The Poetry Corner

Hunting Song

By Paul Laurence Dunbar

Tek a cool night, good an' cleah, Skiff o' snow upon de groun'; Jes' 'bout fall-time o' de yeah W'en de leaves is dry an brown; Tek a dog an' tek a axe, Tek a lantu'n in yo' han', Step light whah de switches cracks, Fu' dey 's huntin' in de lan'. Down thoo de valleys an' ovah de hills, Into de woods whah de 'simmon-tree grows, Wakin' an' skeerin' de po' whippo'wills, Huntin' fu' coon an' fu' 'possum we goes. Blow dat ho'n dah loud an' strong, Call de dogs an' da'kies neah; Mek its music cleah an' long, So de folks at home kin hyeah. Blow it twell de hills an' trees Sen's de echoes tumblin' back; Blow it twell de back'ard breeze Tells de folks we 's on de track. Coons is a-ramblin' an' 'possums is out; Look at dat dog; you could set on his tail! Watch him now--steady,--min'--what you 's about, Bless me, dat animal's got on de trail! Listen to him ba'kin now! Dat means bus'ness, sho 's you bo'n; Ef he's struck de scent I 'low Dat ere 'possum's sholy gone. Knowed dat dog fu' fo'teen yeahs, An' I nevah seed him fail Wen he sot dem flappin' eahs An' went off upon a trail. Run, Mistah 'Possum, an' run, Mistah Coon, No place is safe fu' yo' ramblin' to-night; Mas' gin' de lantu'n an' God gin de moon, An' a long hunt gins a good appetite. Look hyeah, folks, you hyeah dat change? Dat ba'k is sha'per dan de res'. Dat ere soun' ain't nothin' strange,-- Dat dog's talked his level bes'. Somep'n' 's treed, I know de soun'. Dah now,--wha 'd I tell you? see! Dat ere dog done run him down; Come hyeah, he'p cut down dis tree. Ah, Mistah 'Possum, we got you at las'-- Need n't play daid, laying dah on de groun'; Fros' an' de 'simmons has made you grow fas',-- Won't he be fine when he's roasted up brown!