The News
Whut dat you whisperin’ keepin’ f’om me?
Don’t shut me out ‘cause I’s ol’ an’
can’t see.
Somep’n’ ‘s gone wrong dat’s a-causin’ you
dread,—
Don’t be afeared to tell—Whut! mastah dead?
Somebody brung de news early to-day,—
One of de sojers he led, do you say?
Did n’t he foller whah ol’ mastah led?
How kin he live w’en his leadah is dead?
Let me lay down awhile, dah by his bed;
I wants to t’ink,—hit ain’t cleah in my head:—
Killed while a-leadin’ his men to fight,—
Dat’s whut you said, ain’t it, did I hyeah right?
Mastah, my mastah, dead dah in de fiel’?
Lif’ me up some,—dah, jes’ so I kin kneel.
I was too weak to go wid him, dey said,
Well, now I’ll—fin’ him—so—mastah is
dead.
Yes, suh, I’s comin’ ez fas’ ez I kin,—
‘T was kin’ o’ da’k, but hit’s lightah agin:
P’omised yo’ pappy I’d allus tek keer
Of you,—yes, mastah,—I’s follerin’,—hyeah!
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