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I'M king of the road! I gather
My toll on the world's highways.
They pave the street for my royal feet,
And the man in the wagon pays.
With my sturdy heels I laugh at wheels;
I hurry at no man's will,

For the rich who ride my meat provide;
They must feed the king to his fill.

I'm king of the road! Before me
My way lies over the land,

With a wild rose train from meadow and lane

And the hail of a song-bird band.

They are slaves who team by wagon or

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Go to sleep, my little pickaninny, -
Brer' Fox'll catch you if yo' don't;
Slumber on de bosom of yo' ole Mammy
Jinny,-

Mammy's gwine to swat yo' if you won't.

Sh! sh! sh!

Lu-la, lu-la lu-la lu-la lu!

Underneaf de silver Southern moon;
Rock-a-by! hush-a-by!
Mammy's little baby,
Mammy's little Alabama Coon.

Dis hyar little Alabama Coon

Specks to be a growed-up man some day; Dey's gwine to christen me byar very

soon,

My name's gwine to be "Henry Clay." When I's big, I's gwine to wed a yellow gal; Den we 'll hab pickaninnies ob our own; Den dat yellow gal shall rock 'em on her bosom,

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1 See, also, p. 760.

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'Possum fo' yo' breakfast when yo' sleepin' Mid wildering mazes of spinach and daisies,

time is done,

Sleep, Kentucky Babe!

And Gretchen is holding it fast.

HATTIE WHITNEY

V

"A SONG THAT OLD WAS SUNG"

THE OLD SEXTON

NIGH to a grave that was newly made, Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade;

His work was done, and he paused to wait
The funeral train at the open gate.
A relic of bygone days was he,

And his locks were white as the foamy sea;

And these words came from his lips so thin: "I gather them in: I gather them in.

"I gather them in ! for man and boy,
Year after year of grief and joy,
I've builded the houses that lie around,
In every nook of this burial ground;
Mother and daughter, father and son,
Come to my solitude, one by one:
But come they strangers or come they kin
I gather them in, I gather them in.

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