 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
167
Western Verse.
FORMERLY OF KANSAS.
Is it you, old pard, with your whitened hair
An' your rugged beard laid on your breast,
And your pale eyes sot in a deathly stare,
That's taking your last and lonely rest
'Mid the snow-capped Rockies?
An' your rugged beard laid on your breast,
And your pale eyes sot in a deathly stare,
That's taking your last and lonely rest
'Mid the snow-capped Rockies?
I knowed him, sir, when his eyes was clear,
When his face was smooth as a smilin' girl's,
When his limbs was as fleet as the frightened deer,
When his head was covered with nut-brown curls,
'Twas a long, long time ago.
When his face was smooth as a smilin' girl's,
When his limbs was as fleet as the frightened deer,
When his head was covered with nut-brown curls,
'Twas a long, long time ago.
He was with Jim Lane, a han'some lad,
And we done our likeliest—him and me—
An' it's many a narrer chance we had
Along the border, but what cared we,
In them days down in Kansas!
And we done our likeliest—him and me—
An' it's many a narrer chance we had
Along the border, but what cared we,
In them days down in Kansas!
168
When the war came on, then me and Jim
Saddled our horses and rode away,
And fit for the Union—me and him—
Till all unsullied out o' the fray
We come with Kansas.
Saddled our horses and rode away,
And fit for the Union—me and him—
Till all unsullied out o' the fray
We come with Kansas.
Is it you, old pard, with your frosted hair,
An' your crawny beard swep' down your breast,
An' your brave eyes fixed in a ghastly stare,
That has laid down here on the icy crest
O' the snow-capped Rockies?
An' your crawny beard swep' down your breast,
An' your brave eyes fixed in a ghastly stare,
That has laid down here on the icy crest
O' the snow-capped Rockies?
S'posin' we hide his furrowed face
Under that yonder moanin' pine;
And on the stone that marks the place,
We'll carve naught else but the simple line,
“Formerly of Kansas.”
Under that yonder moanin' pine;
And on the stone that marks the place,
We'll carve naught else but the simple line,
“Formerly of Kansas.”
March 10th, 1883.
169
THE PIONEER.
Fill up your glass, O comrade true,
With sparkling wine that cheers,
And let us drink a bumper to
The sturdy pioneers;
The honest men, the women fair,
Who, years and years ago,
Had steady hearts and heads to dare
Deeds we may never know
Nor page in history show!
With sparkling wine that cheers,
And let us drink a bumper to
The sturdy pioneers;
The honest men, the women fair,
Who, years and years ago,
Had steady hearts and heads to dare
Deeds we may never know
Nor page in history show!
They had their uses then, and now
They have their uses too,
For oh! they live to tell us how
In eighteen sixty-two
The summer was the hottest time
That ever scorched our state,
And then, with earnestness sublime,
They hasten to relate
Tales vast to contemplate;
They have their uses too,
For oh! they live to tell us how
In eighteen sixty-two
The summer was the hottest time
That ever scorched our state,
And then, with earnestness sublime,
They hasten to relate
Tales vast to contemplate;
And speak of bitter wintry woe!
Why, mercy sakes alive!
There fell a fifteen foot of snow
In eighteen sixty-five!
Three foot of water in the Platte
Was frozen ten foot thick,
And, seeming not content with that,
Each man and wife and chick
With rheumatiz took sick!
Why, mercy sakes alive!
There fell a fifteen foot of snow
In eighteen sixty-five!
Three foot of water in the Platte
Was frozen ten foot thick,
And, seeming not content with that,
Each man and wife and chick
With rheumatiz took sick!
170
And should we smile? The years gone by
With martyr lives are strewn;
We're gaily treading, you and I,
The path which they have hewn,
Hewn from the desert and the mine,
Posterity to cheer,
Let's toast them in the sparkling wine,
Drink to the mem'ries dear!
Drink to the pioneer!
With martyr lives are strewn;
We're gaily treading, you and I,
The path which they have hewn,
Hewn from the desert and the mine,
Posterity to cheer,
Let's toast them in the sparkling wine,
Drink to the mem'ries dear!
Drink to the pioneer!
January 29th, 1883.
171
ATMOSPHERIC DECEPTION.
The shades of night were falling fast
As through the streets of Denver pass'd
An Englishman who raised on high
This feeble but suggestive cry,
“The Foothills.”
As through the streets of Denver pass'd
An Englishman who raised on high
This feeble but suggestive cry,
“The Foothills.”
He queried of a man he met
“How far unto the foothills yet?”
The man looked up and deeply sighed,
“Some thirty miles, sir,” he replied,
“To them Foothills.”
“How far unto the foothills yet?”
The man looked up and deeply sighed,
“Some thirty miles, sir,” he replied,
“To them Foothills.”
The Englishman in spirit groaned,
“Well, I'll be blowed,” he sadly moaned;
“It must be in the atmosphere,
It don't look more'n a mile from here
To the Foothills.”
“Well, I'll be blowed,” he sadly moaned;
“It must be in the atmosphere,
It don't look more'n a mile from here
To the Foothills.”
Next morning on the blistered ground
The corse of that poor wretch was found,
From Denver thirty miles away,
And still as far again, they say,
From the Foothills.
The corse of that poor wretch was found,
From Denver thirty miles away,
And still as far again, they say,
From the Foothills.
August 12th, 1881.
172
A COLORADO SAND STORM.
See the madly blowing dust,Oh! the dust!
How it revels in the gust,
How it covers with a crust
Of tenacious, gritty must
Ev'ry object in the street.
It is monarch of us all
When it rises up, we fall,
When it comes,
When it hums,
Ev'ry kind of business flags,
Ev'ry branch of business lags,
And it gags
As it snags
Ev'ry class of trade afloat.
It is death to eyes and throat,
For it kills
As it fills
Ev'ry eye and ev'ry throat,
Oh, the dust, dust, dust!
Yet it's useless to complain,
Intercessions are in vain,
173
We should suffer so with dust,
Since the city is not bust,
Oh, the dust,
It is here, it is there,
It is flying everywhere!
How it permeates the air!
Oh, the dust!
How it's cuss'd.
November 6th, 1882.
174
THE DROUTH.
The meads are parched, the earth is hot,
The sun is blazing in the sky,
The brooks that babbled once are dry,
Dead are the flowers, or drooping sick,
The fragrant flowers we loved to pick,
The pansy and forget-me-not.
