Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field - HTML preview

PLEASE NOTE: This is an HTML preview only and some elements such as links or page numbers may be incorrect.
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.

 

THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE

 

      Play that my knee was a calico mare

      Saddled and bridled for Bumpville;

      Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare,

      And gallop away to Bumpville!

      I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat,

      For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet,

      And many adventures you're likely to meet

      As you journey along to Bumpville.

 

      This calico mare both gallops and trots

      While whisking you off to Bumpville;

      She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots,

      In the tortuous road to Bumpville;

      And sometimes this strangely mercurial steed

      Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed,

      Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed,

      When one is en route to Bumpville!

 

      She's scared of the cars when the engine goes "Toot!"

      Down by the crossing at Bumpville;

      You'd better look out for that treacherous brute

      Bearing you off to Bumpville!

      With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels,

      And executes jigs and Virginia reels—

      Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels

      Dancing so wildly to Bumpville!

 

      It's bumpytybump and it's jiggytyjog,

      Journeying on to Bumpville

      It's over the hilltop and down through the bog

      You ride on your way to Bumpville;

      It's rattletybang over boulder and stump,

      There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump,

      And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump,

      Mile after mile to bumpville!

 

      Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing

      Making the journey to Bumpville,

      So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring

      An end to this ride to Bumpville;

      For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint,

      The calico mare must be blowing and faint—

      What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't!

      So play we have got to Bumpville!