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RANCH VERSES 
 
 L 
 
 WILLIAM LAWRENCE CHITTENDEN 
 
 ■^-mnw&^l- U ) 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SON 
 
 /J 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 
 
 LONDON 
 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 
 
 \t lurickerbockEt °§ttaa 
 1893 
 
Ts ) A <f<f. 
 
 ,C 3 T?3 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1893 
 BV 
 
 WILLIAM LAWRENCE CHITTENDEN 
 
 '4-3/3/') 
 
 Electrotyped, Printed, and Bound by 
 
 Zbe Ifcrucfterbocfeer press, mew J9otft 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
The verses in this little volume are offsprings of 
 solitude — born in idle hours on a Texas ranch. 
 
 W. L. C. 
 
 Chittenden's Ranch, 
 Anson, Texas, 
 
 January, 1893. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hidden i 
 
 My Old Friend, " The Majar Green" . 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 Why Not Be Happy To-Day ? . 
 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 Sub Rosa 
 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 To the Mocking-Bird 
 
 
 
 
 
 7 
 
 The Ranchman's Story 
 
 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 A Sonnet — The Prairies . 
 
 
 
 
 
 ii 
 
 The Cowboys' Christmas Ball 
 
 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 Montclair .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 The Difference . 
 
 
 
 
 
 iS 
 
 Galveston .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 18 
 
 When the Norther Sighs 
 
 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 " In His Name" . 
 
 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 The Ranchman's Letter . 
 
 
 
 
 
 22 
 
 My Mother 
 
 
 
 
 
 24 
 
 A Bachelor's Dilemma 
 
 
 
 
 
 26 
 
 A Farmer's Songs 
 
 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 Texas Types — The Cowboy 
 
 
 
 
 
 29 
 
 A Village Fable 
 
 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 Kind Words 
 
 
 
 
 
 31 
 
 Could I But Fly on Seabird's Wing 
 
 
 
 32 
 
 The Prodigal Daughter . 
 
 
 
 
 
 32 
 
VI 
 
 Contents. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Lovely Rosalie 33 
 
 A Cowboy to Kipling 
 
 
 
 
 
 38 
 
 A Summer Girl . 
 
 
 
 
 
 39 
 
 Beyond the Harbor Bar . 
 
 
 
 
 
 40 
 
 The Twinkle of her Eyes 
 
 
 
 
 
 41 
 
 To Dives .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 42 
 
 An April Song — to Alice . 
 
 
 
 
 
 42 
 
 Neptune's Steeds 
 
 
 
 
 
 44 
 
 Acrostic — Easter Blossoms 
 
 
 
 
 
 46 
 
 Evening Zephyrs . . • 
 
 
 
 
 
 46 
 
 The Ranchman's Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 48 
 
 A Message .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 49 
 
 A King's Daughter . 
 
 
 
 
 
 50 
 
 To May in Paris 
 
 
 
 
 
 5i 
 
 Echoes .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 52 
 
 The Old Homestead . 
 
 
 
 
 
 53 
 
 Declined .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 54 
 
 To a Coquette . 
 
 
 
 
 
 55 
 
 The Old Texan in New York 
 
 
 
 
 
 56 
 
 Man 
 
 
 
 
 
 57 
 
 That Little Boy 
 
 
 
 
 
 58 
 
 A Serenade 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 59 
 
 Texas .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 60 
 
 The Yachtsman's Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 63 
 
 Wouldn't You? . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 64 
 
 The Parson Pickax Gray 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 65 
 
 A San Antonio Memory 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 69 
 
 The Cynic and the Poet 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 7i 
 
 Ode to the Norther . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 72 
 
Contents. 
 
 VII 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGK 
 
 The Dying Actor's Soliloquy 73 
 
 The Maine Coast 
 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 " Maverick Bill" 
 
 
 
 
 76 
 
 A Barefooted Boy 
 
 
 
 
 80 
 
 What Is Life ? . 
 
 
 
 
 81 
 
 I 'm Sad To-Night 
 
 
 
 
 82 
 
 Who Knows? 
 
 
 
 
 83 
 
 A Texas " Lamb," or the Cowboy in Wall Street 
 
 84 
 
 A Drummer's Reverie by the Rio Grande 
 
 86 
 
 Brer Brown's Collection 
 
 88 
 
 " Remember the Alamo " . 
 
 
 
 
 90 
 
 A Sonnet to Night . 
 
 
 
 
 9i 
 
 Lady Belle — A Villanelle 
 
 
 
 
 92 
 
 The Round-Up . 
 
 
 
 
 93 
 
 "Christine" 
 
 
 
 
 95 
 
 The Old Log Fire 
 
 
 
 
 96 
 
 Old Fort Phantom Hill . 
 
 
 
 
 97 
 
 Good-Bye .... 
 
 
 
 
 100 
 
 " Reveries of a Bachelor " 
 
 
 
 
 100 
 
 Ennui 
 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 The Brazos Queen 
 
 
 
 
 104 
 
 The Waltz .... 
 
 
 
 
 107 
 
 The Hermit's Soliloquy . 
 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 Never Despair . 
 
 
 
 
 hi 
 
 To Katherine . 
 
 
 
 
 112 
 
 The Question 
 
 
 
 
 ii3 
 
 Youth 
 
 
 
 
 115 
 
 Age 
 
 
 
 
 116 
 
 The " G " Strings of the Heai 
 
 it 
 
 
 
 117 
 
Vlll 
 
 Contents. 
 
 Highland Evening Song 
 
 Lines to a Picture . 
 
 forevermore 
 
 Bar Harbor Days 
 
 My Bark Is on the Sea 
 
 A Sonnet to the Sea 
 
 Persevere . 
 
 To the Memory of Gen. Sam Houston 
 
 To-Day 
 
 Lines to a Lady .... 
 
 Waiting 
 
 Misunderstood .... 
 
 Texas Types — The Sheriff 
 
 Texas Types — The Cattle Queen 
 
 To an " Unknown Friend " — " A. M. 
 
 The Ranchman's Ride 
 
 The Ladies — A Toast 
 
 The New York Girl . 
 
 The Boston Girl 
 
 The Western Girl 
 
 The Southern Girl . 
 
 The California Girl 
 
 The Ladies of Dixie . 
 
 The Old Mackenzie Trail 
 
 Lines to an Artist in New York 
 
 A Song 
 
 A Memory of Washington Square 
 Ye Bachelors, Beware ! . 
 A Bar Harbor Idyl . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 119 
 
 120 
 
 121 
 122 
 124 
 125 
 126 
 127 
 I2S 
 I29 
 ISO 
 131 
 131 
 133 
 135 
 136 
 137 
 138 
 
 139 
 I4O 
 141 
 142 
 
 143 
 144 
 I46 
 
 147 
 I48 
 149 
 151 
 
Contents. 
 
 IX 
 
 Acrostic 
 
 The Shrewsbury River .... 
 
 Rondeau — Ye Friendly Books . 
 
 A Stockman's Adventures in New York 
 
 To a Lady Playing the Guitar 
 
 The Vikings of Cape Ann .... 
 
 To Summer 
 
 Texas Types — " The Bad Man " 
 
 To the Memory of Gen. R. S. Mackenzie 
 
 The Florida Keys 
 
 Texas Types — " The Tenderfoot " . 
 
 Broadway, N. Y..6P.M 
 
 Reflections at a Young Ladies' Tea Party 
 Farewell, Farewell, My Lady 
 
 Al Fresco ! 
 
 To the Memory of Major Daniel Gano 
 
 To a Dallas Lady 
 
 The Lonely Congaree 
 
 The Squall — Off Sandy Hook 
 
 Farewell 
 
 " Outward Bound" . 
 A Question of Profit 
 The Dying Scout 
 
 PAGK 
 152 
 153 
 155 
 156 
 l62 
 I63 
 
 165 
 166 
 I67 
 I69 
 I70 
 
 171 
 172 
 
 175 
 177 
 177 
 178 
 179 
 182 
 I84 
 I84 
 185 
 186 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Ranch Frontispiece 
 
 "They Called Him Windy Billy" Facing page 14 
 
 " The Wild White Steeds of Neptune". " " 44 
 " Like a Sea-Bird of Morning She Is Off 
 
 and Away " " " 64 
 
 The Maine Coast. Otter Cliffs, near 
 
 Bar Harbor " "74 
 
 Wall Street " " 84 
 
 " Remember the Alamo " . " 90 
 
 Distant View of Round-Up . . . " "94 
 
 Sam Houston " "128 
 
 " Hurrah for a Ride on the Prairies 
 
 Free" " "136 
 
 The Vikings of Cape Ann . . . . " " 164 
 "Far Away in the Land of the Grace- 
 ful Palmetto"* ^ 
 
 "A Gentleman of the Old School" 
 
 (Major Daniel Gano) . . . " "178 
 
 " Ah, That Face of Wistful Beauty " . " " 180 
 
 * Reproduced from an illustration by Mr. Harry Fenn, in Picturesque 
 America, published by Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. 
 
RANCH VERSES. 
 
 HIDDEN. 
 
 TO GEN. R. M. GANO. 
 
 A FAR on the pathless prairies 
 •**• The rarest of flowers abound ; 
 And in the dark caves of the valleys 
 
 There is wealth that will never be found 
 So there are sweet songs in the silence 
 
 That never will melt into sound. 
 
 The twilight illumines her banners 
 With colors no artist can teach ; 
 
 And aloft in the sky there are sermons 
 Too mighty for mortals to preach ; 
 
 So life has its lovely ideals 
 
 Too lofty for language to reach. 
 
 Afar on the sea there 's a music 
 
 That the shore never knows in its rest ; 
 
 And in the green depths of the forest 
 There are choirs that carol unblest ; 
 
 So, deep in the heart there 's a music 
 And a cadence that 's never expressed. 
 I 
 
Ranch Verses. 
 
 MY OLD FRIEND, "THE MAJAH GREEN." 
 
 T N the sunny land of Texas, where Tom Ochil- 
 
 tree 's at home, 
 Where the cowman swings the lasso and the wild 
 
 jack-rabbits roam ; 
 Where hearts of gallant gentlemen are full of sand 
 
 and glow, 
 And the prairies laugh to plenty with the tickle of 
 
 the hoe ; 
 Where the vote is always solid — on the democratic 
 
 side, 
 And old " Tariff Mills " is grinding grist and 
 
 thought from far and wide ; 
 Where the mocking-birds are singing on the 
 
 feathery mesquite trees, 
 And the zephyrs soft are flinging rarest fragrance 
 
 to the breeze ; 
 Where the rustlers from the ranches chase the 
 
 wild-eyed maverick steer, 
 And the pitching pony prances o'er the dog-towns 
 
 far and near ; 
 Where the antelope is grazing, thirty miles from 
 
 Abilene, 
 There it was I met the " Majah " — my old friend, 
 
 " The Majah Green." 
 
 He had led the Southern armies, when their 
 banners floated free, 
 
My Old Friend, " The Majah Green." 3 
 
 From the winding Rappahannock to the tropic 
 
 Mexique Sea. 
 Ay, he told me wondrous stories of the days 
 
 "befo' de wah," 
 When he " owned the pertest darkies," " that was 
 
 raised in Georgah, sah." 
 And he spoke about his boyhood in a " rah old 
 
 Southern town," 
 On the lazy Ocmulgee, with its houses old and 
 
 brown ; 
 Where they raised big sweet potatoes, and the 
 
 "little goober vines," 
 And the "roses blushed forever," 'neath the softly 
 
 wooing pines. 
 But at last he came to Texas, to the " woolly 
 
 wild " frontier, 
 Where he " founded Anson City," in the spring- 
 time of the year. 
 There he built his " little homestead," garlanded 
 
 with eglantine, 
 Where the hollyhocks threw kisses to the fragrant 
 
 jessamine. 
 He was bluff and stout and hearty, rather pompous 
 
 in his mien, 
 Yet he had a kindly " howdy " for all, had Major 
 
 Green. 
 
 Perhaps he was not educated, as a tenderfoot 
 
 conceives, 
 But he scanned the books of nature, as the seasons 
 
 turned the leaves. 
 
4 Ranch Verses. 
 
 He was very fond of hunting — that 's the reason 
 
 he liked me ; 
 Many a time we roamed together o'er the prairies 
 
 broad and free, 
 Where the Double Mountains standeth, and will 
 
 stand for many a day, 
 Till the Seventh Trumpet soundeth, and the earth 
 
 shall pass away. 
 Oft we watched the gilded banners of the golden 
 
 hours depart, 
 When the twilight's richest beauty sheds its 
 
 shadows o'er the heart. 
 Soon the evening fire was kindled, and we rested 
 
 on the ground, 
 While the breathing stars shed lustre o'er the 
 
 wilderness profound. 
 Then the Major told his stories, sang some deep 
 
 bass roundelay 
 To his " Lily of the Valley," or " Old Dixie," far 
 
 away. 
 Yes, his heart beat high but kindly, square and 
 
 honest, nothing mean 
 'Bout that " Vetran, sah," " the Majah," my old 
 
 friend, the Major Green. 
 
 Hark ! the lonely doves are cooing, in the weeping 
 
 mesquite vale, 
 And the south winds sad are sighing o'er the old 
 
 McKenzie trail ; 
 Ah, they miss that sturdy figure, for his honest feet 
 
 have trod 
 
Why Not be Happy To-day. 5 
 
 Far beyond the sunset mountains where his spirit 
 
 went to God. 
 The prairie flowers are waving o'er a lonely little 
 
 mound, 
 For the Major roams the borders of the Happy 
 
 Hunting Ground. 
 He has crossed the Royal River that rolls on to 
 
 crystal seas, 
 And has found his old commander, Stonewall 
 
 Jackson, " 'neath the trees." 
 They are resting from their labors ; oh, I know 
 
 that smile serene 
 That in olden days illumined my old friend, " The 
 
 Majah Green." 
 
 WHY NOT BE HAPPY TO-DAY? 
 
 HAVE questioned my hopes of the future, 
 I have doubted my dreams of the past, 
 I have roamed through the realms of ambition, 
 With visions too lovely to last. 
 I have longed for youth's fondest ideals, 
 But those phantoms are now far away, 
 And at last fair philosophy whispers, 
 Oh, why not be happy to-day ? 
 
 Though storm clouds may darken life's valley, 
 (And each heart has some shadows of care,) 
 The bright sun will soon gild the heavens, 
 And thy troubles will melt into air. 
 
6 Ranch Verses. 
 
 So what is the use of repining ? 
 
 Will it bless or ennoble you, pray ? 
 
 No ! — The world does not care for your whining, 
 
 So why not be happy to-day ? 
 
 Ah, the old world at heart is too solemn, 
 
 For life is at best full of trials ; 
 
 But try to be cheerful, 't will help you, 
 
 If you brighten all pathways with smiles. 
 
 Then life will be well worth the living, 
 
 Let kindness illumine its way, 
 
 And with Hope's gilded banners before us 
 
 Let 's strive to be happy to-day. 
 
 SUB ROSA. 
 
 HAVE heard the robins singing 
 A Where the sweet magnolia grows ; 
 I have seen the zephyrs flinging 
 
 Twilight kisses to the rose ; 
 But a sweeter song has filled me 
 
 Than the birds in perfumed bowers, 
 And a softer kiss has thrilled me 
 
 Than the south winds on the flowers. 
 
