ON a noiseless street stood a crackerless lad with a screechless fife and a headless drum,
Venting his glee in a voiceless shout, as a blareless band, all still and dumb,
Came down the length of the avenue, and a bugle corps blew a noteless blare,
While a screechless rocket with noiseless hiss cut a fireless path through the silent air.
The blareless band played a soundless tune and the crackerless lad gave a voiceless shout
As the rippling folds of the unfurled flag from the upheld standard fluttered out.
“Hurrah!” he cried with a voiceless cry, put forth from his lips in a speechless way.
“Hurrah for the guns of Lexington and the noiseless Independence Day!”
Then far away down the village street a smokeless gun belched a soundless roar,
A popless cracker fizzless died, and the band played a blareless tune once more;
The clickless guns of the village guards with a thudless sound dropped on the ground.
The marshal left his neighless horse, and the voiceless mob ranged all around;
A fizzless pinwheel silent whirred, and the drum corps joined in a tootless screech,
The lips of the village speaker moved in the tongueless strains of a wordless speech.
Then a graceless benediction fell, and the crackerless lad, in a voiceless way,
Gave a soundless shout for Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day.
Oh, the pulseless thrill of the noiseless guns and the tootless fifes and the headless drums,
The heartless joy of the crackerless lad, as the soundless pageant noiseless comes
Down the village street, and the sightless glow of the hissless rocket’s fireless glare
With noiseless swish from the silent earth through the measureless breadth of the lightless air!
But a fingerless youth of the olden time, when crackers popped and cannons roared,
Looked on the scene with much disgust and the look of a lad who is greatly bored;
And he cried aloud—’twas the only sound that was heard, not made in a voiceless way:
“Dog-gone the guns at Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day!”
CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE
I’M only ’ist a little girl,
An’ w’en I want to play
An’ Mamma says don’t go outside
Our yard this livelong day,
An’ w’en some other girls ’ey come
An’ pester me to go,
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?
An’ ’en w’en she goes out sometimes
An’ says: “Now go to bed
At eight o’clock this very night,”
I ’member what she said.
But w’en the mantel clock strikes eight
An’ I don’t want to go,
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?
An’ w’en she says: “Now, don’t go near
The cookie jar this day,”
I want some cookies awful much
An’ try to stay away.
But all the time I’m hungry for
Some cookies, an’ I go—
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?
I’m only ’ist a little girl
Not more ’n six years old,
An’ my, I always try to do
E’zactly as I’m told.
But w’en I make ’ist one mistake,
My Ma ought not to go
An’ punish me, ’cause I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?
THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL
OUR Uncle Bill’s a bachelur, an’ it’s an awful shame,
’Cuz he knows stories about bears an’ knows ’em all by name.
An’ growls ’ist like a really one an’ makes you think a bear
Is underneath th’ table, but of course it isn’t there.
An’ when he takes you on his knee he talks ’ist like a book
An’ after w’ile your eyes get big an’ you’re a-scairt to look
W’en he says: “Nen a bear come out an’ ’ist went Boo-oo-oo!”
Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you.