_Iry's_ the one 'at stands Up there a-lookin' so mild An' meek--with his hat in his hands, Like such a 'bediant child-- (_Sakes-alive_!)--An' _Billy_ he sets In the cheer an' holds onto Jo an' _sweats_ Hisse'f, a-lookin' so good! Ho-ho! Iry an' Billy an' Jo!
Yit the way them boys, you know, Usen to jes turn in An' fight over that dog Jo Wuz a burnin'-shame-an'-a-sin !-- Iry _he'd_ argy 'at, by gee-whizz! That-air little Jo-dog wuz _his_!-- An' Billy _he'd_ claim it wuzn't so-- 'Cause the dog wuz _his'n_!--An' at it they'd go, Nip-an'-tugg, tooth-an'-toenail, you know-- Iry an' Billy an' Jo!
But their Pa--(He wuz the marshal then) He 'tended-like 'at he _jerked 'em up_; An' got a jury o' Brickyard men An' helt a _trial_ about the pup: An' _he_ says _he_ jes like to a-died When the rest o' us town-boys _testified_-- Regardin', you know, Iry an' Billy an' Jo.--
'Cause we all knowed, when _the Gypsies_ they Camped down here by the crick last Fall, They brung Jo with 'em, an' give him away To Iry an' Billy fer nothin' at all!-- So the jury fetched in the _verdick_ so Jo he ain't _neether_ o' theirn fer _shore_-- He's _both_ their dog, an' jes no more! An' so They've quit quarrelin' long ago, Iry an' Billy an' Jo.
In its color, shade and shine, 'T was a summer warm as wine, With an effervescent flavoring of flowered bough and vine, And a fragrance and a taste Of ripe roses gone to waste, And a dreamy sense of sun- and moon- and star-light interlaced.
'Twas a summer such as broods O'er enchanted solitudes, Where the hand of Fancy leads us through voluptuary moods, And with lavish love out-pours All the wealth of out-of-doors, And woos our feet o'er velvet paths and honeysuckle floors.
'Twas a summertime long dead,-- And its roses, white and red, And its reeds and water-lilies down along the river-bed,-- O they all are ghostly things-- For the ripple never sings, And the rocking lily never even rustles as it rings!
O her beautiful eyes! they are as blue as the dew On the violet's bloom when the morning is new, And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun O'er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows run: As the morn shirts the mists and the clouds from the skies-- So I stand in the dawn of her beautiful eyes.