 I have felt the lilies blowing 
 Dewy fragrance in the morn ; 
 
 I have seen the sunbeams glowing 
 Golden blushes on the corn ; 
 
To the Moc king-Bird. 
 
 But I know a flower that 's fairer 
 
 Than the lilies ever grew, 
 And I love a blush that 's rarer 
 
 Than the sunbeam's softest hue. 
 
 I have seen the moonbeams flying 
 
 Over starlit, silvery seas ; 
 I have heard the zephyrs sighing 
 
 Through the orange blossomed trees ; 
 But a purer ray has blessed me 
 
 Than the moonlight on the sands, 
 And a softer sigh caressed me 
 
 Than the breath of tropic lands. 
 
 She is fairer than the flowers ; 
 
 She is sweeter than the rose ; 
 And her heart of kindness showers 
 
 Blessings everywhere she goes. 
 Altruistic — without sinning — 
 
 She 's an angel from the sky, 
 (Far above my earthly winning) — 
 
 She 's engaged ! and so am I ! 
 
 TO THE MOCKING-BIRD. 
 
 A FAR from noisy, tuneless throngs, 
 ^*- Which worship round the cities' shrine, 
 I listen to thy moonlight songs, 
 Thv melodies divine. 
 
, Ranch Verses. 
 
 I drink the sweetness of thy lay 
 Where fragrant breezes softly play 
 Through silvery banners of whispering moss 
 Which wave beneath the Southern Cross. 
 
 I hear thy clear and restful note 
 
 Upon the evening air arise, 
 Until the silence seems to float 
 
 With music from the skies. 
 Yes, I have listened till I felt 
 My restless heart begin to melt, 
 Until my spirit longed to be 
 In tuneful harmony with thee. 
 
 Ah, there 's an echo in thy strain 
 
 Which soothes the tired, troubled breast, 
 
 And bids life's passions sleep again 
 And charms the soul to rest. 
 
 But who, indeed, can truly pay 
 
 Just tribute to thy heavenly lay ? 
 
 Not I, alas ! No words of mine 
 
 Can echo those rare songs of thine. 
 
 THE RANCHMAN'S STORY. 
 
 T LONG had lived a lonely life 
 A Far from the world apart. 
 A dweller 'midst a land of dreams, 
 Close, close to Nature's heart. 
 
The Ranchman s Story. 
 
 Ah, Nature always speaks the truth ! 
 
 (In her I still believe) 
 And so I passed my earnest youth 
 
 Unpractised to deceive. 
 
 I loved mankind — my hopes were high, 
 
 For I had often trod 
 Upon the lofty mountain heights 
 
 Whose summits point to God ! 
 My heart was tuned by songs of birds, 
 
 My life was free from care ; 
 I dwelt in youth's rare palaces, 
 
 'Midst castles in the air. 
 
 At last I left my prairie home, 
 
 I roamed to distant strands, 
 And lived in courtly marble halls 
 
 In stately Northern lands. 
 Ah ! there I met a queen of art, 
 
 A lovely woman dear, 
 "An idol for a poet's heart," 
 
 My " Lady Vere de Vere ! " 
 
 Yes, she was young and proud and fair — 
 
 Fair as the evening star — 
 So, " poet-like," I idealized 
 
 And worshipped her afar. 
 Ah, yes, I loved her high-bred mien, 
 
 She seemed so pure and kind ! 
 She praised my songs, she heard my words- 
 
 Oh, why was I so blind ? 
 
io Ranch Verses. 
 
 To ardent speech and Southern hearts 
 
 She said she was unused ; 
 Oh, yes, she " liked an earnest man " ; 
 
 She "loved to be amused ! " 
 And so I lost my foolish heart ; 
 
 She kept it for a day, 
 Till Fate decreed that we should part 
 
 And strand me far away. 
 
 Last week a scented letter came 
 
 My visions to dispel ; 
 It brought her dainty wedding-cards 
 
 And that long word — " Farewell ! " 
 To-day my lady will be wed, 
 
 To-day the bells will ring, 
 And yet the world seems cold and dead, 
 
 My birds have ceased to sing. 
 
 To-day alone, in lonely lands, 
 
 Where Bridesmaid Nature smiles, 
 I hear a muffled wedding march 
 
 In dim cathedral aisles, 
 'Midst all the throngs of beauty there, 
 
 Of all that pomp and pride, 
 I only see the rippling hair, 
 
 The pure eyes of the bride ! 
 
 The proud procession sweeps along 
 Behind her blossomed veil ; 
 
 It pauses there in silence now 
 Beside the chancel rail. 
 
A Sonnet — The Prairies. 1 1 
 
 The words are said — her answer comes 
 (My dream was false and fleet) — 
 
 But still I strew my blessings there 
 Around her dainty feet. 
 
 Ah ! now there is no peace for me, 
 
 I roam life's plains alone, 
 'Midst fervent hopes of former days 
 
 With wrecks of ruin strown. 
 Oh, how the mournful zephyrs sigh 
 
 Her last words in my ear ! 
 My world, my heart, my life is full 
 
 Of Lady Vere de Vere ! 
 
 Though I can tame the wild mustang 
 
 And breast the ocean's ire, 
 And face the Norther's freezing blast 
 
 Or check the prairie fire, 
 I cannot curb a restless heart, 
 
 Nor stem Love's swelling tide ; 
 'T was wealth that burned our souls apart — 
 
 " Farewell ! " pale victim bride ! 
 
 A SONNET— THE PRAIRIES. 
 
 [ LOVE the prairies broad and free, 
 A For there I know and there I feel 
 
 My heart is not a thing of steel. 
 Lost in this tawny, fragrant sea 
 
12 Ranch Verses. 
 
 I breathe and hear that minstrelsy 
 
 Which Nature's vibrant chords reveal, 
 And Nature's tuneful songs appeal 
 
 To all that 's best and good in me. 
 The stars, the clouds, the azure skies 
 
 And viewless vastness all combine 
 
 To broaden life ; yes, here my spirit soars 
 and flies 
 
 Beyond the world's low level line 
 Till, lost, forgetful of life's sighs, 
 
 It dwells in miraged realms divine. 
 
 THE COWBOYS' CHRISTMAS BALL. 
 
 TO THE RANCHMEN OF TEXAS. 
 
 '*\ \ T AY out in Western Texas, where the Clear 
 Fork's waters flow, 
 
 Where the cattle are "a-browzin'," an' the Spanish 
 ponies grow ; 
 
 Where the Northers "come a-whistlin' " from 
 beyond the Neutral strip ; 
 
 And the prairie dogs are sneezin', as if they had 
 "The Grip" ; 
 
 Where the cayotes come a-howlin' 'round the 
 ranches after dark, 
 
 And the mocking-birds are singin' to the lovely 
 " medder lark " ; 
 
 Where the 'possum and the badger, and rattle- 
 snakes abound, 
 
The Cowboys Christmas Ball. 13 
 
 And the monstrous stars are winkin' o'er a wil- 
 derness profound ; 
 
 Where lonesome, tawny prairies melt into airy 
 streams, 
 
 While the Double Mountains slumber, in heavenly 
 kinds of dreams ; 
 
 Where the antelope is grazin' and the lonely 
 plovers call — 
 
 It was there that I attended " The Cowboys' 
 Christmas Ball." 
 
 The town was Anson City, old Jones's county 
 
 seat, 
 Where they raise Polled Angus cattle, and waving 
 
 whiskered wheat ; 
 Where the air is soft and " bammy," an' dry an' 
 
 full of health, 
 And the prairies is explodin' with agricultural 
 
 wealth ; 
 Where they print the Texas Western, that Hec. 
 
 McCann supplies, 
 With news and yarns and stories, uv most amazin' 
 
 size ; 
 Where Frank Smith " pulls the badger," on know- 
 in' tenderfeet, 
 And Democracy 's triumphant, and mighty hard 
 
 to beat ; 
 Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap 
 
 from Lamar, 
 Who " used to be the Sheriff, back East, in Paris, 
 
 sah ! " 
 
14 Ranch Verses. 
 
 'T was there, I say, at Anson, with the lively " wid- 
 
 der Wall," 
 That I went to that reception, " The Cowboys' 
 
 Christmas Ball." 
 
 The boys had left the ranches and come to town 
 
 in piles ; 
 The ladies — " kinder scatterin' " — had gathered in 
 
 for miles. 
 And yet the place was crowded, as I remember 
 
 well, 
 'T was got for the occasion, at "The Morning Star 
 
 Hotel." 
 The music was a fiddle an' a lively tambourine, 
 And a "viol come imported," by the stage from 
 
 Abilene. 
 The room was togged out gorgeous — with mistle- 
 toe and shawls, 
 And candles flickered frescoes, around the airy 
 
 walls. 
 The " wimmin folks " looked lovely — the boys 
 
 looked kinder treed, 
 Till their leader commenced yellin' : " Whoa ! 
 
 fellers, let 's stampede," 
 And the music started sighin', an' awailin' through 
 
 the hall, 
 As a kind of introduction to " The Cowboys' 
 
 Christmas Ball." 
 
 The leader was a feller that came from Swenson's 
 Ranch, 
 
THEY CALLED HIM WINDY BILLY." 
 
The Cowboys Christmas Ball. 15 
 
 They called him "Windy Billy," from "little 
 
 Deadman's Branch." 
 His rig was "kinder keerless," big spurs and high- 
 heeled boots ; 
 He had the reputation that comes when " fellers 
 
 shoots." 
 His voice was like a bugle upon the mountain's 
 
 height ; 
 His feet were animated, an' a mighty, moviri sight, 
 When he commenced to holler, " Neow fellers, 
 
 stake yer pen ! 
 "Lock horns ter all them heifers, an' russle 'em 
 
 like men. 
 " Saloot yer lovely critters ; neow swing an' let 
 
 'em go, 
 " Climb the grape vine 'round 'em — all hands do- 
 
 ce-do ! 
 " You Mavericks, jine the round-up — Jest skip her 
 
 waterfall," 
 Huh ! hit wuz gettin' active, " The Cowboys' 
 
 Christmas Ball ! " 
 
 The boys were tolerable skittish, the ladies power- 
 ful neat, 
 
 That old bass viol's music just got there with both 
 feet ! 
 
 That wailin', frisky fiddle, I never shall forget ; 
 
 And Windy kept a singin' — I think I hear him 
 yet— 
 
 "O Xes, chase your squirrels, an' cut 'em to one 
 side, 
 
1 6 Ranch Verses. 
 
 " Spur Treadwell to the centre, with Cross P Char- 
 ley's bride, 
 " Doc. Hollis down the middle, an' twine the ladies' 
 
 chain, 
 " Varn Andrews pen the fillies in big T Diamond's 
 
 train. 
 " All pull yer freight tergether, neow swallow fork 
 
 an' change, 
 " ' Big Boston ' lead the trail herd, through little 
 
 Pitchfork's range. 
 " Purr 'round yer gentle pussies, neow rope 'em ! 
 
 Balance all ! " 
 Huh ! hit wuz gettin' active — " The Cowboys' 
 
 Christmas Ball ! " 
 
 The dust riz fast an' furious, we all just galloped 
 
 'round, 
 Till the scenery got so giddy, that Z Bar Dick was 
 
 downed. 
 We buckled to our partners, an' told 'em to hold 
 
 on, 
 Then shook our hoofs like lightning, until the 
 
 early dawn. 
 Don't tell me 'bout cotillions, or germans. No sir 
 
 'ee! 
 That whirl at Anson City just takes the cake with 
 
 me. 
 I 'm sick of lazy shufflin's, of them I 've had my 
 
 fill, 
 Give me a frontier break-down, backed up by 
 
 Windy Bill. 
 
Montclair. 1 7 
 
 McAllister ain't nowhar ! when Windy leads the 
 
 show, 
 I 've seen 'em both in harness, and so I sorter 
 
 know — 
 Oh, Bill, I sha'n't forget yer, and I '11 oftentimes 
 
 recall, 
 That lively gaited sworray — " The Cowboys' 
 
 Christmas Ball." 
 
 MONTCLAIR. 
 
 "T^EAR lovely mountain town, farewell, 
 ^-^ Though we, alas, must part, 
 Thy landscape beauties long shall dwell 
 Like memories in my heart. 
 
 As some lone river onward flows 
 
 To seek a restful sea, 
 
 So shall my spirit seek repose 
 
 In restful dreams of thee. 
 » 
 
 Though far in distant lands I roam, 
 
 A haunted wanderer there, 
 I '11 think of thee, my boyhood's home, 
 
 Cool mountain-browed Montclair. 
 
 I love thy crags and purple hills, 
 
 Thy views of distant seas, 
 Thy fruitful vines and whispering rills, 
 
 Thy groves of murmuring trees. 
 
3 Ranch Verses. 
 
 How oft I trod thy woodland vales, 
 
 Along thy shaded streams, 
 A hunter lost 'midst gameless dales, 
 
 In boyhood's land of dreams. 
 
 Though Time may blight life's youthful hopes, 
 
 Fond Memory's fancies fair 
 Shall twine rich garlands round thy slopes, 
 
 Proud mountain town, Montclair ! 
 
 THE DIFFERENCE. 
 
 HP EN years ago, my lovely Kate, 
 
 A Eighteen was I with you, 
 But now when I am twenty-eight 
 You 're only twenty-two ! 
 
 How is it in Time's equal race 
 My years have yours surpassed ? 
 
 " Because," laughed Kate, with roguish face, 
 " Because you lived so fast ! " 
 
 GALVESTON. 
 
 TO " M. P. W." 
 
 A 17" HERE sea-gulls fair are flying 
 
 Above a lonely sea, 
 And zephyrs rare are sighing 
 Across the sandy lea ; 
 
Rondeau. 19 
 
 Where oleanders blossom beneath a generous sun, 
 There by the sobbing billows, dreams lovely Gal- 
 veston. 
 
 Her roses bloom forever 
 Beneath an azure sky. 
 Her sunlight fadeth never, 
 For summer lingers nigh. 
 There at the gates of Texas, in tropic garlands 
 
 drest, 
 She smiles in budding beauty — the queen of the 
 Southwest. 
 
 WHEN THE NORTHER SIGHS. 
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 T 17" HEN the Norther sighs, and the storm winds 
 v v pour 
 From the cold, bleak coasts of Labrador, 
 How pleasant then, by the big log fire, 
 To watch the cheerful flames leap higher 
 And hear the great wide chimneys roar. 
 
 What hidden realms can the mind explore 
 
 In the mystic lands of classic lore ? 
 
 To what bold flights may the Muse aspire 
 When the Norther sighs ? 
 
 Then here afar, when the wild winds war, 
 And the cayote howls at my lonely door, 
 
20 Ranch Verses. 
 
 I love to wake the slumbering lyre, 
 For my spirit soars beyond care's pyre, 
 And I dream old dreams, beloved of yore, 
 When the Norther sighs. 
 
 "IN HIS NAME." 
 
 TO MRS. MARGARET BOTTOME. 
 
