The Hoosier Folk-Child.

The Hoosier Folk-Child - all unsung -         Unlettered all of mind and tongue;         Unmastered, unmolested - made         Most wholly frank and unafraid:         Untaught of any school - unvexed         Of law or creed - all unperplexed -         Unsermoned, aye, and undefiled,         An all imperfect-perfect child -         A type which (Heaven forgive us!) you         And I do tardy honor to,         And so, profane the sanctities         Of our most sacred memories.         Who, growing thus from boy to man,         That dares not be American?         Go, Pride, with prudent underbuzz -         Go whistle! as the Folk-Child does.         The Hoosier Folk-Child's world is not         Much wider than the stable-lot         Between the house and highway fence         That bounds the home his father rents.         His playmates mostly are the ducks         And chickens, and the boy that "shucks         Corn by the shock," and talks of town,         And whether eggs are "up" or "down,"         And prophesies in boastful tone         Of "owning horses of his own,"         And "being his own man," and "when         He gets to be, what he'll do then." -         Takes out his jack-knife dreamily         And makes the Folk-Child two or three         Crude corn-stalk figures, - a wee span         Of horses and a little man.         The Hoosier Folk-Child's eyes are wise         And wide and round as Brownies' eyes:         The smile they wear is ever blent         With all-expectant wonderment, -         On homeliest things they bend a look         As rapt as o'er a picture-book,         And seem to ask, whate'er befall,         The happy reason of it all: -         Why grass is all so glad a green,         And leaves - and what their lispings mean; -         Why buds grow on the boughs, and why         They burst in blossom by and by -         As though the orchard in the breeze         Had shook and popped its popcorn-trees,         To lure and whet, as well they might,         Some seven-league giant's appetite!         The Hoosier Folk-Child's chubby face         Has scant refinement, caste or grace, -         From crown to chin, and cheek to cheek,         It bears the grimy water-streak         Of rinsings such as some long rain         Might drool across the window-pane         Wherethrough he peers, with troubled frown,         As some lorn team drives by for town.         His brow is elfed with wispish hair,         With tangles in it here and there,         As though the warlocks snarled it so         At midmirk when the moon sagged low,         And boughs did toss and skreek and shake,         And children moaned themselves awake,         With fingers clutched, and starting sight         Blind as the blackness of the night!         The Hoosier Folk-Child! - Rich is he         In all the wealth of poverty!         He owns nor title nor estate,         Nor speech but half articulate, -         He owns nor princely robe nor crown; -         Yet, draped in patched and faded brown,         He owns the bird-songs of the hills -         The laughter of the April rills;         And his are all the diamonds set.         In Morning's dewy coronet, -         And his the Dusk's first minted stars         That twinkle through the pasture-bars,         And litter all the skies at night         With glittering scraps of silver light; -         The rainbow's bar, from rim to rim,         In beaten gold, belongs to him.