The sun is blazing in the sky,
The brooks that babbled once are dry,
Dead are the flowers, or drooping sick,
The fragrant flowers we loved to pick,
The pansy and forget-me-not.
The kine are panting in the glade,
The cowboy sweats in angry mood,
Because his flocks can find no food;
The lambs in helpless misery
Loll on the baked and dusty lea,
And vainly pine for drink and shade.
The cowboy sweats in angry mood,
Because his flocks can find no food;
The lambs in helpless misery
Loll on the baked and dusty lea,
And vainly pine for drink and shade.
And in this city, once our pride,
We see what ne'er before was seen,
Our trees no longer fresh and green
The grass is withered up and dead,
And by the fire which burns o'erhead,
Each irrigating ditch is dried.
We see what ne'er before was seen,
Our trees no longer fresh and green
The grass is withered up and dead,
And by the fire which burns o'erhead,
Each irrigating ditch is dried.
Boreas, from thy arctic cave,
Blow up a cool, refreshing gale!
Bring Zephyrus and Hesp'rus, too,
Each bearing hail and rain and dew,
The liquid element we crave.
Blow up a cool, refreshing gale!
Bring Zephyrus and Hesp'rus, too,
Each bearing hail and rain and dew,
The liquid element we crave.
175
Or else this Colorado plain,
Once green with verdure will be turned
Into a desert, bleached and burned;
This fairy portal to the hills,
Once watered by a thousand rills,
Will fade away through dearth of rain!
Once green with verdure will be turned
Into a desert, bleached and burned;
This fairy portal to the hills,
Once watered by a thousand rills,
Will fade away through dearth of rain!
January 10th, 1882.
176
WINTER IN COLORADO.
The snow lies deep upon the ground,
The birds sing sweetly in the trees,
The scent of roses all around
Is borne upon the icy breeze.
The birds sing sweetly in the trees,
The scent of roses all around
Is borne upon the icy breeze.
Upon each irrigating stream,
The skating youth indulge in play,
While women folks, like fairies, beam
In summer hats and white pekay.
The skating youth indulge in play,
While women folks, like fairies, beam
In summer hats and white pekay.
The plumber taps the pipe that's froze,
And tears up ceiling, side and floor,
While round about the ice-man goes
And leaves his chattels at our door.
And tears up ceiling, side and floor,
While round about the ice-man goes
And leaves his chattels at our door.
This man with frozen hands and feet
Is hurried off and put to bed;
Another, prostrate by the heat,
Wears cabbage leaves upon his head.
Is hurried off and put to bed;
Another, prostrate by the heat,
Wears cabbage leaves upon his head.
Thus speeds the winter in our state
A batch of contradictions rude;
And we assign our varying fate
To this peculiar altitude.
A batch of contradictions rude;
And we assign our varying fate
To this peculiar altitude.
November 3d, 1881.
177
DECEMBER, 1881.
Up to the blue and cloudless skies,
That bend from east to western peaks,
And have not changed for weary weeks,
I vainly turn my anxious eyes.
And in those skies I see the glow,
Of summer or of wakening spring,
Their smiling countenances bring
No faint suspicion e'en of snow.
That bend from east to western peaks,
And have not changed for weary weeks,
I vainly turn my anxious eyes.
And in those skies I see the glow,
Of summer or of wakening spring,
Their smiling countenances bring
No faint suspicion e'en of snow.
Upon the soft and balmy air
I hear the birdling's joyful trill,
And by the purling mountain rill
The flowers are blooming sweet and fair.
The buds are bursting on the trees,
The blades of grass begin to start,
And oh, I feel it in my heart,
There isn't going to be a freeze!
I hear the birdling's joyful trill,
And by the purling mountain rill
The flowers are blooming sweet and fair.
The buds are bursting on the trees,
The blades of grass begin to start,
And oh, I feel it in my heart,
There isn't going to be a freeze!
Why is it I alone am sad
When all the rest of earth is gay?
Why do I weep my soul away
While other women folks are glad?
Alas, mine is a bitter life,
My only hope, my only trust,
Is in a freeze, or in a bust,
I am an humble plumber's wife.
When all the rest of earth is gay?
Why do I weep my soul away
While other women folks are glad?
Alas, mine is a bitter life,
My only hope, my only trust,
Is in a freeze, or in a bust,
I am an humble plumber's wife.
December, 29th, 1881.
178
TO AN UNDERSHIRT.
Thou thing of ruddy, rosy redness, hail!
With all thy prickly fuss to irritate,
For thou dost laugh defiance at the gale
That fain would shake
And with its bluster quake
Our corporosities well girt,
By thy delights that militate
'Gainst every ill, O flannel undershirt.
With all thy prickly fuss to irritate,
For thou dost laugh defiance at the gale
That fain would shake
And with its bluster quake
Our corporosities well girt,
By thy delights that militate
'Gainst every ill, O flannel undershirt.
We choose thee red before we do thee white,
Not that the red is warmer or more fair,
Not that the red is comlier to sight,
But spite of dust
And coal and smoke and must,
The red defies appearances of dirt;
So then we choose thee red and wear
Thee next our hearts, O goodly undershirt!
Not that the red is warmer or more fair,
Not that the red is comlier to sight,
But spite of dust
And coal and smoke and must,
The red defies appearances of dirt;
So then we choose thee red and wear
Thee next our hearts, O goodly undershirt!
180
UTAH.
Bowed was the old man's snow-white head,
A troubled look was on his face,
“Why come you, sir,” I gently said,
“Unto this solemn burial place?”
A troubled look was on his face,
“Why come you, sir,” I gently said,
“Unto this solemn burial place?”
“I come to weep a while for one
Whom in her life I held most dear,
Alas, her sands were quickly run,
And now she lies a sleeping here.”
Whom in her life I held most dear,
Alas, her sands were quickly run,
And now she lies a sleeping here.”
“Oh, tell me of your precious wife,
For she was very dear, I know,
It must have been a blissful life
You led with her you treasure so?”
For she was very dear, I know,
It must have been a blissful life
You led with her you treasure so?”
“My wife is moldering in the ground,
In yonder house she's spinning now,
And lo! this moment may be found
A driving home the family cow;
In yonder house she's spinning now,
And lo! this moment may be found
A driving home the family cow;
“And see, she's standing at the stile,
And leans from out the window wide,
And loiters on the sward awhile,
Her forty babies by her side.”
And leans from out the window wide,
And loiters on the sward awhile,
Her forty babies by her side.”