 T N fair Virginia's Lotus Land, where sings the 
 
 A whippoorwill, 
 
 And slumb'rous sunlight loves to woo the rippling 
 
 mountain rill, 
 Long years ago a careless lad, fresh freed from 
 
 droning school, 
 I roamed fair Shenandoah's vales, in meadows rich 
 
 and cool. 
 I saw the river sweep along through fields of wav- 
 ing grain ; 
 I heard the piping bobolinks sing olden songs 
 
 again ; 
 And high upon the Blue Ridge heights, where 
 
 rarest zephyrs dwell, 
 I wandered on 'midst sylvan scenes into a lonely 
 
 dell, 
 Where, hidden in the weeping grass, beyond all 
 
 strife or blame, 
 I found a slab which simply said, " Erected in His 
 
 Name." 
 
" In His Name" 21 
 
 I scanned that slanting little cross and paused 
 
 beside the mound, 
 To read the story buried there, but nothing more 
 
 was found. 
 I knew some soldier, tired and worn, from earthly 
 
 battles free, 
 Had answered to his last tattoo and Death's grim 
 
 reveille. 
 Yet who he was or whence he came, alas ! no one 
 
 can tell 
 The weeping mother of that son just where her 
 
 hero fell. 
 Perhaps some mournful maiden now is sighing for 
 
 the tread 
 That 's crossed the purple twilight hills to cities of 
 
 the dead. 
 Perhaps some prattling children long for steps that 
 
 never came, 
 And lilies of the valley bloom and blossom " In 
 
 His Name." 
 
 Some aged father's manly prop and loving sister's 
 
 care 
 Has crossed to twilight realms of rest in valleys 
 
 over there. 
 The sunlight now is smiling soft upon that lonely 
 
 lea, 
 The silvery Shenandoah sweeps her blossoms to 
 
 the sea ; 
 Yet unforgotten sorrow broods around that pensive 
 
 scene, 
 
22 Ranch Verses. 
 
 And weeping seasons shed their woes upon the 
 
 misty green. 
 The hooing owls murmur low, and sad the whip- 
 
 poorwills 
 Echo the story of that mound o'er old Virginia's 
 
 hills ; 
 But when at last fair glory calls for all her sons of 
 
 fame, 
 The silent watcher over all will answer, " In His 
 
 Name." 
 
 THE RANCHMAN'S LETTER. 
 
 A T a lonely old ranch by the fire to-night, 
 ■**• At my ranch on the Texas frontier, 
 Old memories, my lady, now prompt me to write 
 To a friend who is distant — yet near. 
 
 While the fire dreams on in its warm chimney bed 
 And the owls are calling " Tu Whoo ! " 
 
 Alone I recall the fond past that is fled, 
 Alone I am thinking of you. 
 
 And you ? as you flirt with some gay millionaire, 
 Or among " the four hundred " seek rest, 
 
 Do you ever remember, my proud Lady Clare, 
 Your friend in "the wild, woolly West " ? 
 
The Ranchman s Letter. 23 
 
 Have you then forgotten our joys of the past, 
 
 That parting, and silent good-bye ? 
 Alas, those bright days were too lovely to last 
 
 For such a poor fellow as I. 
 
 The parts that we play on the broad stage of life 
 
 Are now very different, I fear ; 
 For while you are leading 'midst fashionable strife 
 
 I chase the shy " maverick steer." 
 
 You dwell in proud mansions on Fifth Avenue, 
 Sometimes you are seen at Long Branch ; 
 
 I live here alone with a cowboy or two 
 'Midst the woes of a bachelor s ranch. 
 
 You dine on rare viands and costly champagne, 
 You lunch with Delmonico's queens, 
 
 In the summer you live in the hotels of Maine ; 
 I live on boiled bacon and beans. 
 
 You drive in proud state, your coachman is dark, 
 You pose in your carriage, of course ; 
 
 You travel in Pullmans to Tuxedo Park, 
 I ride on a wild pitching horse ! 
 
 Your dresses are poems ! your bills are immense ! 
 
 At least I imagine they are ; 
 They make a fine figure — in dollars and cents ; 
 
 They are paid by your frowning papa. 
 
24 Ranch Verses. 
 
 You go to receptions and Patriarchs' balls, 
 
 You gossip at five o'clock teas, 
 You 're a slave to gay fashion ! Oh, how it 
 enthralls ; 
 
 I call it a farce, if you please. 
 
 Yes ! yes ! it 's a sham ! You are wasting your 
 life 
 
 In those fashionable follies up there, — 
 You who would make such a lovable wife ! 
 
 I would court you myself — did I dare \ 
 
 But alas, it can't be ! you would never live here, 
 And prudence forbids me to speak ; 
 
 For while you are spending four thousand a year 
 / subsist on two dollars a week ! 
 
 MY MOTHER. 
 
 T KNOW a dear old lady 
 A Whose voice is soft and low, 
 Her face is like some picture, 
 A dream of long ago. 
 
 She is not great nor famous, 
 Nor known in realms of art, 
 
 But she is rich in treasures 
 Which gild a kindly heart. 
 
My Mother. 25 
 
 To see her is to bless her ; 
 
 Her praise is on each tongue ; 
 She 's friends in all the aged, 
 
 And "lovers in the young." 
 
 Her life 's a living sermon 
 
 Of hope and gentle facts — 
 A text for human nature, 
 
 That 's found in loving acts ! 
 
 She fills her world with kindness, 
 
 It brightens every spot. 
 She has her earthly sorrows, 
 
 But yet of earth is not. 
 
 She 's patient, pure, and happy, 
 
 In these her twilight days ; 
 Her lips are ever ready 
 
 To comfort or to praise. 
 
 Her soul 's a gleam of sunshine, 
 
 A rainbow in Life's showers ; 
 Her presence is a garden 
 
 Of ever-blooming flowers, 
 
 Which Time can never wither, 
 
 For recollections rare 
 Shall bloom around her memory, 
 
 And twine Love's garlands there. 
 
26 Ranch Verses. 
 
 A BACHELOR'S DILEMMA. 
 
 TV /T Y lady is lovely and noble and kind, 
 *■* *- Too noble for me, I am sure. 
 She 's the queen of all women, rich, true, and 
 refined ; 
 I am only gay-hearted and poor. 
 
 She 's a leader of fashion — has a home of her own ; 
 
 Her mansions are wonderfully fair. 
 I am " only a poet " — I live all alone ; 
 
 My castles are all in the air. 
 
 Alas, she 's too wealthy and stylish for me, 
 Yet I love her far more than my life. 
 
 But I 'm too proud to marry — I never could be 
 " A man that 's maintained by his wife." 
 
 " We were made for each other," of this I am sure; 
 
 She likes me — I know by her eyes — 
 But alas, she 's so wealthy and I am so poor, 
 
 I cannot support such a prize ! 
 
 Then what in the world should a bachelor do 
 Who is busted, teetotally, flat ? 
 
 Why ! I '11 ask for her hand, and her big fortune, 
 too, 
 Then — work — to support her with that ! 
 
A Farmer 's Songs. 27 
 
 A FARMER'S SONGS. 
 
 \\TA1,, I reckon I'm ole-fashioned, but them 
 
 songs that Nacher sings 
 Iz the kind tu soothe my feelin's an' twang my ole 
 
 heart strings. 
 When I sets back fer muzic, I expecks to hear sum 
 
 chune 
 Thet will thrill through my ole buzzum like er 
 
 robin's song in June. 
 
 Oh, I luv the brook's clear tinkle, fiddlin' onward 
 to the sea 
 
 Ez it laughs aroun' the rushes whar the black- 
 birds call " co chee " ; 
 
 Thar iz muzic uv a mornin' in the risin' songs uv 
 birds, 
 
 More delightful tu my feelin's than the sweetest 
 kind uv words. 
 
 Then at noon when I 'm er restin' 'neath the meller 
 
 blossomed trees, 
 It iz sleepy-like an plezzant jes to hear the drowzy 
 
 bees, 
 Or the lazy locus' hummin' on a peaceful summer 
 
 day, 
 When the air iz warm an' fragrant with the clover 
 
 tops an' hay. 
 
28 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Thar iz muzic tu at twilight, ez mos' every one 
 
 allows, 
 In the chingle, changle, chingle, of the homeward 
 
 windin' cows ; 
 An' when the chores iz finished ez the evenin' 
 
 shadders falls, 
 I luv to hear the cattle munchiri muzic in their 
 
 stalls. 
 
 An' at dusk when work is over, an' the air iz 
 
 hushed an' still, 
 It is mournful-like an' plezzant jes to hear the 
 
 whipperwill ; 
 Then at last when supper 's finished an' wife 's sot 
 
 away the things, 
 Heow I dream an' loaf an' listen while the 
 
 steamin' kettle sings. 
 
 When the winter storms cum' ragin', and the big 
 
 log fires glow, 
 Heow I luv the chimbley's muzic, like a dirge from 
 
 long ago ; 
 Yes, I reckon I 'm ole-fashioned, but the songs wot 
 
 Nacher sings 
 Iz the kind tu soothe my feelin's an' twang my o»e 
 
 heart-strings. 
 
Texas Types — The Cowboy. 29 
 
 TEXAS TYPES— THE COWBOY. 
 
 T T E wears a big hat and big spurs and all that, 
 A And leggins of fancy fringed leather ; 
 
 He takes pride in his boots and the pistol he 
 shoots, 
 And he 's happy in all kinds of weather. 
 
 He is fond of his horse — 't is a bronco, of course, 
 
 For, oh, he can ride like the Devil ; 
 He is old for his years, and he always appears 
 
 To be foremost at round-up or revel. 
 
 He can sing, he can cook, yet his eyes have the 
 look 
 
 Of a man that to fear is a stranger ; 
 Yes, his cool, quiet nerve will always subserve 
 
 In his wild life of duty and danger. 
 
 He gets little to eat and he guys tenderfeet, 
 And for Fashion — oh, well, he 's " not in it ! " 
 
 He can rope a gay steer when he gets on his ear, 
 At the rate of two-forty a minute ! 
 
 His saddle 's the best in the wild, woolly West, 
 
 Sometimes it will cost sixty dollars ; 
 Ah, he knows all the tricks, when he brands 
 " Mavericks," 
 
 But his learning's not gained from your scholars. 
 
30 Ranch Verses. 
 
 He is loyal as steel, but demands a square deal, 
 And he hates and despises a coward. 
 
 Yet the cowboy you '11 find unto woman is kind, 
 Though he '11 fight till by death overpowered. 
 
 Hence I say unto you, give the cowboy his due, 
 And be kinder, my friends, toward his folly ; 
 
 For he 's generous and brave, though he may not 
 behave 
 Like your dudes, who are so melancholy. 
 
 A VILLAGE FABLE. 
 
 A S Death and the Devil were taking the air, 
 ■**" In a beautiful village — the town of Montclair — 
 They came to a doctor, a true friend of both, 
 Who had physicked himself — and was dying forsooth ! 
 " See here," wailed sad Death, " see here, Jolly Nick, 
 
 "Is our friend Doctor B but alas, he 's quite sick : 
 
 " Yet his practice is large, as you '11 surely agree, 
 " For his patients keep coming to you and to me. 
 " Shall we spare him this time, at least for awhile ? " 
 " By all means ! " sang Nick, as he said, with a smile, 
 " Well, well, dearest Doctor, your call has been close; 
 " In the future be careful, don't take your own dose, 
 " But physic your patients, and fire them to me, 
 "And I with great patie)ice, will at last fire thee ! " 
 " Ha, ha ! " laughed the Doctor, who relished all 
 
 sport, 
 " 'T is truly a blessing to have friends at court." 
 
Kind Words. 31 
 
 KIND WORDS. 
 
 A KIND word now and then, my boys, 
 ■*■*■ A kind word here and there, 
 Will fill the weary world with joys 
 
 And banish clouds of care ; 
 Though life may sometimes seem all wrong 
 
 And heaven far away, 
 Don't lose your grip, just peg along, 
 
 You '11 find that pluck will pay. 
 
 Don't be ashamed nor 'fraid, my boys, 
 
 To show that you 've a heart, 
 Be bold and undismayed, my boys, 
 
 But act a kindly part. 
 Don't wait until your friends are dead 
 
 Their virtues to unfold, 
 Kind words in time, and timely said, 
 
 Are worth their weight in gold. 
 
 Don't lean too much on prayers, my boys, 
 
 Just find your text in acts ; 
 Be true, and fair, and square, my boys, 
 
 Such preaching 's full of facts. 
 With kind words now and then, my boys, 
 
 With kind words here and there, 
 Let 's fill the weary world with joys 
 
 And banish clouds of care. 
 
32 Ranch Verses. 
 
 COULD I BUT FLY ON SEABIRD'S WING. 
 
 /"~"*OULD I but fly on seabird's wing 
 
 ^-^ To Youth's green island realms of yore, 
 
 My restless spirit ne'er could cling 
 
 To Manhood's dull and faded shore ; 
 But with a free, exultant flight 
 
 I 'd leave these chambered hours of care, 
 And wing my way to dreams of light, 
 
 To dwell 'midst castles in the air. 
 
 Yes, there in Love's rare, rosy bowers 
 
 I 'd gather garlands bright with Hope, 
 Without one thought of wasted flowers 
 
 Which withered on Ambition's slope. 
 Then might I trill some bugle song 
 
 Which nations yet unborn would sing, 
 And Time might then my fame prolong, 
 
 Could I but fly on seabird's wkig. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER. 
 
 T N the spring-time of youth, in life's early morn- 
 ing, 
 
 When the blossoms were blowing from the old 
 apple-trees, 
 
 And wistaria vines with their purple adorning 
 
The Lovely Rosalie. 33 
 
 Were wooing the zephyrs and rich yellow bees, 
 The Prodigal came to the home of his leaving, 
 Where he played in the daisies a light-hearted 
 
 boy, 
 And they welcomed him back, with the tears of 
 
 receiving, 
 And twining affection and murmurs of joy. 
 
 When the cold winds of winter were sighing so 
 
 dreary 
 Around the old house by the murmuring shore, 
 The Prodigal daughter, all tired and weary, 
 Crept back to the home of her girlhood once 
 
 more ; 
 But they turned her away, o'er the moorland so 
 
 lonely, 
 And the winds of despair moaned wild through her 
 
 breast, 
 And death was her refuge, aye that, and that 
 
 only, 
 For the Prodigal daughter, alas, has no rest ! 
 
 THE LOVELY ROSALIE. 
 
