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Not a collard is standing Each squash-vine am fell,
Nor reflect her soft blushes, Nor give smell for smell!
I'll not leave thee, lone cabbag©,
To die on the stem, Since I've eat all the others,
I'll do you like dem: So kindly I pull off
The leaves from the stalk, Since your mates ob de garden
Am now stems, white like chalk!
So quick may I follow,
If Dinah should die! And her eyes shut forebber.
How dis poor darkey 'd cry I When banjos am broken,
And collards all gone, Oh ! who den would lib in
Dis black world alone ?
Julius from Kentucky*
Come listen to me, while I sing
To you my little ditty, Of what this darkey did 'to bring
Himself into your city. And glad am I now to appear,
And deem the 'casion lucky, For 'tis not often that you hear
This Julius from Kentucky.