But ere I go to be a ghost,
What bliss—could’st thou tell me thou dost—
Sweet Tirzah Ann—
Think on this meloncholly man.
He didn’t sing but one more piece after this. I don’t remember the words for it was a long piece. Josiah insists that it was as long as Milton’s Paradise Lost.
Says I, “don’t be a fool Josiah, you never read it.”
“I have hefted the book,” says he, “and know the size of it, and I know it was as long if not longer.”
Says I agin, in a cool collected manner, “don’t be a fool Josiah, there wasn’t more than 25 or 30 verses at the outside.” That was when we was talkin’ it over to the breakfast table this mornin’, but I confess it did seem awful long there in the dead of the night; though I wouldn’t encourage Josiah by sayin’ so, he loves the last word now, and I don’t know what he would be if I encouraged him in it. I can’t remember the words, as I said, but the chorus of each verse was
Oh! I languish for thee, Oh! I languish for thee, wherever that I be,
Oh! Oh! Oh! I am languishin’ for thee, I am languishin’ for thee.