 T N lively old New Jersey, where the laws are very 
 
 1 blue, 
 
 And the applejack 's the smoothest that a Texan 
 
 ever knew ; 
 
 Where commuters roam in thousands and New 
 
 Yorkers often flee 
 3 
 
34 Ranch Verses. 
 
 From the giddy cares of Gotham to the softly mur- 
 muring sea ; 
 Where nobby Wall street brokers and Mugwumps 
 
 often chat 
 'Bout the glories of "weak fishing" round the bars 
 
 at Barnegat ; 
 Where they chase "imported beagles (?) " on the 
 
 trail for anise-seed, 
 With that kindly English hunter, F. M. Wheeler, 
 
 in the lead ; 
 Where the people are all " culc hawed," in that toney 
 
 town Montclair, 
 Which is noted for its beauties and pure, salubrious 
 
 air ; 
 Where abides the poet angler, known to fame as 
 
 Dodge (H. C), 
 It was there befell the wooing of the lovely 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Her eyes were like twin violets, suffused in pearly 
 
 dew, 
 Her cheeks bespoke the roses that twilight loves to 
 
 woo ; 
 She seemed like some fair flower, all loveliness in 
 
 place, 
 A bud of beauty breathing joy on willowy stem of 
 
 grace ; 
 Her voice was low and lovely, as some rare old 
 
 Spanish tune, 
 And her laugh was full of music as a mocking-bird 
 
 in June ; 
 
The Lovely Rosalie. 3 5 
 
 Her smiles were pure and pensive, as moonbeams 
 
 on a stream, 
 While her face possessed that beauty which gilds 
 
 an Inness dream ; 
 Indeed she was a Venus, such as Titian ne'er 
 
 could paint, 
 And her life was one sweet sermon, filled with 
 
 precepts for a saint ; 
 Oh, she seemed a queen from heaven, and if earthly 
 
 angels be, 
 Montclair should sing hosannahs for the lovely 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Her father was a merchant doing business in New 
 
 York, 
 With a high commercial rating for integrity and — 
 
 pork ! 
 And the lovers came a-courting with their vapid 
 
 city airs, 
 And an eye, perhaps, for spending her father's 
 
 bonds and shares. 
 But she sent them all a-sighing to " Hoboken " or 
 
 "Soho," 
 Till at last there came a wooer who made her bosom 
 
 glow. 
 He was gay and brown and handsome, with a wild 
 
 and woolly air, 
 And he came from Corpus Christi on a lively 
 
 bronco mare. 
 You would take him for a winner from the way he 
 
 " sot his horse," 
 
36 Ranch Verses. 
 
 You'd " put your money on him " when he " can- 
 tered round the course " ; 
 
 Yet with all his " Western manners " he was noble, 
 brave, and free, 
 
 And she liked his honest purring, did the lovely 
 Rosalie. 
 
 She was tired of simpering fellows and dudes which 
 
 fashion rears, 
 And she listened now with shudders to tales of 
 
 snakes and steers ; 
 For he told her 'bout the prairies and ranches far 
 
 away 
 Where the centipedes are wooing the tarantulas at 
 
 play, 
 Where the rattlesnakes are basking in the sunshine 
 
 on the sod, 
 While the drowsy plains are breathing an azure 
 
 dream of God. 
 Where the birds are always singing in that breezy 
 
 blossomed land, 
 Near his cactus hacienda on the tawny Rio 
 
 Grande. 
 Then he hinted of adventures and the wealth that 
 
 he 'd amassed, 
 Till at length the maiden " loved him for the 
 
 dangers he had passed " ; 
 Oh, his bosom swelled with rapture, deep as the 
 
 tropic sea, 
 As he wooed this gentle lady, the lovely 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
The Lovely Rosalie. 37 
 
 Though he looked so rough and ready and appeared 
 
 a little wild, 
 He had great respect for women and was docile as 
 
 a child ; 
 But he scorned ignoble actions and all motives 
 
 that were mean, 
 For he 'd breathed the breath of heaven in a land 
 
 where God is seen. 
 And he hated false pretensions which the crooked 
 
 city broods, 
 For he learned his truths from Nature in the lonely 
 
 solitudes ; 
 Yes, his heart beat high but kindly, and affection 
 
 strongly ran 
 Through the beatific bosom of this "natural noble- 
 man." 
 So he wooed and won that blossom, the flower of all 
 
 Montclair. 
 And you '11 hear the happy sequel if you ever visit 
 
 there, 
 For he was a gallant lover, while his bride was fair 
 
 to see, 
 And New Jersey now is mourning for the lovely 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
38 Ranch Verses. 
 
 * A COWBOY TO KIPLING. 
 
 On reading his newspaper articles attacking the West. 
 
 T TUH ! Kipling, we ar unto yew — 
 -*■ A We seen yer fairy tale 
 About our Wild and Woolly West, 
 Hence we ar on yer trail ! 
 
 We liked yer stories uv the hills, 
 For they wuz strong an' strange ; 
 
 But when yew hit Chicawgo town, 
 Yew really missed yer range. 
 
 Thar want no Injuns in her streets 
 Like yew had hoped tu find, 
 
 An' 'cordin' tu the way yer writ, 
 Her pace jest knocked yer blind. 
 
 We noticed heow yer floundered 'round 
 When yew hed lost yer cue — 
 
 An' strange tu say, we likewise found 
 Yer English wuzzent true ! 
 
 We know thet we kin " whip the world," 
 An' beat yer yachts hull down, 
 
 For all the world acknowledged this 
 At New York an' Yorktown ! 
 
A Summer Girl. 39 
 
 So stop yer swellin' ! pull yer freight — 
 
 Fer India an' the brush ; 
 Az Yankees hyar in every State, 
 
 Iz sick uv Kipling slush ! 
 
 Yes, sah ! we 're tired of Tenderfeet 
 
 Awritin' up our West. 
 Yew fellers 'lows she can't be beat, 
 
 So give the kid a rest. 
 
 We know yer like this country, sah. 
 
 Great Scott ! yer make us laugh ! 
 Yew bawl in' Gringo from the East 
 
 Yew Maverick Indian calf ! 
 
 Hit haint no us' ter pitch an' rar, 
 
 Fer Texas hez the sand 
 Tu rope yer tu her saddle bow 
 
 An' burn yer with thet brand ! 
 
 A SUMMER GIRL. 
 
 CHE was queen of the hotel veranda, 
 **-* " An heiress," 't was said, " from New York 
 The dear chappies "could not understand her," 
 But her beauty made every one talk. 
 
 Oh, she ruled and she jilted and charmed me, 
 And kept my sad heart in a whirl, 
 
 And my feelings they really alarmed me, 
 For I lived, " don't you know," for that girl. 
 
40 Ranch Verses. 
 
 But the summer went by and we parted, 
 And the season swept on to an end ; 
 
 To the city I went broken-hearted, 
 To dream of my heiress and friend. 
 
 EX-PARTE. 
 
 Weeks after, when snowflakes were flying, 
 I strolled through a Fourteenth street store, 
 
 Where I heard my divinity crying, 
 
 " Cawsh, heah ! Hurry up, Twenty-fouah ! 
 
 BEYOND THE HARBOR BAR. 
 
 O INCE thou must sail the seas of life, 
 
 Where storms and billows are, 
 Steer for that blessed Port of Peace 
 
 Beyond the harbor bar. 
 Keep to your course ! Sail bravely on 
 
 Toward mansions Over There ! 
 Have Truth and Kindness for your crew, 
 
 And Hope the pilot fair. 
 
 Avoid the ragged rocks of Doubt ; 
 
 Doubt is a dangerous reef ! 
 Tack well off shore, stand boldly out 
 
 Past shoals of Unbelief. 
 Beware that narrow channel, Creeds ! 
 
 Keep to the ocean broad, 
 Where Charity swells deep with deeds 
 
 Wide as the heart of God ! 
 
The Twinkle of Her Eyes. 41 
 
 Starboard your helm — reach for the right ! 
 
 Keep watch above — below ! 
 Fly loyal colors to the breeze, 
 
 No matter what gales blow. 
 Sail bravely on — the beacon lights 
 
 Are shining now afar, 
 Within Love's blessed Port of Peace, 
 
 Beyond the harbor bar. 
 
 THE TWINKLE OF HER EYES. 
 
 "DENEATH dark curving lashes, 
 *-^ Half-hidden from the sight, 
 Behold those radiant flashes, 
 
 Those gleams of curtained light. 
 Their lustre gilds life's shadows 
 
 Like gleams from starry skies. 
 Here 's to my lady's twinkle — 
 
 The twinkle of her eyes. 
 
 Sly Cupid owns her glances ; 
 
 He barbs his arrows there, 
 For love hurls piercing lances 
 
 From orbs of Beauty rare. 
 Though Youth and Hope may wither, 
 
 Fond Memory still will prize 
 My lady's laughing twinkle — 
 
 The twinkle of her eyes. 
 
42 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Had I some poet's power 
 To sing that witchery well, 
 
 What wealth of songs I 'd shower 
 To breathe their mystic spell — 
 
 What musical romances 
 Of fabled loreleis 
 
 Would echo of that twinkle — 
 
 The twinkle of her eyes. 
 
 TO DIVES. 
 
 ' I "HEN what of your silver and gold or estate 
 
 A When the last trial balance is cast ? 
 The sums are the same — you may learn it too late — 
 But the nickle that laughs on the cold coffin plate 
 Will be all that you have at the last ! 
 
 So strive for that wealth that is purer than gold. 
 
 Wealth beyond all the cash of your mart — 
 Its values are boundless, they cannot be told, 
 It is prized above rubies but not bought and sold — 
 'T is the wealth of a kind noble heart ! 
 
 AN APRIL SONG— TO ALICE. 
 
 ' I "HY world is bright, fair Alice, 
 
 Youth's April flowers are thine ; 
 Thy form is Beauty's palace, 
 Thy bosom Pleasure's shrine. 
 
An April Song — To Alice. 43 
 
 Rare are the rosy showers 
 
 Which hope around thee flings, 
 
 And gay the gilded hours 
 When Love forever sings. 
 
 But ah ! proud, pensive Alice, 
 
 Youth's April cannot last, 
 And Memory's shrouded chalice 
 
 Soon claims Life's radiant past ; 
 And though thy charms may cherish 
 
 The richer tints of June, 
 They blossom but to perish, 
 
 Alas ! alas ! too soon. 
 
 There is a sigh of sorrow 
 
 In every autumn day, 
 Which whispers that to-morrow 
 
 Earth's bloom must pass away ; 
 Aye, youth's warm hopes will wither 
 
 Beneath Time's chilling beams, 
 And age has naught to gather 
 
 But memories of youth's dreams. 
 
 So cull life's April pleasures, 
 
 And kindly act your part ; 
 For kindness plants rare treasures 
 
 In gardens of the heart. 
 Then in thy calm December, 
 
 'Midst Love's rare twilight rays, 
 All hearts will still remember 
 
 To bless thy years with praise. 
 
44 Ranch Verses. 
 
 NEPTUNE'S STEEDS. 
 
 T T ARK to the wild nor'easter ! 
 
 ■*■ That long, long booming roar, 
 When the Storm King breathes his thunder 
 
 Along the shuddering shore. 
 The shivering air re-echoes 
 
 The ocean's weird refrain, 
 For the wild white steeds of Neptune 
 
 Are coming home again. 
 
 No hand nor voice can check them, 
 
 These stern steeds of the sea, 
 They were not born for bondage, 
 
 They are forever free. 
 With arched crests proudly waving, 
 
 Too strong for human rein, 
 The wild white steeds of Neptune 
 
 Are coming home again. 
 
 With rolling emerald chariots 
 
 They charge the stalwart strand, 
 They gallop o'er the ledges 
 
 And leap along the land ; 
 With deep chests breathing thunder 
 
 Across the quivering plain, 
 The wild white steeds of Neptune 
 
 Are coming home again. 
 
Neptune s Steeds. 45 
 
 Not with the trill of bugles, 
 
 But roar of muffled drums 
 And shrouded sea-weed banners, 
 
 That mighty army comes. 
 The harbor bars are moaning 
 
 A wail of death and pain, 
 For the wild white steeds of Neptune 
 
 Are coming home again. 
 
 Well may the sailor women 
 
 Look out to scan the lee, 
 And long for absent lovers, 
 
 Their lovers on the sea. 
 Well may the harbored seamen 
 
 Neglect the sails and seine, 
 When the wild white steeds of Neptune 
 
 Are coming home again. 
 
 How sad their mournful neighing, 
 
 That wailing, haunting sound ; 
 It is the song of sorrow, 
 
 A dirge for dead men drowned. 
 Though we must all go seaward, 
 
 Though our watchers wait in vain, 
 The wild white steeds of Neptune 
 
 Will homeward come again. 
 
 Christmas Cove, Maine, 1892. 
 
46 Ranch Verses, 
 
 ACROSTIC— EASTER BLOSSOMS. 
 
 ALICE — MAY — ANNA. 
 
 A LICE is a rosebud, a blossom on life's sea, 
 ■*•*- Like the fair Aurora a rising queen is she, 
 In realms of youth and fashion her beauty will amaze ; 
 Command rare royal homage from all who chance 
 
 to gaze, — 
 Enduring joys, fair Alice, I fain would sing thy 
 
 praise. 
 
 May is a calla lily, a bud surpassing fair, 
 Alluring, coy, elusive, as sunbeams wooing air ; 
 Yes, May 's a lovely lily, a flower beyond compare. 
 
 Anna is a violet, that blooms at early morn, 
 'Neath jewelled dew-drops kisses where lissome love 
 
 is born, 
 No selfish thought attends her, rare loveliness she 
 
 seems, 
 Ah, Anna is my ideal, the idol of my dreams. 
 
 EVENING ZEPHYRS. 
 
 T^AR, far away o'er the western horizon 
 
 The sun sinks to rest on a couch of pure gold, 
 And night spreads her mantle far over the moun- 
 tains, 
 As the star-spangled banners of heaven unfold. 
 
Evening Zephyrs. 47 
 
 Alone in my hammock, alone by the water, 
 
 Where soft southern zephyrs steal in from the sea ; 
 
 When moonbeams are dimpling the face of the 
 ocean, 
 Ah, then comes the hour of sweet reverie. 
 
 Then the busy old world is well-nigh forgotten, 
 The dark clouds of life have all vanished away, 
 
 And the beacons of hope shine afar in the future, 
 As bright and as clear as the lights o'er the bay. 
 
 Then rare pensive music sweeps over my heart- 
 strings 
 As rare and as pure as the mocking-bird's tune, 
 When it sings in the twilight alone 'mid the palm 
 trees 
 Where the pale southern cross woos the shy, 
 crescent moon. 
 
 Then a proud, pensive face from the Mexican 
 border 
 Steals again to my side 'neath a magnolia tree ; 
 And the river, the mesa, the old hacienda, 
 
 Are the same as of old when my sad heart was 
 free. 
 
 But that 's long ago, and alas ! it 's all over ; 
 
 The past cannot be ; let the future be bright. 
 So farewell, my lost one, my fair senorita, 
 
 One long last farewell and a kiss of good-night. 
 
 Atlantic Highlands, N. J. 
 
48 Ranch Verses. 
 
 THE RANCHMAN'S SONG. 
 
 A FAR from the tumult and turmoil of fashion, 
 •**- Away, far away, from the throng that intrudes ; 
 I am free from all envy and malice and passion, 
 For my spirit expands in the wild solitudes. 
 
 I love the broad prairie, the norther's sad sighing, 
 The whispering stars, and the owl's lone hoo, 
 
 The mocking-bird's song when the twilight is 
 dying, 
 The cayote's weird call as it echoes "ki-oo." 
 
 Wild nature to me is a thing that I cherish ; 
 
 I hate the dull discords that cities have shown ; 
 For there out of tune my free spirits all perish ; 
 
 Let me dwell near to nature with my ideals alone. 
 
 Better live rich at heart on a crust in a garret, 
 Than languish in mansions impoverished with 
 strife ; 
 
 There is joy in a dugout, if fancy but share it 
 With hope and fond memory to brighten thy life. 
 
 There 's a zest amidst hardship which some natures 
 treasure, 
 
 A charm on the prairies that care cannot cloy ; 
 So, avannt ! ye dull follies of fashionable pleasure, 
 
 Give me the wild pleasures that ranchmen enjoy. 
 