181
“Old man, you must be mad!” I cried,
“Or else you do but jest with me;
How is it that your wife has died
And yet can here and living be?
“Or else you do but jest with me;
How is it that your wife has died
And yet can here and living be?
“How is it while she drives the cow
She's hanging out her window wide,
And loiters, as you said just now,
With forty babies by her side?”
She's hanging out her window wide,
And loiters, as you said just now,
With forty babies by her side?”
The old man raised his snowy head,
“I have a sainted wife in heaven;
I am a Mormon, sir, he said,
“My sainted wife on earth are seven.”
“I have a sainted wife in heaven;
I am a Mormon, sir, he said,
“My sainted wife on earth are seven.”
March 10th, 1882.
182
WUN LUNG AND GIN SLING.
On the gentle Wun Lung had Dame Nature bestowed
All physical charms in great wealth,
'Twas first out in 'Frisco she made her abode
But she came to our town for her health.
All physical charms in great wealth,
'Twas first out in 'Frisco she made her abode
But she came to our town for her health.
The genial Gin Sling kept a laundrying shop,
The which entered Wun Lung one day,
Beholding whom, Sling's heart went flippety-flop,
And in turn Lung's heart went the same way.
The which entered Wun Lung one day,
Beholding whom, Sling's heart went flippety-flop,
And in turn Lung's heart went the same way.
In the blandest of voices he said, “Be my bride
And I'll load you with kindness and wealth,”
Wun Lung hung her head and with blushes replied,
“Wasn't marriage she wanted but health.”
And I'll load you with kindness and wealth,”
Wun Lung hung her head and with blushes replied,
“Wasn't marriage she wanted but health.”
“O, pigeon toed beauty, with hair like the night
And eyes that for brightness excel
The glow of the stars, it would be my delight
To make you both happy and well.
And eyes that for brightness excel
The glow of the stars, it would be my delight
To make you both happy and well.
“You shall sing while I wash; while I iron, you sleep,
And the doctor shall call thrice a day,
And I as your husband and lover will keep
Every care and vexation away.”
And the doctor shall call thrice a day,
And I as your husband and lover will keep
Every care and vexation away.”
183
Well, she married Gin Sling, and as to the rest
Of our story! What else could it be
Than she does the washing—that's easily guessed,
While the sleeping and singing does he!
Of our story! What else could it be
Than she does the washing—that's easily guessed,
While the sleeping and singing does he!
February 18th, 1882.
184
THE COLORADO SPRINGS BELLE.
In Colorado Springs did dwell
Once on a time a dashing belle,
Whose name was Hannah Hunniwell,
A blooming, buxom lass was she,
And she was sweet as sweet could be,
So all the fellows did agree;
But Hannah Hunniwell was vain,
That fact, alas! was all too plain,
For Hannah laid uncommon stress
Upon the vanity of dress—
A weakness of her sex, we guess.
She had a lovely sealskin sacque
That often graced her comely back,
And sealed her doom at last, alack!
For when the wintry winds did blow,
Prognosticating ice and snow,
Unto her trunk did Hannah go
And straight she hauled the sealskin out,
And with premonitory flout,
She put the noisome moths to rout.
Once on a time a dashing belle,
Whose name was Hannah Hunniwell,
A blooming, buxom lass was she,
And she was sweet as sweet could be,
So all the fellows did agree;
But Hannah Hunniwell was vain,
That fact, alas! was all too plain,
For Hannah laid uncommon stress
Upon the vanity of dress—
A weakness of her sex, we guess.
She had a lovely sealskin sacque
That often graced her comely back,
And sealed her doom at last, alack!
For when the wintry winds did blow,
Prognosticating ice and snow,
Unto her trunk did Hannah go
And straight she hauled the sealskin out,
And with premonitory flout,
She put the noisome moths to rout.
“Now blow, ye winds,” quoth Hannah gay,
“So long as in my sacque I may
Go gallivanting all the day!”
“So long as in my sacque I may
Go gallivanting all the day!”
185
Alas, the poor, misguided child!
The sun appeared, the tempest wild
Was lulled into a zephyr mild,
Then Hannah waxed uncommon pale
And wailed a great and grievous wail
To see her pet ambition fail.
Much to her family's dismay,
She stayed at home day after day,
And as she stayed, she pined away,
And still the weather milder grew,
The gentle south wind balmy blew,
And warmed the people through and through;
And while all other folks were glad,
Poor Hannah Hunniwell was sad,
Or what was sadder yet, was mad,
And so one calm, soft eventide,
She pressed her sealskin to her side,
And with a hollow sob, she died!
The sun appeared, the tempest wild
Was lulled into a zephyr mild,
Then Hannah waxed uncommon pale
And wailed a great and grievous wail
To see her pet ambition fail.
Much to her family's dismay,
She stayed at home day after day,
And as she stayed, she pined away,
And still the weather milder grew,
The gentle south wind balmy blew,
And warmed the people through and through;
And while all other folks were glad,
Poor Hannah Hunniwell was sad,
Or what was sadder yet, was mad,
And so one calm, soft eventide,
She pressed her sealskin to her side,
And with a hollow sob, she died!
The chattering gossips love to tell
The fate of that vain foolish belle.
Who loved her sealskin sacque too well.
The fate of that vain foolish belle.
Who loved her sealskin sacque too well.
186
A KANSAS CITY ECHO.
I sing of beauty and the swell,
Who loved not wisely, but too well,
The old, old story.
She was a farmer's belle, in truth,
And he an operatic youth
In tights and glory.
Who loved not wisely, but too well,
The old, old story.
She was a farmer's belle, in truth,
And he an operatic youth
In tights and glory.
Their love was not unmixed with pain,
The lady's brother had a vein
Of humor merry.
He found, by chance, a billet-doux,
And, smiling, quoth: “This youth is too
Preliminary.”
The lady's brother had a vein
Of humor merry.
He found, by chance, a billet-doux,
And, smiling, quoth: “This youth is too
Preliminary.”
With that he sought the trysting spot,
The air was comfortably hot,
Begetting dizziness,
And just at hand a fair array
Of clubs and other missiles lay,
In case of business.
The air was comfortably hot,
Begetting dizziness,
And just at hand a fair array
Of clubs and other missiles lay,
In case of business.
But why prolong the tale of woe,
Of how he interviewed that beau,
In sport athletic;
And bore upon him like a gust,
And trailed his lithe form in the dust,
Unsympathetic?
