And the fields are waste and barren,
Where the sugar cane did grow,
Where they tilled the corn and cotton,
In the years of long ago;
And along the piney hillside,
Where the hound pursued the slave,
In the dreary years of bondage,
There he fills an humble grave.
THE OLD DESERTED CABIN
Dis ole deserted cabin
Remin’s me ob de past;
An’ when I gits ter t’inkin’,
De tears comes t’ick an’ fast.
I wunner whur’s A’nt Doshy,
I wunner whur’s Brur Jim;
I hyeahs no corn-songs ringin’,
I hyeahs no Gospel hymn.
Dis ole deserted cabin
Am tumblin’ in decay;
An’ all its ole-time dwellers
Hab gone de silent way.
Dey voices hushed in silence,
De cabin drear an’ lone;
An’ dey who used ter lib hyeah
Long sense is dead an’ gone.
J. Mord Allen’s poems and tales in dialect are worthy of distinction. They are executed in
