Mary at the Farm and Book of Recipes Compiled during Her Visit - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
Der Weisseech schteht noch an der Dhier-- Macht Schatte iwwer's Dach: Die Drauwerank is ah noch grie'-- Un's Amschel-Nescht--guk juscht mol hi'-- O was is dess en Sach!
Do bin ich gange in die Schul, Wo ich noch war gans klee'; Dort war der Meeschter in seim Schtuhl, Dort war sei' Wip, un dort sei' Ruhl,-- Ich kann's noch Alles sch'.
Die lange Desks rings an der Wand-- Die grose Schieler drum; Uf eener Seit die grose Mad, Un dort die Buwe net so bleed-- Guk, wie sie piepe rum!
Oh horcht, ihr Leit, wu nooch mir lebt, Ich schreib eich noch des Schtick: Ich warn eich, droll eich, gebt doch Acht, Un memmt uf immer gut enacht, Des Schulhaus an der Krick!
[Footnote A: From "Harbaugh's Harfe." Published by the Publication and Sunday School Board of the Reformed Church, Philadelphia, Pa. Used by permission.]
THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE AT THE CREEK.
Today it is just twenty years, Since I began to roam; Now, safely back, I stand once more, Before the quaint old school-house door, Close by my father's home.
I've been in many houses since, Of marble built, and brick; Though grander far, their aim they miss, To lure heart's old love from this Old school-house at the creek.
The white-oak stands before the door, And shades the roof at noon; The grape-vine, too, is fresh and green; The robin's nest!--Ah, hark!--I ween That is the same old tune!
'Twas here I first attended school, When I was very small; There was the Master on his stool, There was his whip and there his rule-- I seem to see it all.
The long desks ranged along the walls, With books and inkstands crowned; Here on this side the large girls sat, And there the tricky boys on that-- See! how they peep around!
Ye, who shall live when I am dead-- Write down my wishes quick-- Protect it, love it, let it stand, A way-mark in this changing land-- That school-house at the creek.
HEEMWEH.
Ich wees net was die Ursach is-- Wees net, warum ich's dhu: 'N jedes Johr mach ich der Weg Der alte Heemet zu; Hab weiter nix zu suche dort-- Kee' Erbschaft un kee' Geld; Un doch treibt mich des Heemgefiehl So schtark wie alle Welt; Nor'd schtart ich ewe ab un geh, Wie owe schun gemeldt.
Wie nacher da.s.s ich k.u.mm zum Ziel, Wie schtarker will ich geh, For eppes in mei'm Herz werd letz Un dhut m'r kreislich weh.
Der letschte Hiwel schpring ich nuf; Un ep ich drowe bin, Schtreck ich mich uf so hoch ich kann Un guk mit Luschte hin; Ich seh's alt Schtee'haus dorch die Beem, Un wott ich war schunm drin.
Wie gleich ich selle Babble Beem, Sie schtehn wie Brieder dar; Un uf'm Gippel--g'wiss ich leb!
Hockt alleweil 'n Schtaar!
'S Gippel biegt sich--guk, wie's gaunscht-- 'R hebt sich awer fescht; Ich seh sei' rothe Fliegle plehn, Wann er sei' Feddere wescht; Will wette, da.s.s sei' Fraale hot Uf sellem Baam 'n Nescht!
Guk! werklich, ich bin schier am Haus!-- Wie schnell geht doch die Zeit!
Wann m'r so in Gedanke geht.
So wees m'r net wie weit.
Dort is d'r Schhap, die Walschkornkrip, Die Seiderpress dort draus; Dort is die Scheier, un dort die Schpring-- Frisch quellt des Wa.s.ser raus; Un guk! die sehm alt Klapbord-Fens, Un's Dheerle vor'm Haus.
Zwee Blatz sin do uf dare Bortsch, Die halt ich hoch in Acht, Bis meines Lebens Sonn versinkt In schtiller Dodtes-Nacht!
Wo ich vum alte Vaterhaus 'S erscht mol bin gange fort.
Schtand mei' Mammi weinend da, An sellem Rigel dort: Un nix is mir so heilig nau Als grade seller Ort.
Was macht's da.s.s ich so dort hi' guk, An sell End vun der Bank!
Weescht du's? Mei' Herz is noch net dodt, Ich wees es, Got sei Dank!
Wie manchmal sa.s.s mai Dady dort, Am Summer-Nochmiddag, Die Hande uf der Schoos gekreizt, Sei Schtock bei Seite lag.
Was hot er dort im Schtille g'denkt?
Wer mecht es wisse--sag?
HOME-SICK NESS.
I know not what the reason is: Where'er I dwell or roam, I make a pilgrimage each year, To my old childhood home.
Have nothing there to give or get-- No legacy, no gold-- Yet by some home-attracting power I'm evermore controlled; This is the way the homesick do, I often have been told.
As nearer to the spot I come More sweetly am I drawn; And something in my heart begins To urge me faster on.
Ere quite I've reached the last hilltop-- You'll smile at me, I ween!-- I stretch myself high as I can, To catch the view serene-- The dear old stone house through the trees With shutters painted green!
How do I love those poplar trees; What tall and stalely things!
See! on the top of one just now A starling sits and sings.
He'll fall!--the twig bends with his weight!
He likes that danger best.
I see the red upon his wings,-- Dark s.h.i.+ning is the rest.
I ween his little wife has built On that same tree her nest.
See! really I am near the house; How short the distance seems!
There is no sense of time when one Goes musing in his dreams.
There is the shop--the corn-crib, too-- The cider-press--just see!
The barn--the spring with drinking cup Hung up against the tree.
The yard-fence--and the little gate Just where it used to be.
Two spots on this old friendly porch I love, nor can forget, Till dimly in the night of death My life's last sun shall set!
When first I left my father's house, One summer morning bright, My mother at that railing wept Till I was out of sight!