Of how he interviewed that beau,
In sport athletic;
And bore upon him like a gust,
And trailed his lithe form in the dust,
Unsympathetic?
187
No more will this fair maid, they say,
Pursue the tenor of her way
In delectation;
No hope has he to ring the belle,
Which only sounds for him a knell
Of separation.
Pursue the tenor of her way
In delectation;
No hope has he to ring the belle,
Which only sounds for him a knell
Of separation.
August 16th, 1881.
188
CUPID AT MANITOU.
I've been at the Springs for a merrisome while—
And oh, need I tell you the rest?—
Why my soul lights mine eyes with an eloquent smile,
As a little bird sings in my breast!
Her face, like the lilies, is modest and fair,
And her orbs with an ecstasy glow,
And cute little bangs straggle out of her hair—
She's a darling young belle from St. Joe.
And oh, need I tell you the rest?—
Why my soul lights mine eyes with an eloquent smile,
As a little bird sings in my breast!
Her face, like the lilies, is modest and fair,
And her orbs with an ecstasy glow,
And cute little bangs straggle out of her hair—
She's a darling young belle from St. Joe.
We met on the foothills—the usual way—
I was hungry and footsore and weak,
But my pangs disappeared like the night before day,
And the hot blushes mantled my cheek.
Ah, it's many a maiden with radiance rare,
I've met in my walks to and fro,
But with never a maid that presumed to compare,
With the beauteous young belle of St. Joe.
I was hungry and footsore and weak,
But my pangs disappeared like the night before day,
And the hot blushes mantled my cheek.
Ah, it's many a maiden with radiance rare,
I've met in my walks to and fro,
But with never a maid that presumed to compare,
With the beauteous young belle of St. Joe.
I am going to Leadville to print and to write,
With a little bird's song in my breast,
But I'll hie to the Springs every Saturday night
And woo that sweet bird in her nest.
'Neath the glorious stars and the sad visaged moon,
While the zephyrs are whispering low,
I will sit in the soughing and gloaming and spoon—
Oh, I'm mashed on the belle of St. Joe.
With a little bird's song in my breast,
But I'll hie to the Springs every Saturday night
And woo that sweet bird in her nest.
'Neath the glorious stars and the sad visaged moon,
While the zephyrs are whispering low,
I will sit in the soughing and gloaming and spoon—
Oh, I'm mashed on the belle of St. Joe.
(Attributed to) C. C. Davis.
August 16th, 1881.
189
THE BROWN TRAGEDY.
Old Obadiah Goshen Brown
Not many years ago,
Owned half a Massachusetts town—
Was awful rich, you know;
And being somewhat sick and blue,
He thought he'd visit Manitou.
Not many years ago,
Owned half a Massachusetts town—
Was awful rich, you know;
And being somewhat sick and blue,
He thought he'd visit Manitou.
Arrived and fairly settled there
With all his traps and things,
He praised the clear and bracing air,
Likewise the Soda Springs,
And feeling frisky, quoth “I think
I'll to the bar and buy a drink.”
With all his traps and things,
He praised the clear and bracing air,
Likewise the Soda Springs,
And feeling frisky, quoth “I think
I'll to the bar and buy a drink.”
Alas when came the time to pay
For that small drink, poor Brown
Saw all his fortune fade away—
His bonds, his stock, his town,
His bank account and all the rest
Of earthly pelf that he possessed.
For that small drink, poor Brown
Saw all his fortune fade away—
His bonds, his stock, his town,
His bank account and all the rest
Of earthly pelf that he possessed.
He signed a quit-claim to it all
Then to the foothills hied—
“I will complete my dreadful fall
By perishing,” he cried.
With that he made a fatal pitch
Into an irrigating ditch.
Then to the foothills hied—
“I will complete my dreadful fall
By perishing,” he cried.
With that he made a fatal pitch
Into an irrigating ditch.
August 23d, 1881.
190
THE CACTUS.
“Bring me, my love, at twilight hour,
Some token of your love,” she said,
“Which shall its fragrance 'round me shed,
A little boon, a tiny flower.”
Some token of your love,” she said,
“Which shall its fragrance 'round me shed,
A little boon, a tiny flower.”
Oh, had my sweetheart asked me more,
I had not groaned as then I groaned,
I had not moaned as then I moaned,
My heartstrings had not pulled me sore.
I had not groaned as then I groaned,
I had not moaned as then I moaned,
My heartstrings had not pulled me sore.
For, oh! I see on every hand
Nor roses, violets of blue,
Nor daffodils of varied hue,
Only a vast expanse of sand!
Nor roses, violets of blue,
Nor daffodils of varied hue,
Only a vast expanse of sand!
Alas, and not a flower I see
Upon this Colorado plain,
I sigh and sigh and sigh again,
“My love can have no flow'r from me.”
Upon this Colorado plain,
I sigh and sigh and sigh again,
“My love can have no flow'r from me.”
Stay, yonder is a modest sprout,
A cactus in the barren soil,
She hath contrived by sturdy toil
To spread her shrivelled roots about.
A cactus in the barren soil,
She hath contrived by sturdy toil
To spread her shrivelled roots about.
191
What better token of my faith,
Could I unto my lady bear
Than that maimed foundling sprouting there,
That spawn of vegetation's wraith?
Could I unto my lady bear
Than that maimed foundling sprouting there,
That spawn of vegetation's wraith?
My love is like a cactus plant,
Elsewhere weak loves may bud and bloom,
But in this wild, this sandy tomb,
Mine be the sturdy love, God grant.
Elsewhere weak loves may bud and bloom,
But in this wild, this sandy tomb,
Mine be the sturdy love, God grant.
192
THE TWO SLEEPERS.
I know two sleepers, one is there
In yonder house on yonder street,
She is my lady, fine and fair,
And she is lost in slumber sweet;
In dreams she dreams perhaps of me,
This sleeper whom I love so well,
And wonder where her love may be,
Sweet dream! I pri' thee do not tell!
In yonder house on yonder street,
She is my lady, fine and fair,
And she is lost in slumber sweet;
In dreams she dreams perhaps of me,
This sleeper whom I love so well,
And wonder where her love may be,
Sweet dream! I pri' thee do not tell!
The other sleeper is at rest,
Near yonder chair upon the floor,
White is its smooth and pulseless breast,
It represents six bits or more.
By whom 'twas dropped, I cannot say,
But, lest its owner woo it back,
Please, partner, kick it round this way,
That I may nip it for my stack.
