A VERMONT PASTURE
YOU have to work your tillage land
And mow and hoe and plow it,
But as for pasture, all you do
Is jest to sheep or cow it;
And you can walk jest where you please,
Instead of 'round the edges,
And Sunday you can go and set
Upon the pasture ledges.
I've seen a lot of right good folks
Whose names I ain't repeating,
Go through the bars on Sunday morn,
Instead of off to meeting;
And when a preacher hits too hard
With his dogmatic sledges,
You might be saved if you should spend
A Sunday on the ledges.
You cross the brook on stepping stones
You've hauled from out the mowing;
You own the stones and own the brook,
Although it keeps agoing;
Then past the logged-off piece you climb,
That's fenced with blackberry hedges,
And then you sight the butnut tree,
And up beyond, the ledges.
At last you're there-you see your house
And barn, and both your medders,
And 'way off north the other farm
You rent to Elmer Cheddars;
You feel as fine as temperance tots
Who've jest signed six more pledges-
The world, By Gol! is quite a place
From Bagley's pasture ledges.
Your wife and boy are both along,
And whilst you've been a-looking
They've fixed it so you'll all go snacks
On mother's put-up cooking;
By George! that razberry pie is good,
Them great,
You stand up straight and give a stretch,
And then go 'round by mother,
And quote from Waldo or from Walt
Some outdoor truth or other;
You're jest as full of nature thoughts
As England is of hedges-
Thoreau, he loved the woods of Maine,
But Bagley loves his ledges.
My! such a peaceful fambly day,
It makes you Congos Quakers;
You can't have no such day as that
On top of tillage acres;
It beats a day on Woodstock Green,
Or 'mongst the Highgate sedges;
There ain't no day that's like a day
Upon your pasture ledges.
-DANIEL L. CADY