Old Farmer Humpkins gathered his pumpkins
Into a heap by the banks of a river.
Chanticleer Dorking that way was stalking
Like a drum-major, with plumes all a-quiver.
Through corn-stalk thickets, scaring the crickets,
Twenty fine biddies were following after;
Scratching discreetly, picking bug neatly,
While all the chickadees tittered with laughter.
Left steps taking, red crest a-shaking,
Tail feather pennons behind him a-flying,
Chanticleer Dorking came in his walking
Where, by the river, the pumpkins were lying.
“Ho!” said he, swelling “this is worth telling!
Nothing more grand has been mentioned in story.
You must agree, dears, no bird but me, dears,
E’er had a golden throne raised to his glory!”
Each hand and chicken paused in its picking
Watching their chief while he made his ascension,
Saw his neck curving, saw his form swerving,
While his broad wings flapped a call full-for attention.
One note was sounded! all stood astounded!
Every bright pumpkin was taking to motion!
Slipping and sliding, rolling and gliding,
Chanticleer flopping in wildest emotion!
With a quick totter into the water
One pumpkin rolled with old Chantie on top it!
Bobbing and tipping, plunging and dipping
Downward it floated with no one to stop it!
“Cut, cut, ca-dah-cut! Cut, cut ca-dah-cut!”
Old hens and chickens were shrieking together,
Helplessly staring, clinging, despairing,
Chantie sailed off in the bright Autumn weather.
By the stone ridges, where the old bridge is,
Two ragged urchins their chip-boats were sailing,
When, round the corner, sad with dishonor,
Chant and his pumpkin-boat came, within hailing.
One cried, “A steamer!” with smokestack and streamer!
No, as I live, ’tis a rooster out boating!
A Thanksgiving dinner! I’ll be the winner!
Isn’t it jolly when chickens go floating!”
Bare feet went plashing, long sticks went splashing,
Minnows went darting in wild consternation!
Twirling and slipping, draggled and dripping
Vessel and cargo were brought to station!
“Here he is! Take him! Mother will bake him!
I’ll get the pumpkin and come along after”
Home they went proudly, Chant crying loudly,
While all the chickadees tittered with laughter.
*****
The renowned NH poet, Laura Garland Carr (1835-1925) was born Laura Garland on June 1835 in Barnstead New Hampshire to William & Mary Jane (Hall) Garland. She married 1st) 4 Sep 1858 in Nashua NH to Frederick W. Tripp. Frederick died 15 June 1859. Laura married 2nd) 4 September 1864 in Concord NH to Norman George Carr, son of William & Elmira Carr. He was a jeweler. They lived at 29 Thompson Street in Concord, New Hampshire. They had one child, a daughter who died at the age of 15.
Laura Garland Carr was a prodigious writer, and her poetry was published in a number of noted publications including “The Granite Monthly,” and newspapers across the United States.
Happy (belated) Thanksgiving!