Near yonder chair upon the floor,
White is its smooth and pulseless breast,
It represents six bits or more.
By whom 'twas dropped, I cannot say,
But, lest its owner woo it back,
Please, partner, kick it round this way,
That I may nip it for my stack.
May 21st, 1883.
193
DEATH OF THE COW-BOY.
How strong the cow-boy is in death,
How strives he with the reaper grim!
How writhes each sturdy, supple limb,
What life is in each dying breath!
His eyes have still the haughty gleam,
The flash of mingled pride and scorn,
They had at early yester' morn,
When he saw us and we saw him,
Come plunging through the swollen stream
And drive his heifers from our corn.
How strives he with the reaper grim!
How writhes each sturdy, supple limb,
What life is in each dying breath!
His eyes have still the haughty gleam,
The flash of mingled pride and scorn,
They had at early yester' morn,
When he saw us and we saw him,
Come plunging through the swollen stream
And drive his heifers from our corn.
Oh, who hath done this dreadful deed,
Hath in an evil moment slain
This dashing hero of the plain,
This idol of the mount and mead?
Oh, hath some jealous Indian chief
Waylaid this warrior of the ranch?
Or hath some envious churl, perchance,
Conceiving honest combat vain,
Wrought all this tragedy and grief,
By shooting ere he could advance?
Hath in an evil moment slain
This dashing hero of the plain,
This idol of the mount and mead?
Oh, hath some jealous Indian chief
Waylaid this warrior of the ranch?
Or hath some envious churl, perchance,
Conceiving honest combat vain,
Wrought all this tragedy and grief,
By shooting ere he could advance?
194
He died as cowboys died before;
A bottle struck him on the head,
He tottered, stumbled, fell and bled
A quart or two upon the floor.
'Twas Biddy Looney struck the blow
That caught him just above the ear,
He'd kissed her once and called her dear
And then (in sorrow breathe it low)
He'd scorned her pleading cry for beer!
A bottle struck him on the head,
He tottered, stumbled, fell and bled
A quart or two upon the floor.
'Twas Biddy Looney struck the blow
That caught him just above the ear,
He'd kissed her once and called her dear
And then (in sorrow breathe it low)
He'd scorned her pleading cry for beer!
December 10th, 1881.
196
THE MUSTANG.
A cow-boy o'er the prairie wide,
Upon a mustang staunch and true,
Thro' cacti, wet with morning dew,
In search of roving cattle hied.
Upon a mustang staunch and true,
Thro' cacti, wet with morning dew,
In search of roving cattle hied.
Of all the cow-boys, fierce and wild,
The fiercest, wildest boy was he,
And as he skimmed the dusty lea,
He looked like nature's petted child.
The fiercest, wildest boy was he,
And as he skimmed the dusty lea,
He looked like nature's petted child.
Far out across the weary plain,
He cast his eager, flashing eye,
And saw a heifer, lean and spry,
Fast heading towards a field of grain.
He cast his eager, flashing eye,
And saw a heifer, lean and spry,
Fast heading towards a field of grain.
Into his foaming mustang's side
He plunged his spur, and with a moan
The mustang bucked, despite the groan,
“Ha, ha! Ho, ho!” the cow-boy cried.
He plunged his spur, and with a moan
The mustang bucked, despite the groan,
“Ha, ha! Ho, ho!” the cow-boy cried.
Again it bucked—this time with care—
And ere that cow-boy guessed the cause
Or knew where in the world he was,
He shot into the startled air!
And ere that cow-boy guessed the cause
Or knew where in the world he was,
He shot into the startled air!
197
The probabil'ties are, we ween,
He's still going up or coming down,
For ne'er in country or in town
Has that there cow-boy since been seen.
He's still going up or coming down,
For ne'er in country or in town
Has that there cow-boy since been seen.
And that was eighteen months ago.
The mustang waits upon the plain
For his belov'd to drop again
And give him just another show.
The mustang waits upon the plain
For his belov'd to drop again
And give him just another show.
November 5th, 1881.
198
TO EMMA ABBOTT.
Before thou camest, O creature fair,
The stars were diamonds in the sky,
Yet now, at night, ah, tell me why
I see no stellar diamonds there?
The stars were diamonds in the sky,
Yet now, at night, ah, tell me why
I see no stellar diamonds there?
Before thou camest the pretty trees
Coquetted with the gentle kiss
Of zephyrs; now they seem to miss
The dalliance of the amorous breeze.
Coquetted with the gentle kiss
Of zephyrs; now they seem to miss
The dalliance of the amorous breeze.
Before thou camest, the western sky
Was all aflame with golden light,
And now, I wot, perpetual night
Hath mantled o'er the realm on high.
Was all aflame with golden light,
And now, I wot, perpetual night
Hath mantled o'er the realm on high.
Before thou camest, on yonder hill
The lark sang sweetly to his mate;
And now, in vain we watch and wait
To see his flight and hear his trill.
The lark sang sweetly to his mate;
And now, in vain we watch and wait
To see his flight and hear his trill.
The stars are jealous of thine eyes,
The lark is jealous of thy song,
Thy glorious hair, so fair and long,
Hath waked the envy of the skies.
The lark is jealous of thy song,
Thy glorious hair, so fair and long,
Hath waked the envy of the skies.
199
The wanton zephyrs love to kiss
The rosy velvet of thy cheek,
And blushes play at hide and seek
With them, what ecstasy is this!
The rosy velvet of thy cheek,
And blushes play at hide and seek
With them, what ecstasy is this!
Ah, with the music of thy voice,
The wondrous beauty of thy grace,
Make this thy lasting living place,
Thy country's pride, our people's choice!
The wondrous beauty of thy grace,
Make this thy lasting living place,
Thy country's pride, our people's choice!
September 6th, 1881.
200
EMMA ABBOTT'S BABY.
Thy skin is of a scarlet hue,
Thou hast a shadow of a rose,
Thine eyes are milk and water blue,
Ten tiny dimples are thy toes.
Why wrinklest thou thy fuzzy face?
Why squirmest thou, as if in pain?
Has some sharp pin got out of place,
That thou dost whoop thy wild refrain?
Thou hast a shadow of a rose,
Thine eyes are milk and water blue,
Ten tiny dimples are thy toes.
Why wrinklest thou thy fuzzy face?
Why squirmest thou, as if in pain?
Has some sharp pin got out of place,
That thou dost whoop thy wild refrain?
