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BLUE GRASS BALLADS
DOWN AT THE ROCKY SPRING.
A winding path that tumbled down
A steep and grassy hill, Found, at the foot, a rocky spring
Where I have drunk my fill Of water pure and cold as that
Of which the prophet wrote, When Israel drank, beside the rock,
That good old Moses smote.
A little house of rough-hewn stone;
A low and heavy door; A roof o'ergrown with greenest moss ;
Of solid rock the floor. I've shadowed old Aunt Easter there,
And followed down the path, To find her busy, skimming milk,
And met her feigned wrath.
" You little scamp; I know yo' tricks;
You thinks you's fine as silk; I knows you comes er ha'ntin' 'roun'
Fur some er dis yer milk. But you is gwinter miss yo' lick
Dis time, I tells you now; Kase you ain't wuff yo' daily saltó
Dat's whut yo' mammy 'low."