Money Musk

Benjamin F. Taylor

Ah, the buxom girls that helped the boys—

The nobler Helens of humbler Troys—

As they stripped the husks with rustling fold

From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold,

By the candle-light in pumpkin bowls,

And the gleams that showed fantastic holes

In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin,

From the hermit glim set up within;

By the rarer light in girlish eyes

As dark as wells, or as blue as skies.

I hear the laugh when the ear is red,

I see the blush with the forfeit paid,

The cedar cakes with the ancient twist,

The cider cup that the girls have kissed.

And I see the fiddler through the dusk

As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk!"

The boys and girls in a double row

Wait face to face till the magic bow

Shall whip the tune from the violin,

And the merry pulse of the feet begin.

In shirt of check, and tallowed hair,

The fiddler sits in the bulrush chair

Like Moses' basket stranded there

On the brink of Father Nile.

He feels the fiddle's slender neck,

Picks out the note, with thrum and check;

And times the tune with nod and beck,

And thinks it a weary while.

All ready! Now he gives the call,

Cries, "Honor to the ladies!" All

The jolly tides of laughter fall

And ebb in a happy smile.

"Begin." D-o-w-n comes the bow on every string,

"First couple join right hands and swing!"

As light as any blue-bird's wing

"Swing once and a half times round."

Whirls Mary Martin all in blue—

Calico gown and stockings new,

And tinted eyes that tell you true,

Dance all to the dancing sound.

She flits about big Moses Brown,

Who holds her hands to keep her down

And thinks her hair a golden crown,

And his heart turns over once!

His cheek with Mary's breath is wet,

It gives a second somerset!

He means to win the maiden yet,

Alas, for the awkward dance!

"Your stoga boot has crushed my toe!"

"I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe!"

"You clumsy fellow!" "Pass below!"

And the first pair dance apart.

Then "Forward six!" advance, retreat,

Like midges gay in sunbeam street.

'Tis Money Musk by merry feet

And the Money Musk by heart!

"Three quarters round your partner swing!

Across the set!" The rafters ring,

The girls and boys have taken wing

And have brought their roses out!

'Tis "Forward six!" with rustic grace,

Ah, rarer far than—"Swing to place!"

Than golden clouds of old point-lace

They bring the dance about.

Then clasping hands all—"Right and left!"

All swiftly weave the measure deft

Across the woof in loving weft,

And the Money Musk is done!

Oh, dancers of the rustling husk,

Good night, sweet hearts, 'tis growing dusk,

Good night for aye to Money Musk,

For the heavy march begun!