A Message. 49 
 
 A MESSAGE. 
 
 "DRETTY blossom on the prairies, where the 
 
 *■ breezes play, 
 
 Dost thou know my lovely lady, hast thou seen 
 
 her — say ? 
 She is like thee in her beauty, for her eyes are 
 
 violet blue, 
 And her cheeks are fairest lilies which the roses 
 
 love to woo. 
 
 Mocking-bird that singeth gayly midst the bowers 
 of spring, 
 
 Dost thou know my bonnie lassie, hast thou heard 
 her sing ? 
 
 She is like thee, always happy, and her voice re- 
 sembles thine, 
 
 Ah ! her laugh 's an airy echo of thy liquid notes 
 divine. 
 
 Lovely sunbeam, kissing beauty, blessings on thy 
 ray, 
 
 Dost thou know my blushing beauty, hast thou kissed 
 her, pray ? 
 
 She is like thee, gleam from heaven, pure and 
 cheerful as thou art, 
 
 And she blesses all who know her, with the sun- 
 shine of her heart. 
 4 
 
50 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Perfumed zephyr, softly sighing, o'er the tropic sea, 
 Take this message to my lady, waft it now from 
 
 me. 
 Woo, oh ! woo her, sigh it ever, breathe my story 
 
 in a line ; 
 Softly tell her that I love her, gently ask her to be 
 
 mine. 
 
 A KING'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 A. G. C. 
 
 CHE is pretty as a picture, 
 ^ She is gentle as a fawn, 
 She is radiant as the sunbeams 
 That kiss the lips of dawn. 
 
 She is fairer than the flowers 
 That dream of tropic seas, 
 
 She is purer than the zephyrs 
 That woo the orange trees. 
 
 She is winsome as a fairy, 
 She has gentle, kindly ways ; 
 
 And sweet lips ever ready 
 To speak another's praise. 
 
 She has higher aims than fashion, 
 She is noble, kind and true ; 
 
 She believes in " helping others," 
 And the good that she can do. 
 
To May in Paris. 5 l 
 
 She is thoughtful of her mother, 
 She 's a blessing from above ; 
 
 Yes, her life 's a gentle sermon, 
 Full of hope and joy and love. 
 
 She is cheerful as the sunshine, 
 
 She is kind to everything ; 
 She is lovely as an angel — 
 
 She 's a " Daughter of the King." 
 
 TO MAY IN PARIS. 
 
 M. H. C. 
 
 SHE 's a lovely fairy fay, is my pensive Cousin 
 May, 
 
 She 's divine. 
 She is gentle, she is wise, yet there 's laughter in 
 her eyes, 
 
 Beauty's shrine. 
 
 She has lovers by the score, beaux and cavaliers 
 galore, 
 
 In her train. 
 Ah, they woo this lovely prize, with sad looks and 
 wistful sighs, 
 
 But in vain. 
 
 Lo, I see her now afar, as she wins from her 
 guitar, 
 
 Some refrain. 
 
52 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Where the twilight bells of France echo songs of 
 rare romance, 
 
 O'er the Seine. 
 
 She 's a wreath of fairest flowers culled from 
 morning's jewelled bowers, 
 In Life's spring. 
 And though winter 's here to-day I abide in dreams 
 of May, 
 
 Whom I sing. 
 
 ECHOES. 
 
 /^"\N the lonely tawny prairie 
 ^-^ When the night is still and deep, 
 And the breathing stars are shimmering 
 O'er a landscape rich with sleep ; 
 
 Where the mournful night-winds sighing 
 Wake the drowsy murmuring trees, 
 
 And afar some lonely curlew 
 Coos her sorrows to the breeze ; 
 
 Then within my haunted chamber, 
 Pensive by the embers' glow, 
 
 Then, ah then, come shadowy fancies 
 From the vaults of long ago. 
 
 Where are they, those hopes and visions, 
 Dreams of love and joy and truth ? 
 
 Flown, alas ! all, all have vanished 
 On the fluttering wings of youth. 
 
The Old Homestead. 53 
 
 Where are they, those fond old faces, 
 
 Loved of yore, and oh, so fair ? 
 Where are now those silent voices ? 
 
 And the echoes answer — where ? 
 
 Where all the boughs and blossoms 
 
 Of life's radiant, rosy dawn ? 
 Withered ! aye, like rarest roses. 
 
 And the echoes whisper — gone ! 
 
 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 TO MR. AND MRS. S. W. SEARS. 
 
 "P NSHRINED in my heart is an old-fashioned 
 
 homestead, 
 Alone on the heights, in the woods by the sea. 
 I love its old rafters and wide, honest chimneys, 
 Where kindness enkindled warm welcomes for me. 
 How fair are the faces that often have gathered 
 Around 'mid the roses that grew by the door ; 
 But the faces will fade, and the roses must vanish, 
 And the places that knew them will know them no 
 
 more. 
 
 How oft in the morn, 'neath the old silver maples, 
 I have dreamed on that lawn sloping down to the 
 
 bay, 
 Where I watched the white sails of the out-going 
 
 vessels 
 
54 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Drift on toward the sky, till they vanished away. 
 Ah, where are the ships of life's early morning, 
 Youth freighted with hopes and the treasures of 
 
 yore ? 
 Alas, they have gone, like the barks sailing seaward, 
 And the hearts that once knew them will know 
 
 them no more. 
 
 When the twilight has flown through the flushes of 
 
 evening, 
 And the moonbeams fall soft on the silvery foam — 
 What music, and voices, and lovers with laughter 
 Have dwelt in the fragrance around that old home. 
 But the music must cease, and the voices grow 
 
 silent, 
 And the lovers will part when their kisses are o'er, 
 For the roses must fade, and the faces float sky- 
 ward, 
 And the old homes that knew them will know them 
 no more. 
 
 DECLINED. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 " /^OME back, dear Tom," she wrote to say, 
 ^~-' " To you I 've been unkind ; 
 So name our earliest bridal day, 
 For I have changed my mind." 
 
To a Coquette. 55 
 
 HE. 
 
 " Thank you," writes Tom, " I beg to state 
 Your overture 's declined ; 
 Our wedding 's off — there is no date — 
 I too have changed my mind ! " 
 
 TO A COQUETTE. 
 
 T_T ER wit is like some diamond bright 
 
 Wherein rare powers combine. 
 'T is brilliant as a flash of light ; 
 'T will cut as well as shine. 
 
 Her eyes are like her wit, I swear, 
 
 They also play rare parts ; 
 And Love holds brilliant jewels there 
 
 To gild or pierce our hearts. 
 
 She reigns a queen in Fashion's court, 
 But wisdom breathes "beware ! " 
 " A shattered heart is not my forte," 
 And prudence sighs " Take care ! " 
 
 Alas ! alas ! She 's too refined, 
 Her arts too fair I 've found. 
 
 Her wit and charms are all designed 
 To dazzle and to wound. 
 
 So, lovely lady, we must part. 
 
 'T were vain in me to try 
 To keep thy hollow, fickle heart — 
 
 I give it up ! Good-bye ! 
 
56 Ranch Verses. 
 
 THE OLD TEXAN IN NEW YORK. 
 
 TO CAPT. JOHN MILSAP. 
 
 T TUH ! Sal, this life won't soot me, 
 -■■ -*■ This russlin' an' these kyars ; 
 I 'm pantin' fer the praira, 
 
 The great wide whisperin' stars ! 
 Yew ar a tolerable daughter, 
 
 Yer Yankee husband 's kind, 
 But these swift ways uv livin' 
 
 Don't fit my steddy mind. 
 
 This rushin' an' er chargin' 
 
 Ter me seems powerful strange ; 
 Thar hain't no grass nor watter ; 
 
 I 'm lost on this yeer range. 
 New York 's a human round-up 
 
 Uv fun an' fuss an' care, 
 But I 'm er — suffercatin' — 
 
 I want the broad blue air! 
 
 I hate the shows uv cities, 
 
 They goes ag'in my youth ; 
 I lov' the tarnal mountains 
 
 Wot pints tu God an' Truth ! 
 Thar kyant be no decepshun, 
 
 Whar Nature hews the line ; 
 I 'm sick uv curvin' fashions, 
 
 I want things straight in mine. 
 
Man. 57 
 
 This roarin' canyon, Broadway, 
 
 Iz drowndin' all my powers ; 
 Giv' me our lazy rivers 
 
 Wot dreams through seas uv flowers. 
 Hit hain't no use ter coax me, 
 
 Yer know I 'm powerful sot — 
 I aim ter quit yer corral, 
 
 Hit 's not my campin' spot. 
 
 So, Sal, I 'm fixed ter leave yer ; 
 
 Jes tell 'em all good-by ; 
 I 'm gwine back tu Texas, 
 
 Ter stay thar till I die. 
 I 'm lonesum fer the praira, 
 
 The ole home uv my youth, 
 I 'm needin' uv them mountains, 
 
 Wot pints tu God — an' Truth ! 
 
 MAN. 
 
 "MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST AND WHERE IS HE?" 
 
 1\ /T AN lives and dies ! What more know we ? 
 1VJ. With all our pomp and pride. 
 'Midst wealth or fame or poverty, 
 
 We know this much — "he died." 
 What lived he for ? To learn, alas, 
 
 That he could nothing know. 
 To sip the sweets from pleasure's glass, 
 
 Or drain the depths of woe. 
 
58 Ranch Verses. 
 
 We play awhile 'midst childhood's dreams 
 
 Or muse in youth's gay bowers, 
 Then glide along on time's swift streams 
 
 Through sunshine or through showers. 
 At length 'midst manhood's billows cast 
 
 We battle trouble's waves 
 Which sweep us on, we learn at last, 
 
 To quick-forgotten graves. 
 
 Fair budding youth and fruitful age 
 
 And beauty's radiant bloom 
 Are closely twined in life's dim stage, 
 
 And destined for the tomb. 
 We can not know just what we are, 
 
 Nor dream of what we '11 be ; 
 We know this much — man giveth up 
 
 The ghost, then where is he ? 
 
 THAT LITTLE BOY. 
 
 T T IS merry voice is silent now, 
 -*■ A His hat is hanging there, 
 And yet I see his wistful eyes 
 And sunny, waving hair. 
 
 To-night I hear his voice again, 
 That laugh of love and joy — 
 
 His pouting sighs — those words of pain, 
 "Iz I a naughty boy ? " 
 
A Serenade. 59 
 
 Once more I see his noble brow 
 
 And tangled, curly head, 
 Oh, how I long to kiss him now 
 
 Within his trundle-bed. 
 
 The sturdy horse he used to pet 
 
 Stands by his silent drum. 
 His woolly dog is waiting yet — 
 
 Oh why then don't he come ? 
 
 Alas ! he 's gone far, far away, 
 
 To heavenly mansion's fair. 
 He romps no more, he 's tired of play — 
 
 He 's dreaming — " Over There." 
 
 A SERENADE. 
 
 T^\EAR lovely lady, dream no more, 
 *~^ Unclose thy radiant eyes, 
 The moonlight gilds the lonely shore, 
 
 Night's jewels crown the skies. 
 Here, here alone beside the sea, 
 
 Beneath yon shimmering star, 
 I tune my slumbering lyre for thee, 
 
 And touch the light guitar. 
 
 Hark ! hear the soft vibrations ring 
 
 Upon the listening air, 
 To thee I play, my love, and sing, 
 
 Oh, do not slumber there ; 
 
60 Ranch Verses. 
 
 The wooing zephyr breathes its sighs, 
 
 Sad sobs the whispering sea, 
 The lonely echo's wail replies, 
 
 All Nature longs for thee. 
 
 So leave thy couch and heavenly dreams, 
 
 Come where the lilies bloom, 
 Come while the night's rare pensive beams 
 
 Are lost in flowered perfume. 
 For here alone beside the sea, 
 
 Beneath yon listening star, 
 I tune my slumbering lyre for thee, 
 
 And touch the light guitar. 
 
 TEXAS. 
 
 TO JUDGE A. H. WILLIE. 
 
 T CRAVE not for her cities 
 
 Nor towns where man hath trod, 
 But I love her lonely prairies, 
 Her great wide skies of God. 
 
 I love her lazy rivers 
 
 That wed the Mexique Sea, 
 
 And oh, her heaven-born breezes 
 Breathe rarest sono;s to me. 
 
Texas. 61 
 
 Oh, if I could but sing them, 
 Could hymn pure Nature's bars, 
 
 Those songs would live forever 
 And echo through the stars. 
 
 Would echo till the angels 
 
 Attuned the free refrains, 
 And breathed celestial music — 
 
 The poetry of the plains ! 
 
 I love the Mesa Mountains 
 
 That woo the Texas skies, 
 'Neath azure veils of beauty, 
 
 They dream of Paradise. 
 
 I love her sweeps of distance, 
 
 Her drowsy miraged seas, 
 Her choirs of singing songsters, 
 
 Her weeping bannered trees. 
 
 And when the sunset's laces 
 
 Befringe the couch of night, 
 I love her royal pictures 
 
 Of far eternal light. 
 
 Oh, if I could but paint them, 
 Could hint the twilight's art, 
 
 What scenes of heavenly splendor 
 Would gild each human heart. 
 
62 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Vain, vain such fond ambition, 
 Man is but earthy sod, 
 
 His efforts are as nothing 
 Beside the works of God. 
 
 Yes ; you can have the city, 
 Its fuss and fun and care, 
 
 Give me a life of freedom, 
 'Midst castles in the air ! 
 
 Your operas' stifled music 
 Contains no songs for me, — 
 
 I want the vibrant breezes, 
 The anthems of the sea. 
 
 Give me the low of cattle, 
 The cayotes lone " ki-oo ! " 
 
 The sighings of the Norther, 
 The owls' " whit-tu-woo ! " 
 
 I ask not for companions 
 
 Whose presence might intrude ; 
 
 My dearest friend is Nature, — 
 I love the solitude. 
 
 Ah, who would then be richer ? 
 
 My wealth is all divine — 
 The clouds, the stars, the prairies, 
 
 The world, the world, is mine. 
 
The Yachtsman s Song. 63 
 
 THE YACHTSMAN'S SONG. 
 
 TO LEWIS QUENTIN JONES, NEW YORK YACHT 
 CLUB. 
 
 T TO. comrades ! Up anchor ! 
 -*■ *- Set sail and away — 
 The tide is now rising, 
 There is life on the bay. 
 
 The first flush of morning 
 
 Illumines the clouds, 
 And a fair wind from heaven 
 
 Is wooing the shrouds. 
 
 The lapping wave ripples 
 
 And kisses the side ; 
 Our vessel swings seaward 
 
 To stem the flood tide. 
 
 The mainsa'l is flapping 
 
 And tugs at the mast, 
 The traveller is rattling, 
 
 The breeze freshens fast. 
 
 Our bowsprit is plunging — 
 
 It longs to be free, 
 The billows are rolling, 
 
 Hurrah for the sea ! 
 
64 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Haul taut the peak halyards, 
 Stand fast at the wheel ! 
 
 The water scuds past us 
 And boils at the keel ! 
 
 Let go on the mainsa'l, 
 Look out for the boom — 
 
 Ye gods, this is glorious ! 
 This briny perfume. 
 
 She heels to the starboard, 
 Hurrah for the spray ! 
 