Thou smellest like a pan of clabber,
And squallest like an hungry calf;
And yet they understand thy jabber,
Thy mother and her meaner half.
And yet, perhaps, the time will be,
When thou shalt fill a lofty place,
A tenor soaring up to C,
But just at present you are bass.
And squallest like an hungry calf;
And yet they understand thy jabber,
Thy mother and her meaner half.
And yet, perhaps, the time will be,
When thou shalt fill a lofty place,
A tenor soaring up to C,
But just at present you are bass.
(Attributed to) W. H. Bush.
September 8th, 1881.
201
TABOR AND ABBOTT.
The Opera House—a union grand
Of capital and labor—
Long will the stately structure stand,
A monument to Tabor.
Of capital and labor—
Long will the stately structure stand,
A monument to Tabor.
And as to Emma, never will
Our citizens cease lovin' her,
While time lasts shall her name be linked
With that of the ex-Governor.
Our citizens cease lovin' her,
While time lasts shall her name be linked
With that of the ex-Governor.
Because of its grand Opera House,
Our city's much elated,
And happy is the time that Em
The structure dedicated.
Our city's much elated,
And happy is the time that Em
The structure dedicated.
For many a year and many a year
Our folks will have the habit
Of lauding that illustrious pair
Tabor and Emma Abbot.
Our folks will have the habit
Of lauding that illustrious pair
Tabor and Emma Abbot.
(Attributed to) R. W. Woodbury.
September 8th, 1881.
202
EMMA ABBOTT'S KISS.
To the capable critic it's clear,That Abbott's a daisy Lucia,
But somehow we miss
That world renowned kiss
And that harvest of hugging, oh, dear!
September 8th, 1881.
203
THE SMILE AND BIRD.
Once on a time St. Peter wept—
And Peter's tears are tears of worth—
Because while he awearied slept,
A smile slipped out from Heaven to earth.
And Peter's tears are tears of worth—
Because while he awearied slept,
A smile slipped out from Heaven to earth.
Moreover, had a heavenly bird—
Of all the birds in realms on high
The sweetest songster ever heard—
Eluded Peter's dozing eye.
Of all the birds in realms on high
The sweetest songster ever heard—
Eluded Peter's dozing eye.
“Alas, alas!” St. Peter cried
In tones that spoke his anguish sore,
“Where have my precious treasures hied
That I enjoy their sweets no more?”
In tones that spoke his anguish sore,
“Where have my precious treasures hied
That I enjoy their sweets no more?”
Hush blessed Saint! They're with us here—
That heavenly smile is Abbott's face,
And with its influences near,
We'll feel and own its heavenly grace.
That heavenly smile is Abbott's face,
And with its influences near,
We'll feel and own its heavenly grace.
And that dear bird, which, loved the best,
Made angels joyous with its note,
Hath found a home and built a nest
In charming Abbott's beauteous throat.
Made angels joyous with its note,
Hath found a home and built a nest
In charming Abbott's beauteous throat.
Smile on, O smile! Sing on, O bird!
We know—we feel thy heavenly worth!
The smile that's seen and song that's heard
Make second heaven of our earth.
We know—we feel thy heavenly worth!
The smile that's seen and song that's heard
Make second heaven of our earth.
September 8th, 1881.
204
EMMA ABBOTT.
The murmur of some waterfall,
Heard far adown some sylvan way,
Where southern winds and flowers play
And grasses wave and sweet birds call;
Heard far adown some sylvan way,
Where southern winds and flowers play
And grasses wave and sweet birds call;
The vague, strange voices of the night,
That send their sombre echoes through
The fragrant paths, adamp with dew,
To meet the fresher morning light;
That send their sombre echoes through
The fragrant paths, adamp with dew,
To meet the fresher morning light;
The plaint of waves, the rustling leaves,
The fresh, sweet music of the trees
When the tone master of the breeze
A newer, sweeter number weaves;
The fresh, sweet music of the trees
When the tone master of the breeze
A newer, sweeter number weaves;
The tender tones of grass and flowers,
The melody of sun and sky,
The dear old story, that won't die,
Of summer sounds and summer hours;
The melody of sun and sky,
The dear old story, that won't die,
Of summer sounds and summer hours;
Sweet are they, yet more sweetly thrills
Thy clear, strong notes, that hold them all,
The murmur of the waterfall,
The sea, the flowers, the birds, the hills.
Thy clear, strong notes, that hold them all,
The murmur of the waterfall,
The sea, the flowers, the birds, the hills.
September 11th, 1881.
205
JOSEPH WILSON.
Joseph Wilson—half past one—
Hanky-panky—lots of fun.
Hanky-panky—lots of fun.
“Cash my chips—got to go—
Baby may be sick, you know.”
Baby may be sick, you know.”
Boys all make a dreadful kick,
Want to have the General stick.
Want to have the General stick.
All in vain—adieux are said—
Quits about six bits ahead.
Quits about six bits ahead.
St. James Hotel—half past two—
General in an awful stew.
General in an awful stew.
Found the baby wide awake
With an awful stomach ache.
With an awful stomach ache.
With the baby in his arms,
Filled with harrowing alarms,
Filled with harrowing alarms,
Sweating, too, at every pore,
Joseph Wilson walks the floor,
Joseph Wilson walks the floor,
Thinks of Hanky-panky then,
Wishes he were back again.
Wishes he were back again.
January 22d, 1883.
206
RETURN OF THE EDITORS.
How changed they are in form and face
Since last we saw them take the train
Bound for a distant naughty place
Beyond the river, hill and plain.
Since last we saw them take the train
Bound for a distant naughty place
Beyond the river, hill and plain.
Why, then they were as fresh and gay
As lambkins frisking on the lea,
But as we welcome them to-day
We wonder how such change can be.
As lambkins frisking on the lea,
But as we welcome them to-day
We wonder how such change can be.
Their eyes are sunken, bleared and red,
Their cheeks are ghastly, pale as death,
Their lips are bloodless as the dead,
A dark brown odor is their breath.
Their cheeks are ghastly, pale as death,
Their lips are bloodless as the dead,
A dark brown odor is their breath.
They totter for they cannot walk,
They grimace, for they cannot smile,
They sputter (for they cannot talk)
Like dreary mental wrecks the while.
They grimace, for they cannot smile,
They sputter (for they cannot talk)
Like dreary mental wrecks the while.
