"Look what a fine world it is! Here's the river all washed clean, an' the land all washed clean, too! Stir yourselves, we're goin' to have hot food an' coffee here on the boat.
"I'm dreaming now of Hallie, sweet Hallie, For the thought of her is one that never dies.
She's sleeping in the valley And the mocking bird is singing where she lies.
Listen to the mocking bird, singing o'er her grave.
Listen to the mocking bird, singing where the weeping willows wave." "You sing melancholy songs for one who is as cheerful as you are, Sam," said Harry.
"That's so.

I like the weepy ones best.

But they don't really make me feel sad, Harry.

They jest fill me with a kind o' longin' to reach out an' grab somethin' that always floats jest before my hands.

A sort o' pleasant sadness I'd call it.
"Ah, well I yet remember When we gathered in the cotton side by side; 'Twas in the mild September And the mocking bird was singing far and wide.
Oh, listen to the mocking bird Still singing o'er her grave.
Oh, listen to the mocking bird Still singing where the weeping willows wave." "Now that ain't what you'd call a right merry song, but I never felt better in my life than I did when I was singin' it.