 Like a seabird of morning 
 She is off and away ! 
 
 WOULD N'T YOU? 
 
 T MET her at dusk 'midst the clover, 
 * In the old orchard path by the sea. 
 She blushed as she turned to walk over, 
 
 Then shyly stood glancing at me. 
 She was fair as the flowers of morning 
 
 And pure as the first breath of dew, 
 So, while her rose flushes were dawning 
 
 I — well, it 's no matter to you. 
 
 Sly Cupid had well planned the meeting, 
 For love lingered nigh on the breeze ; 
 
 And the twilight observing my greeting 
 Returned a warm kiss to the trees. 
 
LIKE A SEA-BIRD OF MORNING SHE 13 OFF AND AWAY. 
 
The Parson Pickax Gray. 65 
 
 As the zephyrs were wooing the ocean, 
 And the doves were beginning to woo, 
 
 And the world seemed intense with devotion, 
 I — well, it 's no matter to you. 
 
 The soft evening sh.idows soon found us, 
 
 While the clover breathed forth its perfume ; 
 And Night drew her curtain around us 
 
 And left us alone in the gloom. 
 What I told her you will not discover — 
 
 'T was a story that ever proves new, 
 For I — well, I was her lover, 
 
 And I kissed her, of course ! Would n't 
 you ? 
 
 THE PARSON PICKAX GRAY. 
 
 T N ole days in Californy, in the yar uv forty-nine, 
 *■ When we russled round the diggin's fer golden 
 
 yeller shine, 
 When money wuz er plenty an' fellers all wuz flush, 
 An' times wuz jest a whoopin' an' life wuz full uv 
 
 rush ; 
 When "likker flowed like watter," an' monte men 
 
 wuz gay, 
 'T wuz then I knowed the parson, the " Parson 
 
 Pickax Gray." 
 This dom-nee " rid the circle " jest " slinging' out 
 
 the word," 
 
 5 
 
66 Ranch Verses. 
 
 An' when he pozed fer preechin', the grimy sinners 
 
 heard ; 
 Fer the parson wuzzent fancy in his labors fer the 
 
 Lord, 
 No, sah ! he 'd thunder at 'em like a howitzer of 
 
 God ! 
 He wuz chuck full uv the spirit, the plain an' 
 
 honest kind, 
 An' he'd sway his miner aujence like a forest in a 
 
 wind, 
 Fer his heart wuz full uv feelin's for his strugglin' 
 
 feller-man, 
 An' he 'd chip in his last dollar ter help him "dust 
 
 his pan." 
 But he never thought uv givin' fer the sake of 
 
 winnin' fame, 
 Like speculatin' sharpers investin' fer a name ! 
 No, sah ! he give hit nateral, ez fair an' square an' 
 
 free, 
 As breezes from the Rockies that sweep the west- 
 ern sea ; 
 An' he wuz allers happy, fer he did the best he 
 
 could 
 Ter practise all his preechin' in tryin' ter do good. 
 Yet he sized up every feller accordin' tu his worth, 
 He knowed the rich pay gravel from false pre- 
 
 tendin' earth, 
 An' he 'd give each man full credit in perportion 
 
 to his weight ; 
 Then he 'd round up every rascal till he 'd pull his 
 
 wicked freight, 
 
The Parson Pickax Gray. 67 
 
 Fer he wuzzent 'fraid of nothin' — he wuz bound to 
 
 have his say, 
 Oh, he give 'em straight religion, did that " Parson 
 
 Pickax Gray." 
 
 Though he had no fancy pulpit, or church with 
 
 lofty spire, 
 He corralled crowds uv sinners, an' giv' 'em all — 
 
 hell fire ! 
 He'd crawl upon some bowlder, or mount an ole 
 
 tree stump, 
 Shuffiin' through his Scriptur' deck until he 'd cut 
 
 his trump ! 
 He 'd loosen out his buzzum, fer he seldom wore a 
 
 coat, 
 He 'd ante up, then deal his text an' preech with- 
 out er note ; 
 He 'd crevice through the Bible, an' mine hits 
 
 wealth untold, 
 Then shovel out salvation in nuggets uv pure gold. 
 His truths would roll like thunder around thet 
 
 human sod, 
 Till at times he seemed transfiggered an' peered tu 
 
 " walk with God." 
 Oh, he pruned thet human vineyard an' driv' his 
 
 gospel pick 
 Through the bed-rock of perdition till he made 
 
 the devil sick ! 
 An' the boys yelled hallelujah ! an' ole sinners 
 
 crossed the line — 
 
68 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Huh ! I tell yer, that wuz preechin' in them days 
 
 of forty-nine. 
 His prayers wuz like a cloud-burst upon Sin's 
 
 mountain height, 
 They 'd wash them delvin' miners out uv darkness 
 
 inter light, 
 Till they clutched the Rock of Ages an' hauled 
 
 theirselves ashore, 
 An' quit Sin's gloomy gulches an' sluiceways ever- 
 more. 
 An' when we sang the finish to "Praise Him Here 
 
 Below," 
 A shimmerin' halo drifted 'round that aujence 'bout 
 
 ter go. 
 Then cum the benediction ; that wuz his greatest 
 
 charm, 
 A soothin', heavenly rainbow uv peace an' love an' 
 
 balm. 
 Thet wuz a preecher fer yer, that acted out his 
 
 part ; 
 He wuzzent much on polish, but panned out in 
 
 his heart. 
 And when the Great Jehovah shall come at Judg- 
 ment Day 
 He '11 call that good ole feller, " The Parson Pickax 
 
 Gray." 
 
A San Antonio Memory. 69 
 
 A SAN ANTONIO MEMORY. 
 
 T N old San Antonio city, 
 
 * Where the soldiers' bugles blow, 
 
 Dwelt a lady proud and stately, 
 
 Years and years and years ago. 
 Dark was she, this Senorita, 
 
 Lovely as some queen of Spain, 
 And her voice was soft, and sweeter 
 
 Than the songs of summer rain. 
 
 There she lived beside a river, 
 
 Where the winding waters flow 
 On and on and on forever, 
 
 To the Gulf of Mexico. 
 There in dreams of Spanish splendor, 
 
 Midst a grove of stately trees, 
 Stood her gray old hacienda, 
 
 Home of birds and flowers and bees. 
 
 Ah, that dear, old-fashioned garden 
 
 With its wealth of rare perfume, 
 Seemed of old a glimpse of Eden, 
 
 Lost in tangled bowers of bloom. 
 There the night-winds sobbed their stories 
 
 Round some lonely little mounds ; 
 There the mosses' drooping glories 
 
 Draped a family's burying-grounds. 
 
jo Ranch Verses. 
 
 There of old we often pondered, 
 
 Listening to the waters flow ; 
 There of old we talked and wandered, 
 
 Years and years and years ago. 
 Oft when twilight's kiss was stealing 
 
 O'er the skies in golden beams, 
 And the mission bells were pealing 
 
 Vesper songs of poet's dreams, 
 
 We would seek some seat embowered 
 
 'Neath the old magnolia trees, 
 Where the zephyrs' kisses showered 
 
 Rarest fragrance to the breeze. 
 There we dreamed beside that river, 
 
 There we heard the bugles trill, 
 Till the echoes seemed to quiver 
 
 Through the evening calm and still. 
 
 Then my lady of the villa 
 
 Soft would strum her light guitar, 
 To some tune of old Sivella, 
 
 Or some song from Alcazar. 
 Ah, those old extravaganzas, 
 
 How they soothed my restless heart 
 Ah, those dreamy, sad romanzas 
 
 From my life will ne'er depart. 
 
 But to-night I 'm sad and weary, 
 Listening to the Northers blow, 
 
 For the wind is wild and dreary, 
 And I dream of long ago. 
 
The Cyjiic and Poet. 7 I 
 
 Gone is now that hacienda, 
 
 Gone that garden known of yore ; 
 
 Hushed, alas, that voice so tender — 
 Hushed, and lost forever more. 
 
 THE CYNIC AND POET. 
 
 A CYNIC once said to a poet, 
 " Fie, fie, you gay piper of song ; 
 Your tunes are all lies, and you know it ; 
 
 You know that this life is all wrong ; 
 You sing about Hope in gay measures, 
 
 While the Future is shrouded in mist, 
 How can you keep piping of pleasures 
 
 When you know that they do not exist ? 
 You know that this life means confusion, 
 
 That time is enshrouded with care, 
 That joy is a fancied delusion 
 
 Which dwells in a castle of air ; 
 You know that the world 's full of sorrow, 
 
 That Love is a lost dream of youth, 
 That Hope is a dream of to-morrow, 
 
 So tell us the Present's sad truth ! " 
 
 " Ha ! ha," laughed the gay, jolly poet, 
 " The truth is I 'm sorry for you ; 
 
 You hate the whole world, and you know it, 
 'T is a pity alas ! but it 's true. 
 
 And yet the old world does n't mind it, 
 It thinks far too much of itself ; 
 
72 Ranch Verses. 
 
 So why not take life as you find it, 
 
 And stop growling there on the shelf ? 
 Of course there is trouble and sorrow, 
 
 Of course there is sadness and gloom, 
 But Hope is the beacon to-morrow, 
 
 And Love is life's purest perfume ; 
 So leave your dry husks, my dear fellow, 
 
 Life's pastures are blooming to-day ; 
 Grow cheerful, be kinder, grow mellow, 
 
 Believe me, you '11 find ' it will pay.' ' 
 
 ODE TO THE NORTHER. 
 
 T^HRICE welcome to the Norther, 
 * The Norther roaring free, 
 Across the rolling prairies 
 
 Straight from the Arctic sea ! 
 Avaunt, ye western breezes 
 
 And southern zephyrs warm ! 
 Here 's to the cold, blue Norther, 
 
 The stern, relentless storm ! 
 
 I 'm tired of love and laughter, 
 
 To-night I long for war ; 
 For the bugle blasts are sounding 
 
 From the heights of Labrador. 
 " Whoo-hoo ! " the winds are wailing 
 
 Their muffled reveilles, 
 And 'round my chimney fortress 
 
 Roar angry, shoreless seas. 
 
The Dying Actor s Soliloquy. 73 
 
 Wild storms and wants and dangers 
 
 Will thrill a poet's heart, 
 And free his Viking spirit 
 
 Far more than feeble art. 
 So welcome to the storm wind ! 
 
 The Northers I invoke. 
 Here 's to the strong, gray weather 
 
 That makes the heart of oak ! 
 
 THE DYING ACTOR'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 IFE'S farce is nearly ended, 
 ■*-* Nature recalls her debt, 
 I, whom the world attended, 
 The world will soon forget. 
 My part so full of sorrow 
 Will end e'er dawns the morrow, 
 And, ah, 't is vain to borrow 
 One sigh from sad regret. 
 
 I, who so long did cherish 
 
 Rich dreams of joy and fame, 
 Am doomed, alas, to perish 
 Without a home or name. 
 No loving lips to bless me, 
 Nor hands to once caress me, 
 Nor priest to e'en confess me, 
 I go from whence I came. 
 
74 Ranch Verses. 
 
 The night is dark and dreary, 
 
 The fire burns low within, 
 And, oh, the world seems weary 
 Of so much grief and sin. 
 The cold sad rain is pouring, 
 The winds and waves are roarinj 
 Like demons wild imploring 
 Of demons sure to win. 
 
 Slow falls the great green curtain, 
 
 Life's tragedy is done, 
 For Death must win as certain 
 As shines to-morrow's sun. 
 The sod and sea will cover 
 Each maiden, man and lover, 
 And I so long a rover, 
 Sure rest at last have won. 
 
 THE MAINE COAST. 
 
 TO HARRY FENN. 
 
 COME away, gentle reader, to the cool coast of 
 Maine, 
 Where the partridge is whirring his drum. 
 Where the red squirrel " chees " in the ragged birch 
 
 trees, 
 And the air is pure wine from the casks of the seas, 
 Come away, gentle reader, oh, come. 
 
 Here the woodlands and mountains are wed to 
 
 the sea, 
 And the spirit expands with the view ; 
 
THE MAINE COAST. 
 
 OTTER CLIFFS, NEAR BAR HARBOR. 
 
The Maine Coast. 75 
 
 Here in cool shady groves the red Indian roves, 
 And o'er the smooth waters of beautiful coves 
 He paddles his birch canoe. 
 
 Here the seal and the heron haunt the rocks and 
 
 the waves, 
 And the ocean is lost in the sky ; 
 Here the wild aster grows and the goldenrod 
 
 glows, 
 And life is a rapturous dream of repose, 
 Hushed to sleep with the sea's lullaby. 
 
 Here afar in the offing the proud ships appear 
 
 Like pale vanishing ghosts on the lee, 
 
 Their bowed sails drift on till they fade and are 
 
 gone 
 To some far distant realm toward the fair land of 
 
 dawn, 
 Past the long level lines of the sea. 
 
 Ah, these islands and forests all hint of the past, 
 
 Of old memories and legends of years, 
 
 For the haunted night breeze whispers tales to the 
 
 trees 
 Of phantom-rigged vessels on shimmering seas, 
 And of smugglers and bold buccaneers. 
 
 Here the sun sets at evening o'er mountains of 
 
 light 
 Far away beyond rivers of gold ; 
 
y6 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Here the tall pine tree's crest fringe the gates of the 
 
 West 
 And life is a dream, a pure halo of rest 
 'Midst charms that can never be told. 
 Bar Harbor, Maine, 1891. 
 
 "MAVERICK BILL." 
 
 T MET him at the round-ups on the Double 
 
 ""• Mountain Fork, 
 
 This Viking of the prairies, who " never seed New 
 York." 
 
 He wore a big sombrero and waving raven 
 hair, 
 
 His eyes were winter sunbeams and lightning slum- 
 bered there ; 
 
 He hailed from Mississippi, from Natchez 'neath 
 the hill, 
 
 But he 'd lived " yars in Texas " — frontiersman 
 Maverick Bill. 
 
 Somehow we got acquainted, riding behind those 
 
 steers, 
 And Bill commenced his talking of days in other 
 
 years ; 
 He 'd " fit them lively Yankees ! Yes, sah, you 'd fit 
 
 'em too, 
 If friends an' scads an' niggers wuz bein' took 
 
 from you ! " 
 
" Maverick Bill.' 1 77 
 
 He showed me scars of bullets received at Malvern 
 Hill, 
 
 He 'd lost three of his fingers — the soldier, Maver- 
 ick Bill. 
 
 At last we camped and rested beneath the moun- 
 tain's spire, 
 
 I staked the broncho ponies, while Bill prepared 
 the fire ; 
 
 And then the stars came staring upon that lonely 
 scene, 
 
 The lustrous moon rose slowly, from out the foliage 
 green ; 
 
 At length we started singing — his voice was rich 
 and shrill, — 
 
 The list'ning wilderness just rang with tuneful 
 Maverick Bill. 
 
 He sang the "Swanee River" — he "only knowed 
 one part "; 
 
 He hummed sweet " Annie Laurie," a song that 
 touched my heart. 
 
 Too soon he ceased, and silence fell softly o'er the 
 plain, 
 
 Although the mournful night wind still sighed its 
 sad refrain. 
 
 Wild Nature's son grew gentle, I saw the moon- 
 light fill 
 
 The manly, rapt'rous bosom of pensive Maverick 
 Bill. 
 
