Ben King's Verse/Down the Mississippi

Oh, de ole plantation landin', On de Mississipi sho', 'Pears es if seed ole massa Standin' waitin' dar once mo'-- Back aways to whar de cabin's     Almos' hid by lilac trees-- Seems es ef I h'yard po' missus Singin' old-time melodies.

Hollyhocks en honeysuckles Grow en bloom along de way, Leadin' up dar to de cabin; But de ole folks, whar are dey? An' de winin' path a-leadin' Roun' de house; sometimes, a spell, Seems es ef I h'yard de win'less H'istin' watah f'om de well.

Cap'n, kain yo' stop de boat, sah? Stop de boat, kase well I kno I has done gone down dis rivah 'Bout es far's hi keah ter go. You kin lan' me soon's yo's ready, En I 'low I'll fin' mah way Back to dat ole shattah'd homestead Whar de sun shines froo to-day.

Massa Lincoln's gunboats let' it     Jais dat way in sixty-three; Cose dey did some monsus damage, But dey set us dahkies free. How I 'membah po' ole missus Standin' n'yah de cabin do' En she say: "Yo' gwine off, 'Rasmus?     Ain' yo' gwine come back no mo'?"

Den I sade: "Not zackly, missus;     Somepin's done ketched ontah me. Dar's a big stampede ob darkies      From Kaintuck en Tennessee. When de boat comes up de ribbah      Wistlin' 'roun' de lower bow I mus' leebe ole plantation--      Yas, must say good-bye en go."

Massa so't o' bowed his haid, sah, Sittin' in 'is ole-ahm-chair; Missus, standin' on de do'step Caught de sunlight in her hair; An' de breezes from de orchard 'Peared to rustle froo de trees, En I h'yard old Judy weepin' Wid de chillun 'roun' her knees.

Tale yo' I was mighty sad, sah, But I sort o' walked away. Years en years ago it was, sah; Now I'se wanderin' back to-day. 'Deed I'se lookin' back en gazin' Mos'ly now each side de stream. Lan'marks gittin' mighty natch'l,     'Clar hit 'pears jais like a dream. Dar's de place! Dat's hit, dar, cap'n,     Dis yere side de ole ho'n bow; 'Low yo' need n't stop de steamah; Jais slack up a leetle--slow. *    *     *     *     * Dar's de same ole steps a-climbin' F'om de landin' to de hill. Lan' ob goodness! Ef de bushes Ain't a-growin' thickah still.

In de lan' ob de forgotten; Not a soul along de hill; Not a voice to wake yo' gladness; Everything do 'pear so still; Not an echo to a footstep; Not an ansah to a call 'Sep' a mockin'-bird a-singin' To de lonesomeness--dat's all.