He dance so fas', I tell you he paralyze dem folks;
Lak a wagon-wheel a-gwine 'twell ycu des can't see de spokes!
Wid shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, en many a turn en twist,
His form a-gittin' misty, en de fiddler in de mist!
De lights gone out; de owl hoot; de dogs begin ter bark,
En Br'er Williams lookin' ghos'-like wid dat dancin' in de dark!
Out do winders jumped de people; de mules commence ter prance,
En 'twuz, "Good Lawd, he'p Br'er Williams, fer de devil's in de dance!"
Dey galloped 'cross de country — de wagons rattlin' 'long;
But still heerd dat fiddle gwine in a mos' ondyin' song!
En lookin' back, dey sighted in de skeery-lookin' light
Br'er Williams still a-dancin' lak a shadder in de night.
En in de dancin' season, f'um de valley en de hill
Dey kin see Br'er Williams dancin'—heah de fiddle playin' still,
En heah de night owls hootin', see de ole ha'nts stan'in' roun',
Whilst Br'er Williams' ghos' is movin' ter de fiddle's squeaky soun'.
En dar he'll dance ferever, w'en de fros' is fallin gray;
En dat terrifyin' fiddler makes de same ol' fiddle play;
You kin heah de no' a-creakin', en de win' all mo'nful sighs;
En we don't want no mo' dancin' whar de devil wins de prize!
The Courtin'.
By James Russell Lowell.
God makes sech nights, all white an' still
Fur 'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
All silence an' all glisten.