78 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Said he to me : " Young feller, I know them stars 
 
 iz eyes 
 Of angels gone to glory — the glories in the skies ; 
 I 'spect my little mother iz lookin' at me — squar ! 
 She went ter find our Fanny — the fambly's over 
 
 thar ! 
 Sometimes upon these prairies thet I so oft hev 
 
 trod, 
 I feels so high-falutin' — I kinder walks with God ! 
 
 " There iz a good Great Spirit — He 's whispered in 
 
 my ear — 
 An' this iz whar He 's livin', He talks ter-night — 
 
 right hyar ! 
 Some time perhaps I '11 find Him, though thet seems 
 
 kinder strange, 
 But some day perhaps, young feller, perhaps I '11 
 
 quit the range ! 
 I '11 go ter Mississippi an' git my boyhood's home, 
 I '11 live thar by the rivah an' cease ter cuss an' 
 
 roam. 
 
 " I '11 hunt my good ole parson an' help him with 
 hiz church, 
 
 I '11 git them naber's young uns from off their poor- 
 house perch, 
 
 I '11 find my ole Aunt Sally — she allers called me 
 wild — 
 
 But still she seemed ter like me — leastways she 
 allers smiled 
 
" Maverick Bill." 79 
 
 When I stole her fig sweetmeats behind the kitchen 
 
 door, 
 She never went ag'in me — I '11 pay her back — an' 
 
 more. 
 
 " An thar, ah, thar 's another, I loved her, shore an' 
 
 true, 
 But I wuz rough and reckless, an' wuzzent made 
 
 ter woo, 
 Ah, she wuz jest an angel, an' I wuz all ter blame, 
 But ever since my boyhood, I 've loved her jest the 
 
 same ; 
 An' now ter-night, young feller, I 'd give my life, I 
 
 say, 
 Ter know thet she iz livin', an* happy far away." 
 
 He ceased — the winds came sighing across the 
 
 prairies free, 
 And wooing slumber kissed the eyes of Maverick 
 
 Bill and me. 
 The morning light came smiling across the misty 
 
 streams, 
 And choirs of singing songsters dispelled my airy 
 
 dreams. 
 I nudged my grim companion — but oh, his looks ! 
 
 how strange ! 
 My God ! Bill's songs were over — Dead Bill had 
 
 quit the range / 
 
8o Ranch Verses. 
 
 A BAREFOOTED BOY. 
 
 T7XHAUSTED to-night by the fire's dim glow 
 jL ' I unconsciously dream of the past ; 
 My spirit returns to the lost long ago, 
 
 To youth's visions too lovely to last. 
 Oh, yes, I recall them — those pleasures I had 
 
 When life was a gay dream of joy. 
 Ah — I was a happy-go-lucky young lad 
 
 When I was a barefooted boy. 
 
 I loved the old farm and its gnarled apple-trees, 
 
 The daisies and buttercups there ; 
 Then life was all music and flowers and bees, 
 
 For I dwelt amidst castles of air. 
 I remember my sire ! his tough hickory gad ! 
 
 Time cannot such memories destroy. 
 Ah — I was an active and sifiewy lad 
 
 When I was a barefooted boy. 
 
 I recall Toney's brook and the cool swimmin' hole, 
 
 The chug ! chug ! of Moran's water-mill ; 
 No grapes were so sweet as the grapes that we 
 stole 
 
 From the vines on Hank Hamilton's hill. 
 How often I raced with that farmer so mad, 
 
 His temper I seemed to annoy ! 
 Ah — I was a lively, quick- stepping young lad 
 
 When I was a barefooted boy. 
 
What is Life? 81 
 
 Ah, what a brave trapper was I long ago, 
 
 How I made the red Indians fly ! 
 Where are those rich maidens I rescued from woe ? 
 
 Old Sleuth, a detective, was I. 
 And where is the queen that my boyish heart had, 
 
 Who treated my love like a toy ? 
 Ah — I was a. foolish, romantic young lad 
 
 When I was a barefooted boy. 
 
 I remember the neighbor's stray Sir Thomas cats, 
 
 And my fights with the hired man's son ; 
 That school exhibition, where I hollered out — Rats! 
 
 And those dogs that I slugged with my gun. 
 But to-night I am weary, exhausted, and sad, 
 
 The future for me has no joy — 
 For this yelling infant — of which I 'm the dad ! 
 
 Will soon be a — barefooted boy ! 
 
 WHAT IS LIFE? 
 
 A H, what is life ? A bubble blown 
 ■*■*■ Across Time's mystic stream ; 
 Its secret source, alas ! unknown ; 
 Its future — still a dream ? 
 
 Ah, what is life ? A selfish hour, 
 A thrill of thought and breath, 
 
 A bud which blossoms to a flower 
 That withers soon in death ? 
 
 6 
 
82 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Ah, what is life? An echo's sound, 
 
 A passing sunbeam's glow, 
 A search for something never found, 
 
 A pilgrimage of woe ? 
 
 Ah, what is life ? A shoreless sea 
 That 's swept by gales of sorrow, 
 
 A tear perhaps to-day for thee, 
 Oblivion for to-morrow ? 
 
 No ! life 's a river broad and deep 
 
 That flows to fairer seas 
 Through pale mysterious realms of sleep 
 
 To God's eternities. 
 
 I'M SAD TO-NIGHT. 
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 'M sad to-night — alone am I 
 Where weary sea-birds soar and fly 
 Around a dreary, brooding shore 
 Where grieving billows wail and roar 
 Beneath a gloomy sky. 
 " Farewell," the lonely zephyrs sigh ; 
 The autumn winds all breathe " Good-by. 
 So while the leaves and torrents pour, 
 I 'm sad to-night. 
 
Who Knows ? 83 
 
 I would that thou, dear girl, wert nigh 
 To cheer me with thy radiant eye. 
 But no, alas ! thou comest no more, 
 Too soon, too soon my dream was o'er. 
 Too well thou know'st the reason why 
 I 'm sad to-night. 
 
 WHO KNOWS? 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 " I "HROUGH the meadows she is coming, 
 A Where the birds and bees are humming 
 
 Songs of June. 
 From beyond the daisies swinging 
 Drifts the song my lady 's singing — 
 
 A love tune. 
 
 How the dewdrops dance and glisten, 
 How the landscape seems to listen 
 
 While she sings ! 
 Ah, her voice is pure and airy 
 As the trillings of a fairy, 
 
 How it rings ! 
 
 See the sunbeams dance and quiver 
 With delight on yonder river, 
 
 Calm, serene. 
 E'en the bobolinks and thrushes 
 Listen now on bending rushes 
 
 To my queen. 
 
84 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Will she frown if I should meet her ? 
 Will she blush if I should greet her 
 
 With a rose ? 
 Will she banish me forever 
 If I tell her that I love her? 
 
 Ah, who knows ! 
 
 A TEXAS " LAMB," OR THE COWBOY IN 
 WALL STREET. 
 
 [ WUZ riz on a ranch in ole Texas, yer know, 
 ■*■ Whar we growed the wild steers an' all sich, 
 But the bizness plum played — so I thought I 'd 
 jest go 
 To sum city an' aim to git rich ; 
 I had heerd uv New York — an' the stockmen up 
 thar, 
 Them brokers that range on Wall street. 
 I wuz posted on bulls, I hed carved up a bar, 
 An' allowed az I could n't be beat. 
 
 I got shet uv my cattle at ole Abilene, 
 
 An' the kyars to ole Gotham I took. 
 Jee whiz ! Wot a town ! The sights thet I seen 
 
 Would fill up a powerful book. 
 Well, I mozied around an' loafered awhile, 
 
 Fer I soon struck a good campin'-spot ; 
 But at last I concluded I 'd add to my pile, 
 
 Fer the money is thar — to be got. 
 
WALL STREET. 
 
A Texas "Lamb." 85 
 
 So I went to a feller wot hed a big name 
 
 Fer keepin' uv thoroughbred stock ; 
 An' when I had studied the neat little game 
 
 I anteed fer quite a peert block. 
 Well, the market it riz at the big stock exchange, 
 
 An* I seed I wuz playin' to luck. 
 Now, wuzzent I proud ? I owned the hull range, 
 
 Fer a fortune I reckon'd I 'd struck. 
 
 So I kept on a playin', I staked my last lump, 
 
 All my money an' scads from the steers ; 
 But all uv a suddint thar cum a big slump, 
 
 An' I lost all my savin's uv years. 
 Then I ciphered an' figgered an' ciphered around, 
 
 Till I give the hull bizness a d — m ! 
 My scads they wuz gone — I pretty soon found 
 
 Thet I wuz "a Texas sheared lamb." 
 
 Yes, thet 's what they called me — a peert kind uv 
 name — 
 
 Then I seen I wuz green, an' wuz fooled ; 
 I hed staked my hull wad on some other chap's 
 game, 
 
 Some feller perhaps like Jay Gould ; 
 So I gethered my ole paper gripsack again 
 
 (Thar wuz nothin' else fer me to do) ; 
 An' I pulled my sad freight to an outgoin' train, 
 
 An' vamoosed the town P. D. Q. 
 
86 Ranch Verses. 
 
 A DRUMMER'S REVERIE BY THE RIO 
 GRANDE. 
 
 TO THE BOYS " ON THE ROAD." 
 
 T^HE wild prairie flowers, with their beauty so 
 A rare, 
 
 Fill the air with delicious perfume, 
 And the plains stretch away till they melt into 
 air, 
 
 In the land where the cactus plants bloom. 
 Afar from the crowds and their maddening strife, 
 
 All alone on this flowery lea, 
 I '11 woo gentle Nature, I '11 leave the old life, 
 
 Where the Rio Grande flows to the sea. 
 I hear, in the distance, the murmuring bees, 
 
 The fold-bells' sweet tinklings nigh, 
 The tropical zephyrs steal up through the trees, 
 
 And the splash as the river rolls by. 
 
 Reclined on her bosom near Nature's warm heart, 
 
 A drummer is lost from the crowd : 
 No thought of "poor crops " or the toils of the mart, 
 
 Or the cares of a life on the road. 
 The castles and visions he sees in the sky 
 
 Remind him of boyhood's fond hours, 
 When life seemed as pure as the white clouds on 
 high, 
 
 And the future was lovely with flowers. 
 
A Drummer s Reverie by the Rio Grande. 87 
 
 No promising merchants who " order next time " 
 Crossed his bow in that ocean of peace ; 
 
 No rice, and corn bread, and tough bacon rind, 
 And beefsteak all swimming in grease ; 
 
 No butter as strong as the Sampson of old 
 
 Made him mad in those Sunday-school days ; 
 No expenses, and excess, and baggage-men bold 
 
 Made trouble in various ways ; 
 No visions of loveliness, eyes of sky-blue, 
 
 Disturbed then his fanciful dreams ; 
 No curly-haired fellow (bad luck to him, too,) 
 
 Got away with his pile with four queens ; 
 No 'busses to catch for the " Midnight South 
 Bound " ; 
 
 No trains that are " seven hours late" ; 
 No dazzling hotel-clerks with looks so profound ; 
 
 No politics changed with each State ; 
 
 No listening to stories one thousand years old, 
 
 In those days in the morning of life ; 
 No open car windows from which to catch cold ; 
 
 No rivals to beat in the strife. 
 No kind-hearted spinster with gay little curls, 
 
 Whom we 're happy to meet now and then, 
 Who talks of home influence, and tells all the girls 
 
 To " Look out for those travelling men " ; 
 All these, my dear reader, and a thousand things more, 
 
 Come back with sweet freshness to me, 
 As I lie in the flowers, on the cactus-bloomed shore, 
 
 Where the Rio Grande flows to the sea. 
 
88 Ranch Verses. 
 
 It 's a very nice thing when from home you 're afar, 
 
 Thus to follow your fancy's own bent ; 
 To recline by some river and strum a guitar 
 
 And drift to the Isles of Content. 
 And if, in the future, old grim-visaged Care 
 
 Shall sail through your fanciful realm, 
 Jibe your life's bark about, fly your mainsail in air, 
 
 And put happy Hope at the helm — 
 Sail off from that vessel of doubt and despair, 
 
 Come along, my dear fellow, with me, 
 And we '11 talk of old times and our castles in air, 
 
 Where the Rio Grande flows to the sea. 
 
 BRER BROWN'S COLLECTION. 
 
 Look hyar, my Baptis breddren, 
 Salvation 's free, I knows, 
 
 But / % ze de Gospil hydrant, 
 Tru which de watters flows. 
 
 An' dat dar las' colleckshun 
 We 's takin' at de doah, 
 
 Won't keep de streems er-flowin' 
 Tru dis yeer reserwoir ; 
 
 I 'ze tole yer' foah about hit ; 
 
 I preeched de odder day 
 " De la brer in de winyard 
 
 Am worthy av his f>ay." 
 
Brer Brown s Collection. 89 
 
 I kyant 'cept no excuses, 
 
 De thirsty mus' go dry, 
 De stingy sinners roun dis throne 
 
 Won't nebber claw de sky ! 
 
 De Lord kyant nebber bless yer 
 
 De ways yer 's gwine on ; 
 Yer 's gwine ter ketch de debbil 
 
 On this hyar Sunday morn. 
 
 You niggers like de possum 
 
 Yer gets a powerful heap ; 
 But tech him (in de pocket) 
 
 Ye 'z shore ter fall asleep ! 
 
 Yer long-tailed coats kin kiver 
 
 De monstrous ugly patch, 
 But dey ain't gwine ter sabe yer 
 
 Up dar at Heaben's latch. 
 
 You '11 grin an' try yer coaxin', 
 
 But Petah, he doan keer — 
 He '11 shet de gates an' tell yer 
 
 " You cannot enter hyar ! " 
 
 De stall-fed, stingy sinners 
 
 Wot 's feedin' roun' dis throne, 
 
 Kyant git no moah redemption 
 Widout I gets de bone. 
 
90 Ranch Verses. 
 
 De bacun cums too cos'ly, 
 De chickens roos' too high, 
 
 Fer me ter furnish stuffin' 
 Fer all de Pilgrims' pie. 
 
 Dar no moah Bam of Gilead, 
 Unless you 'ze got de cash, 
 
 An' 'less yer pays fer preechin' 
 De Preecher 's shore tu smash ! 
 
 Dars no moah free salvation — 
 / 'ze dun got f raid ter trus' ! 
 
 An' 'less yer cums up libral 
 Dis Gospil 's gwine ter bus' ! 
 
 So 'member what I tells yer — 
 / 'ze bleeged to hab sum pay ; 
 
 I kyant 'cept no excuses ! 
 So, Breddren — Let us Pray ! 
 
 "REMEMBER THE ALAMO." 
 
 TO THE SAN ANTONIO CLUB. 
 
 "PAIR Greece and Rome brave heroes knew, 
 But Texas has her heroes, too, 
 
 The men of Alamo ! 
 That bold, courageous, noble band 
 Of rangers in the border land, 
 Who fighting fell with sword in hand, 
 
 At San Antonio ! 
 
A Sonnet to Night. 91 
 
 Their well-remembered woes and wrongs 
 Demand no feeble minstrel's songs, 
 
 For history's fame is theirs. 
 Their names shall live on mortal tongue, 
 Their deeds of valor long be sung, 
 Their memories blessed by old and young 
 
 In silent tears and prayers. 
 
