'Gray Eagle’—_And_-sir! I jes stopped my load
O’ hay and listened at him—yes, and watched the way he 'bow’d,'—
And back I went, plum forty year’, with boys and girls I knowed
And loved, long 'fore my dancin’-days wuz over!—
 
At high noon in yer city,—with yer blame Magnetic-Cars
A-hummin’ and a-screetchin’ past—and bands and G.A.R.'s
A-marchin’—and fire-ingines.—_All_ the noise, the whole street through,
Wuz lost on me!—I only heerd a whipperwill er two,
It 'peared-like, kindo’ callin’ 'crost the darkness and the dew,
Them nights afore my dancin’-days wuz over.
 
T’uz Chused’y-night at Wetherell’s, er We’nsd’y-night at Strawn’s,
Er Fourth-o’-July-night at uther Tomps’s house er John’s!—
With old Lew Church from Sugar Crick, with that old fiddle he
Had sawed clean through the Army, from Atlanty to the sea—
And yit he’d fetched, her home ag’in, so’s he could play fer me
One’t more afore my dancin’-days wuz over!
 
The woods 'at’s all ben cut away wuz growin’ same as then;
The youngsters all wuz boys ag’in 'at’s now all oldish men;
And all the girls 'at _then_ wuz girls—I saw 'em, one and all,
As _plain_ as then—the middle-sized, the short-and-fat, and tall—
And, ‘peared-like, I danced ’Tucker’ fer 'em up and down the wall
Jes like afore my dancin’ days wuz over!
 
* * * * *
 
Yer _po_-leece they can holler 'Say! _you_, Uncle! drive ahead!—
You can’t use _all_ the right-o’-way!'—fer that wuz what they said!—
But, jes the same,—in spite of all ‘at you call ’interprise
And prog-gress of _you_-folks Today,' we’re all of _fambly-ties_—
We’re all got feelin’s fittin’ fer the _tears_ 'at’s in our eyes
Er the _smiles_ afore our dancin’-days is over.
Other works by James Whitcomb Riley...



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