Was it for this we sent our pride,
Our brilliant Colorado Press,
Down to the lake's tumultuous side
For sucker waters to caress?
Our brilliant Colorado Press,
Down to the lake's tumultuous side
For sucker waters to caress?
207
We gave them men, and lo! we find
They send us back a driveling crew,
Sans all they had of meat and mind,
And oh! what's worse, sans money, too.
They send us back a driveling crew,
Sans all they had of meat and mind,
And oh! what's worse, sans money, too.
208
A MEXICAN BALLAD.
There was a Greaser bold and staid,
Don Gomez del Gomazza,
Who loved a gentle Greaser maid,
The Donna Frontpiazza.
Don Gomez del Gomazza,
Who loved a gentle Greaser maid,
The Donna Frontpiazza.
Don Gomez rode a mustang proud,
And wore a bloody slasher,
Of all the gallus Greaser crowd,
He was the giddiest masher.
And wore a bloody slasher,
Of all the gallus Greaser crowd,
He was the giddiest masher.
Don Gomez once was tempted sore,
Despite of law and order,
To glut his greedy thirst for gore
And cross the Texas border.
Despite of law and order,
To glut his greedy thirst for gore
And cross the Texas border.
“So fare you well, wee lady fair,
The pretty little Donna;”
In vain she tore her raven hair,
Her Gomez was a goner.
The pretty little Donna;”
In vain she tore her raven hair,
Her Gomez was a goner.
Then hied he to the Rio Grande
With Yankee hordes to battle;
He crossed into the promised land
And went to stealing cattle.
With Yankee hordes to battle;
He crossed into the promised land
And went to stealing cattle.
209
And then with more than royal pluck,
He did his pleasing duty,
And, meeting with uncommon luck,
He started home with booty.
He did his pleasing duty,
And, meeting with uncommon luck,
He started home with booty.
But oh! the Yankees fierce and strong,
While marching out to battle
Beheld Don Gomez come along
Adriving them there cattle.
While marching out to battle
Beheld Don Gomez come along
Adriving them there cattle.
They gathered in the festive steers,
And snagged the gallus Greaser,
And with a round of hoots and jeers
They hanged him to a tree, sir.
And snagged the gallus Greaser,
And with a round of hoots and jeers
They hanged him to a tree, sir.
Loud wailed the Greaser maiden fair,
The Donna Frontpiazza,
Once more she tore her maiden hair
For Gomez del Gomazza.
The Donna Frontpiazza,
Once more she tore her maiden hair
For Gomez del Gomazza.
February 12th, 1882.
210
A SPANISH FANDANGO.
Around the sawdust ring there rode
A comely circus rider,
Alfonso's cheeks with pleasure glowed
Whenever he espied her.
A comely circus rider,
Alfonso's cheeks with pleasure glowed
Whenever he espied her.
In sooth he owned he was no churl
And couldn't see the harm in
Tomfooling with this pretty girl—
The Senorita Carmen.
And couldn't see the harm in
Tomfooling with this pretty girl—
The Senorita Carmen.
“The queen I fear is up to snuff—
I pri' thee don't defy 'er,”
Advised a certain courtier gruff—
Don Jesus H. Maria.
I pri' thee don't defy 'er,”
Advised a certain courtier gruff—
Don Jesus H. Maria.
Alas the king was gone too far
For sober second thinking—
He tipped the girl a tra-la-la
With multifarious winking.
For sober second thinking—
He tipped the girl a tra-la-la
With multifarious winking.
Then did the queen, Alfonso's bride,
Wax straightway hot as fire,
And call the courtier to her side—
Don Jesus H. Maria.
Wax straightway hot as fire,
And call the courtier to her side—
Don Jesus H. Maria.
211
“Oh, take me from this dreadful place,”
The lady 'gan to bellow,
“I'll look no more upon his face—
The horrid, nasty fellow!”
The lady 'gan to bellow,
“I'll look no more upon his face—
The horrid, nasty fellow!”
“But stay, woman, the king hath eyes,
And cannot help admire,”
In palliation then replies
Don Jesus H. Maria.
And cannot help admire,”
In palliation then replies
Don Jesus H. Maria.
But no, she was of stubborn mind,
So scorning “ifs” and “maybes”,
And leaving king and court behind,
She sloped with both her babies.
So scorning “ifs” and “maybes”,
And leaving king and court behind,
She sloped with both her babies.
Then made the court a vast ado—
Loud wailed the royal sire—
And long repined the courtier, too,
Don Jesus H. Maria.
Loud wailed the royal sire—
And long repined the courtier, too,
Don Jesus H. Maria.
July 10th, 1883.
212
THE DENVER MARINER.
I am a jolly Denver tar,
Upon the Platte I sail—
I sniff the breakers from afar
And court the screeching gale.
I climb the mizzenmast by night
And heave the bobsail down—
Beyond I see the harbor light,
Hard by my native town.
Upon the Platte I sail—
I sniff the breakers from afar
And court the screeching gale.
I climb the mizzenmast by night
And heave the bobsail down—
Beyond I see the harbor light,
Hard by my native town.
The cactus clings unto my hair,
As in the briny gloom
I climb the narrow gangway stair
To furl the foretop boom.
The hawsers creak and anchors groan,
The rainclouds deck the sky,
With many a shrillsome shriek and moan
The sea gulls flutter by.
As in the briny gloom
I climb the narrow gangway stair
To furl the foretop boom.
The hawsers creak and anchors groan,
The rainclouds deck the sky,
With many a shrillsome shriek and moan
The sea gulls flutter by.
My sweetheart is a fisher maid,
On yonder shore she stands,
With hopes my ship is not delayed.
She lingers on the sands.
With my brave bark upon the sea
And her whom I behold,
Where is the man who would not be
A Denver sailor bold.
On yonder shore she stands,
With hopes my ship is not delayed.
She lingers on the sands.
With my brave bark upon the sea
And her whom I behold,
Where is the man who would not be
A Denver sailor bold.
August 27th, 1882.
213
THE DENVER LIFE BOAT.
The good ship “Buttered Sandwich” sailed,
Adown the briny bay;
The summer sky above was veiled,
With smiles and cloudlets gay,
While underneath the azure sea
In solemn grandeur rolled,
As on her course right merrily,
The “Buttered Sandwich” bowled.
Adown the briny bay;
The summer sky above was veiled,
With smiles and cloudlets gay,
While underneath the azure sea
In solemn grandeur rolled,
As on her course right merrily,
The “Buttered Sandwich” bowled.
