Ay, but I wronged thee, my brother, my brother;
    Ah, but I loved her, thy beautiful wife. 
  Shade of our father, and soul of our mother,
    Have I not paid for my love with my life?

  Dark was the night when, revengeful, I met you,
    Deep in the heart of a desolate land. 
  Warm was the life-blood which angrily wet you
    Sharp was the knife that I felt from your hand.

  Wept you, oh, wept you, alone by the river,
    When my stark carcass you secretly sank. 
  Ha, now I see that you tremble and shiver;
    ’T was but my spirit that passed when you shrank!

  Weep not, oh, weep not, ’t is over, ’t is over;
    Stir the dark weeds with the turn of the tide;
  Go, thou hast sent me forth, ever a rover,
    Rest and the sweet realm of heaven denied.

  Say a mass for my soul’s repose, my brother,
    Say a mass for my soul, I need it. 
  Sin of mine was it, and sin of no other,
    Mine was it all, but I pray you not heed it.

PHILOSOPHY

  I been t’inkin’ ’bout de preachah; whut he said de othah night,
    ‘Bout hit bein’ people’s dooty, fu’ to keep dey faces bright;
  How one ought to live so pleasant dat ouah tempah never riles,
    Meetin’ evahbody roun’ us wid ouah very nicest smiles.

  Dat ‘s all right, I ain’t a-sputin’ not a t’ing dat soun’s lak fac’,
    But you don’t ketch folks a-grinnin’ wid a misery in de back;
  An’ you don’t fin’ dem a-smilin’ w’en dey ’s hongry ez kin be,
    Leastways, dat ‘s how human natur’ allus seems to ’pear to me.

  We is mos’ all putty likely fu’ to have our little cares,
    An’ I think we ‘se doin’ fus’ rate w’en we jes’ go long and bears,
  Widout breakin’ up ouah faces in a sickly so’t o’ grin,
    W’en we knows dat in ouah innards we is p’intly mad ez sin.

  Oh dey ‘s times fu’ bein’ pleasant an’ fu’ goin’ smilin’ roun’,
    ‘Cause I don’t believe in people allus totin’ roun’ a frown,
  But it’s easy ‘nough to titter w’en de stew is smokin’ hot,
    But hit’s mighty ha’d to giggle w’en dey’s nuffin’ in de pot.

A PREFERENCE

  Mastah drink his ol’ Made’a,
    Missy drink huh sherry wine,
  Ovahseah lak his whiskey,
    But dat othah drink is mine,
      Des’ ‘lasses an’ watah, ‘lasses an’ watah.

  Wen you git a steamin’ hoe-cake
    On de table, go way, man! 
  ’D ain but one t’ing to go wid it,
    ’Sides de gravy in de pan,
      Dat ’s ‘lasses an’ watah, ‘lasses an’ watah.

  W’en hit ’s ‘possum dat you eatin’,
    ’Simmon beer is moughty sweet;
  But fu’ evahday consumin’
    ’D ain’t no mo’tal way to beat
      Des’ ‘lasses an’ watah, ‘lasses an’ watah.

  W’y de bees is allus busy,
    An’ ain’ got no time to was’? 
  Hit’s beca’se dey knows de honey
    Dey ‘s a makin’, gwine to tas’
      Lak ‘lasses an’ watah, ‘lasses an’ watah.