  Yes, I see him, still he's sitting By his little cabin door! Ah! but Dinah's gone! She left him For the shining, golden shore; Left old Isham where he's dreaming With his head bowed deep and low, Thinking only now of Dinah, And the happy long ago. Long the kinky wool was creamy, Now as white as any snow; And his eyes are red and dreamy, Thinking of the long ago. Massa sleeps beneath the ivy, Missus, where the daisies blow; Near them Dinah, and old Isham's Dreaming of the long ago;— Thinking of the days when Dinah Won old Missus' heart and praise, By her wondrous dainty cooking, And her charming well-bred ways:— When his own black arm was brawny— Swift the step that now is slow— When he stole the heart of Dinah, In the happy long ago. What care they for big corn shuckings?— Negroes versed in modern lore— "What a fool is poor old Isham Dozing by his cabin door!" Ah! I know why Isham's dreaming He is living still with Dinah, In the happy long ago! |
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