But scarce a league away had sailed,
When Captain Cornbeef came,
And stood upon the deck and hailed
The gallant mate by name,
“Behold,” he muttered, “yonder cloud,
That broods o'er Boulder's shore,
Mayhap it is our winding shroud,
Leastwise, it grieves me sore.”
When Captain Cornbeef came,
And stood upon the deck and hailed
The gallant mate by name,
“Behold,” he muttered, “yonder cloud,
That broods o'er Boulder's shore,
Mayhap it is our winding shroud,
Leastwise, it grieves me sore.”
214
The maintop splintered like a stick,
While o'er the waves afar,
Were mingled fast and scattered thick,
Full many a beam and spar.
While o'er the waves afar,
Were mingled fast and scattered thick,
Full many a beam and spar.
Oh 'twas a dreadful, dreadful night!
Upon the slimy deck
The passengers in demon fright,
Bemoaned the awful wreck.
The men rushed here, the women there,
The captain and the crew
Crouched by the bulwarks in despair,
Of what to say or do.
Upon the slimy deck
The passengers in demon fright,
Bemoaned the awful wreck.
The men rushed here, the women there,
The captain and the crew
Crouched by the bulwarks in despair,
Of what to say or do.
When lo! just as the ship careened
As if about to sink,
All o'er the rail a sailor leaned,
And wildly cried, “I think
I see a lifeboat come this way,
Manned by a sturdy boy,”
Then hope succeeded dire dismay,
And fear gave way to joy.
As if about to sink,
All o'er the rail a sailor leaned,
And wildly cried, “I think
I see a lifeboat come this way,
Manned by a sturdy boy,”
Then hope succeeded dire dismay,
And fear gave way to joy.
Aye, in his honest little yawl,
A youth pulled out from shore,
Unto the wreck and took them all,
Three hundred souls or more,
Back to the beach, where safe on land,
The passengers and crew,
Took the small hero by the hand
And told him “Good for you!”
A youth pulled out from shore,
Unto the wreck and took them all,
Three hundred souls or more,
Back to the beach, where safe on land,
The passengers and crew,
Took the small hero by the hand
And told him “Good for you!”
215
No sooner had these words he said,
Than did the tempest burst,
Upon the good ship's fated head,
And each man knew the worst.
Some poets sing of heroes who
Toil in the eastern main,
To bring wrecked passengers and crew
Safe back to land again.
But Colorado poets are
To all such baubles stoic,
For here the seas are wilder far
And heroes more heroic.
Than did the tempest burst,
Upon the good ship's fated head,
And each man knew the worst.
Some poets sing of heroes who
Toil in the eastern main,
To bring wrecked passengers and crew
Safe back to land again.
But Colorado poets are
To all such baubles stoic,
For here the seas are wilder far
And heroes more heroic.
June 5th, 1882.
216
MORNING.
The sun cometh up in the Orient sky,
Dispensing his warmth over prairie and glade,
His beams lightly dance on the cot where I lie
And kiss my soft hand on the coverlet laid,
Yet I doze and I dream, and I dream and I doze,
And the flies gamble aimlessly over my nose.
Dispensing his warmth over prairie and glade,
His beams lightly dance on the cot where I lie
And kiss my soft hand on the coverlet laid,
Yet I doze and I dream, and I dream and I doze,
And the flies gamble aimlessly over my nose.
The lark soars aloft from his nest in the tree,
And sings a fair song to his mate on the hill,
His music comes in through the lattice to me,
And my soul, all responsive, amens to his trill.
Yet I doze and I dream, and I dream and I doze,
And the flies make a feast on my ten tiny toes.
And sings a fair song to his mate on the hill,
His music comes in through the lattice to me,
And my soul, all responsive, amens to his trill.
Yet I doze and I dream, and I dream and I doze,
And the flies make a feast on my ten tiny toes.
The chambermaid armed with her dustpan and broom
And wearing an eye that is pregnant with gore,
Expresses a yearning to make up my room,
And plays a sonata on key-hole and door,
Vain the sun's winsome smiles and the lark's soft appealing,
The flies make their flight to their lairs on the ceiling.
And wearing an eye that is pregnant with gore,
Expresses a yearning to make up my room,
And plays a sonata on key-hole and door,
Vain the sun's winsome smiles and the lark's soft appealing,
The flies make their flight to their lairs on the ceiling.
August 10th, 1881.
217
MAUD MULLER.
Miss Muller, so the gossips say,
Flirted in quite a shameless way;
Flirted in quite a shameless way;
But Maud, with a laugh, pronounced it fudge,
Yet we caught her wink at the ratty Judge.
Yet we caught her wink at the ratty Judge.
And the Judge, but we mention this sub rose,
Blushed up to the roots of his bulbous nose.
Blushed up to the roots of his bulbous nose.
Still, he craned his neck and in passing by,
Gave a sinister wink with his dexter eye.
Gave a sinister wink with his dexter eye.
Quoth Maud to herself, as on she passed,
“I have his royal nibs in tow at last;
“I have his royal nibs in tow at last;
“My mother shall wear a sealskin sacque,
My pa swing out in his broadcloth black;
My pa swing out in his broadcloth black;
“My brother shall sip his whisky skins,
And my sister revel in gay breastpins!”
And my sister revel in gay breastpins!”
Quoth the Judge as he sauntered listless on,
“She's a rattling gyirl; you bet I'm gone;
“She's a rattling gyirl; you bet I'm gone;
218
“No doubt my last wife's ma will kick,
And my heirs cut up the very Nick;
And my heirs cut up the very Nick;
“And tho' I've known her a short, short spell,
You bet I'll have her in spite of—” well
You bet I'll have her in spite of—” well
No matter his word, 'twas short and stout,
And the name of a place that's now played out
And the name of a place that's now played out
According to Beecher, Alack! for all,
The maid and the Judge ne'er wedded at all;
The maid and the Judge ne'er wedded at all;
For he passed in his checks from too much gin,
And the maid grew long and lank and thin,
And the maid grew long and lank and thin,
And eke, as her chances glimmered away
She ceased to flirt and began to pray.
She ceased to flirt and began to pray.
God pity the maid and pity the Judge,
And these days of twaddle and bosh and fudge;
And these days of twaddle and bosh and fudge;
For of all sad words from a heart bereft,
The saddest are these, “You bet I'm left.”
The saddest are these, “You bet I'm left.”
| A little book of tribune verse | |