Marthy's Younkit Poem Rhyme Scheme

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The mountain brook sung lonesomelike and loitered on its way	A
Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play	A
The wild flowers uv the hillside bent down their heads to hear	B
The music uv the little feet that had somehow grown so dear	C
The magpies like winged shadders wuz a flutterin' to an' fro	D
Among the rocks an' holler stumps in the ragged gulch below	D
The pines an' hemlocks tosst their boughs like they wuz arms and made	E
Soft sollum music on the slope where he had often played	E
But for these lonesome sollum voices on the mountain side	F
There wuz no sound the summer day that Marthy's younkit died	F
	-
We called him Marthy's younkit for Marthy wuz the name	G
Uv her ez wuz his mar the wife uv Sorry Tom the same	G
Ez taught the school house on the hill way back in '	-
When she marr'd Sorry Tom wich owned the Gosh all Hemlock mine	H
And Marthy's younkit wuz their first wich bein' how it meant	I
The first on Red Hoss Mountain wuz truly a' event	I
The miners sawed off short on work ez soon ez they got word	J
That Dock Devine allowed to Casey what had just occurred	J
We loaded up an' whooped around until we all wuz hoarse	K
Salutin' the arrival wich weighed ten pounds uv course	K
	-
Three years and sech a pretty child his mother's counterpart	L
Three years an' sech a holt ez he had got on every heart	L
A peert an' likely little tyke with hair ez red ez gold	M
A laughin' toddlin' everywhere 'nd only three years old	M
Up yonder sometimes to the store an' sometimes down the hill	N
He kited boys is boys you know you couldn't keep him still	N
An' there he'd play beside the brook where purpul wild flowers grew	O
An' the mountain pines an' hemlocks a kindly shadder threw	O
An' sung soft sollum toons to him while in the gulch below	D
The magpies like strange sperrits went flutterin' to an' fro	D
	-
Three years an' then the fever come it wuzn't right you know	D
With all us old ones in the camp for that little child to go	D
It's right the old should die but that a harmless little child	P
Should miss the joy uv life an' love that can't be reconciled	P
That's what we thought that summer day an' that is what we said	Q
Ez we looked upon the piteous face uv Marthy's younkit dead	Q
But for his mother's sobbin' the house wuz very still	N
An' Sorry Tom wuz lookin' through the winder down the hill	N
To the patch beneath the hemlocks where his darlin' used to play	A
An' the mountain brook sung lonesomelike an' loitered on its way	A
	-
A preacher come from Roarin' Crick to comfort 'em an' pray	A
'Nd all the camp wuz present at the obsequies next day	A
A female teacher staged it twenty miles to sing a hymn	R
An' we jined her in the chorus big husky men an' grim	R
Sung Jesus Lover uv my Soul an' then the preacher prayed	E
An' preacht a sermon on the death uv that fair blossom laid	E
Among them other flowers he loved wich sermon set sech weight	S
On sinners bein' always heeled against the future state	S
That though it had been fashionable to swear a perfec' streak	T
There warn't no swearin' in the camp for pretty nigh a week	T
	-
Last thing uv all four strappin' men took up the little load	U
An' bore it tenderly along the windin' rocky road	U
To where the coroner had dug a grave beside the brook	V
In sight uv Marthy's winder where the same could set an' look	V
An' wonder if his cradle in that green patch long an' wide	F
Wuz ez soothin' ez the cradle that wuz empty at her side	F
An' wonder if the mournful songs the pines wuz singin' then	W
Wuz ez tender ez the lullabies she'd never sing again	W
'Nd if the bosom of the earth in wich he lay at rest	X
Wuz half ez lovin' 'nd ez warm ez wuz his mother's breast	X
	-
The camp is gone but Red Hoss Mountain rears its kindly head	Q
An' looks down sort uv tenderly upon its cherished dead	Q
'Nd I reckon that through all the years that little boy wich died	F
Sleeps sweetly an' contentedly upon the mountain side	F
That the wild flowers uv the summer time bend down their heads to hear	B
The footfall uv a little friend they know not slumbers near	C
That the magpies on the sollum rocks strange flutterin' shadders make	Y
An' the pines an' hemlocks wonder that the sleeper doesn't wake	Y
That the mountain brook sings lonesomelike an' loiters on its way	A
Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play	A

Eugene Field

Marthy's Younkit Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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