 Dark Gettysburg and Waterloo 
 Survivors from their carnage knew, 
 
 Thermopylae had one ! 
 But on the Lone Star's gory field 
 The Texans bled, but would not yield ; 
 Each man died fighting on his shield — 
 
 The Alamo left none ! 
 
 Crockett, Travis, and Bowie's names 
 Shall glow with Freedom's holy flames 
 
 And brighten Glory's sheath ! 
 No lettered urn or flowered perfume 
 Need mark such storied heroes' tomb, 
 For honors round their names shall bloom 
 
 In an immortal wreath ! 
 
 A SONNET TO NIGHT. 
 
 r THE twilight's laces fringe the sea, 
 ■*• Whilst far beyond yon mountain's crest 
 The lingering, lonely sun seeks rest, 
 And life seems lost in reverie ! 
 
92 Ranch Verses. 
 
 No sound from woodland, shore, or lea, 
 Save from yon airy sea-bird's nest, 
 Where fledglings greet a mother-guest 
 
 Returned from wanderings wild and free. 
 
 Dark spectral fingers clasp the land 
 And daylight smiles her last good-bye, 
 
 Whilst, far beyond the reverent strand, 
 The vanquished hosts of evening fly, 
 
 As night's victorious, restful hand 
 Flings jewelled banners o'er the sky. 
 
 LADY BELLE— A VILLANELLE. 
 
 T OVELY lady, Lady Belle, 
 ■^ Pray incline thine ear to me 
 Whilst I sing my villanelle. 
 
 Mark and listen, listen well, 
 As my lyre is tuned for thee, 
 Lovely lady, Lady Belle. 
 
 Hear the music rise and swell, 
 As it echoes clear and free, 
 Whilst I sing my villanelle. 
 
 Dost forget that twilight dell, 
 Where to-night I long to be, 
 Lovely lady, Lady Belle ? 
 
The Round-Up. 93 
 
 There in dreams my fancies dwell, 
 Dwell in dreams beside the sea, 
 Whilst I sing my villanelle. 
 
 Yes, I love thee ! love thee well, — 
 Pray incline thy heart to me, 
 Lovely lady, Lady Belle, 
 Whilst I sing my villanelle. 
 
 THE ROUND-UP. 
 
 "t \ 7TTH the joy of the wind in our hearts and 
 * " our faces, 
 
 We drive the shy cattle across the divide ; 
 Hurrah for the zest and the swift, reckless races 
 
 That make up the pleasures of such a wild ride ! 
 
 Through mesquite and cactus and chapparral 
 bushes, 
 Over oceans of blossoms we gallop along ; 
 On, on ! toward the round-up our stout broncho 
 rushes, 
 As we drive up the stragglers with shout and 
 with song. 
 
 We have searched the lone canyon and scoured the 
 valley ; 
 We are driving the mavericks, the calves, and the 
 steers ; 
 On, on, toward the outfit, where stockmen all rally, 
 To claim hoofed possessions by brands and 
 marked ears. 
 
94 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Oh, the roaring and surging and pawing of cattle ! 
 How they bellow and stampede and long to be 
 free ! 
 How their lowered heads crash as they lock horns 
 in battle ! 
 How their billowed backs heave like some wild, 
 tawny sea ! 
 
 While cowboys and " nesters " stand guard on 
 swift horses, 
 The range boss's outfit rides in through the herd 
 Cutting out and inspecting — grim, trained, active 
 forces 
 That divide up the cattle without a waste word. 
 
 Each man " holds " his own, then the roping and 
 branding ; 
 Ye gods, this is sport ! see that yearling career ; 
 The lasso has caught him ! See that bowed bron- 
 cho standing 
 As firm as a rock, with his head to the steer. 
 
 When the day's work is over to " camp " we are 
 flying, 
 To unsaddle and hobble and joke with the cook; 
 When the supper is finished, there 's a round-up of 
 lying, 
 But the tales that we tell are not told in this, 
 book. 
 
"Christine." 95 
 
 "CHRISTINE." 
 
 Her voice is like the mocking-bird's 
 
 Upon the myrtle tree ; 
 Her laugh is like the rippling rill's 
 
 That woos the flowery lea ; 
 Her eyes are like fringed evening stars 
 
 That dream of tropic seas ; 
 Her breath is like the kiss of morn 
 
 That sighs through orange trees. 
 
 The clover loves her nimble feet, 
 
 The zephyrs woo her hair ; 
 The twilight lingers on her cheek 
 
 In lissome beauty there ; 
 The roses kiss her budding lips, 
 
 Where laughing pearls are seen ; 
 All Nature loves dear " Little Chris," 
 
 For she is Nature's queen ! 
 
 Ah ! she is like some lily fair, 
 
 All loveliness in place ; 
 A beauteous blossom, breathing joy 
 
 On willowy stem of grace. 
 Oh ! may the joys of heaven attend 
 
 This airy, fairy queen, 
 For she 's the sovereign of my heart, 
 
 This little girl— " Christine." 
 
g6 Ranch Verses. 
 
 THE OLD LOG FIRE. 
 
 "VTER kin preech uv the pleasures an' joys uv the 
 rich, 
 
 'Bout yer oprees an' parties so gay ; 
 Yer kin dwell amidst fash'nable folks an' all sich. 
 
 But I don't keer to live theterway. 
 Giv' me my ole ranch in the wild solitudes, 
 
 Fer uv Nachur I never kin tire ; 
 Then giv' me sum books and a pipe fer all 
 moods, 
 
 An' a cheer by the roarin' log fire. 
 
 Yer oprees iz dull tu the muzic I heers, 
 
 When the flames iz asingin' tu me, 
 An' the big chimbley roars hit's old chune in my 
 ears, 
 
 Like sum far-away song uv the sea. 
 Ah, then with sum feller like Edgar A. Poe, 
 
 Or Shakespeare, who kinder gits nigher, 
 I mozey 'way back tu the dim long ago, 
 
 Ez I dream by the roarin' log fire. 
 
 My ole 'magination jest gits me, fer shore, 
 When I loafer around with ole Scott ; 
 
 Them Waverley novels I 've read o'er and o'er ; 
 His pomes I 've never forgot. 
 
Old Fort Phantom Hill. 97 
 
 Yer kin liv' in yer cities ef yew are inclined, 
 
 But uv fashion I do not desire ; 
 Giv' me my ole ranch an' er contented mind, 
 
 An' sum books by the roarin* log fire. 
 
 OLD FORT PHANTOM HILL. 
 
 (An abandoned fort in Jones County, Texas. Supposed to be 
 haunted.) 
 
 TO THE VETERANS OF THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 
 
 /^\N the breezy Texas border, on the prairies far 
 
 ^-^ away, 
 
 Where the antelope is grazing and the Spanish 
 
 ponies play ; 
 Where the tawny cattle wander through the golden 
 
 incensed hours, 
 And the sunlight woos a landscape clothed in royal 
 
 robes of flowers ; 
 Where the Elm and Clear Fork mingle, as they 
 
 journey to the sea, 
 And the night-wind sobs sad stories o'er a wild and 
 
 lonely lea ; 
 Where of old the dusky savage and the shaggy 
 
 bison trod, 
 And the reverent plains are sleeping 'midst drowsy 
 
 dreams of God ; 
 Where the twilight loves to linger, e'er night's sable 
 
 robes are cast 
 7 
 
98 Ranch Verses. 
 
 'Round grim-ruined, spectral chimneys, telling 
 stories of the past, 
 
 There upon an airy mesa, close beside a whisper- 
 ing rill, 
 
 There to-day you '11 find the ruins of the Old Fort 
 Phantom Hill. 
 
 Years ago, so runs the legend, 'bout the year of 
 
 Fifty-three, 
 This old fort was first established by the gallant 
 
 soldier, Lee ; 
 And to-day the restless spirits of his proud and 
 
 martial band 
 Haunt those ghostly, gloomy chimneys in the Texas 
 
 border land. 
 There once every year at midnight, when the 
 
 chilling Northers roar, 
 And the storm-king breathes its thunder from the 
 
 heights of Labrador, 
 When the vaulted gloom re-echoes with the owls — 
 
 " whit-tu-woo ! " 
 And the stealthy cayote answered with his lonely, 
 
 long " ki-00 ! " 
 Then strange phantoms flit in silence through that 
 
 weeping mesquite vale, 
 And the reveilles come sounding o'er the old Mc- 
 
 Kenzie Trail, 
 Then the muffled drums beat muster and the 
 
 bugles sadly trill, 
 And the vanished soldiers gather 'round the heights 
 
 of Phantom Hill. 
 
Old Fort Phantom Hill. 99 
 
 Then pale bivouac fires are lighted and those 
 gloomy chimneys glow, 
 
 While the grizzled veterans muster from the taps 
 of long ago, 
 
 Lee and Johnston and McKenzie, Grant and Jack- 
 son, Custer, too, 
 
 Gather there in peaceful silence waiting for their 
 last review ; 
 
 Blue and gray at length united on the high re- 
 doubts of fame, 
 
 Soldiers all in one grand army, that will answer in 
 God's name. 
 
 Yes, they rest on heights of glory in that fair, celes- 
 tial world, 
 
 " Where the war-drum throbs no longer, and the 
 battle-flags are furled." 
 
 And to-day the birds are singing where was heard 
 the cannons' roar, 
 
 For the gentle doves are nesting 'midst those ruins 
 of the war. 
 
 Yes, the mocking-birds re-echo : " Peace on earth, 
 to men good will," 
 
 And the " swords are turned to ploughshares " in 
 the land of Phantom Hill. 
 
ioo Ranch Verses. 
 
 GOOD-BYE. 
 
 f~^ OOD-BYE, Sweetheart — our dream is past, 
 ^-* The swallows homeward fly ; 
 The faded leaves are falling fast, 
 Our summer joys are o'er at last, 
 Good-bye, Sweetheart ! Good-bye ! 
 
 The wailing winds, the meadows sere, 
 
 The lonely sea and sky, 
 The naked trees and landscape drear, 
 Suggest departures for the year, 
 
 Good-bye, Sweetheart ! Good-bye ! 
 
 The grieving waters woo the strand, 
 
 All Nature breathes a sigh ; 
 Pale Autumn waves her spectral hand 
 And whispers to the listening land, 
 
 Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 
 
 "REVERIES OF A BACHELOR." 
 
 (With apologies to Donald G. Mitchell.) 
 
 T ONG, long ago, a careless lad, 
 -*— * The scapegoat of a village, 
 Who made the rustic neighbors mad 
 By boyish pranks and pillage ; 
 
' ' Reveries of a Baclielor. " i o i 
 
 'T was then, I say, I knew a lass — 
 
 " A girl beneath ray level " — 
 The daughter of — well, let that pass — 
 
 I loved her like — the devil ! 
 
 I met her at the grammar school — 
 
 That dear old rural college 
 Where hand in hand through sum and rule 
 
 We climbed the heights of knowledge. 
 Ah, she to me was passing fair, 
 
 Her smiles were so entrancing ! 
 She was an angel ! I declare — 
 
 I vow I 'm not romancing. 
 
 Ah, yes, she was my fairy queen, 
 
 I worshipped and adored her ; 
 I praised her charms in verse serene — 
 
 I 'm sure I must have bored her. 
 I loved the ribbons that she wore, 
 
 The books and slate she carried ; 
 And now and then I gravely swore 
 
 " That we should soon get married ! 
 
 At this she laughed and shook her head, 
 
 And said to me so chilly, 
 " You naughty, foolish, stupid Ned, 
 
 You boys are all so silly." 
 Her haughty father's name was Dan — 
 
 He "drove a horse and carriage" 
 (He drove them — for another man) 
 
 When I had thoughts of marriage. 
 
102 Ranch Verses. 
 
 I told her of my lofty aims, 
 
 The acres of my daddy ; 
 But she was deaf to all my claims — 
 
 She loved a. youth named — Paddy ! 
 Oh, how I fought that lusty lad — 
 
 (He walloped me like thunder) 
 Ah, then my boyish heart was sad 
 
 With grief and love and wonder. 
 
 But now these reveries make me laugh, 
 
 And now I laugh at marriage ; 
 She is a coachman's better half, 
 
 " They keep a horse and carriage." 
 Ah, yes ; the fates were kind, I vow — 
 
 We both have won our wishes ; 
 I 'm wedded — to the muses — now, 
 
 And she is — washing dishes ! 
 
 ENNUI. 
 
 A T a lonely ranch neath a lonely sky 
 ■*■ On the tawny Texas prairie, 
 
 Where the owls hoo, and the plovers cry, 
 And the cayotes howl, and the Northers sigh, 
 
 To-night I am sad and weary. 
 The fire dreams on in its chimney-bed, 
 
 While the rain on the roof is sobbing 
 A requiem sad for a year that 's dead, 
 For the shadowy faces flown and fled, 
 For the days misspent, and the words unsaid, 
 
 And the dreams that Time is robbing. 
 
Ennui. 103 
 
 Without, in the wind and rain and gloom, 
 
 The night is steeped in sorrow, 
 While spectral fancies haunt my room 
 With ghostly thoughts from Memory's tomb, 
 
 And the cares of a dull To-morrow. 
 Ah, Life is at best a lonely lane 
 
 O'ergrown with the rue and roses, 
 Though the flowers must wither, the thorns remain, 
 For each heart knoweth some secret pain ; 
 Some fond regret, and some hope in vain, 
 
 In each secret soul reposes. 
 
 Hast thou not sighed for some ideal shore 
 
 'Midst groves and forests vernal — 
 Where pain and trials and griefs were o'er, 
 Where the world was fair as dreams of yore, 
 Where hearts were true and life was more, 
 
 And love was a thing Eternal ? 
 Ah, yes ! and to-night 'neath a lonely sky, 
 
 On the tawny Texas prairie, 
 Where the owls hoo and the Northers sigh, 
 Where the cayotes wail, and the plovers cry, 
 
 To-night I am sad and weary. 
 
 December 31st. 
 
104 Ranch Verses. 
 
 THE BRAZOS QUEEN. 
 
 Y^ AR down in Southern Texas, where the Brazos 
 
 River flows, 
 Where the cotton plants are blooming and the 
 
 stately live oak grows, 
 Where shrouds of waving mosses drape spectre 
 
 cypress trees, 
 And butterflies are floating through the fragrant 
 
 breathing breeze ; 
 Where the pensive, pure magnolias dream away the 
 
 golden hours, 
 And the sated cattle wander through royal realms 
 
 of flowers ; 
 Where the mocking-birds are singing to the blos- 
 soms on the lea, 
 And this river winds forever to wed the Tropic 
 
 Sea ; 
 There, in a hacienda midst bowers of foliage 
 
 green, 
 There lives a gentle lady — the lovely Brazos 
 
 Queen / 
 
 Her voice is low and tuneful as some airy, sad 
 
 guitar, 
 Her cheeks are like pale roses from twilight realms 
 
 afar, 
 Her eyes are like pure sunbeams that fringe some 
 
 mountain stream, 
 
The Brazos Queen. 105 
 
 And her face suggests the beauty which haunts a 
 
 poet's dream ; 
 Her thoughts are pure and lofty, as mountain peaks 
 
 of snow, 
 Yet her nature 's warm and lovely as the prairie 
 
 sunset's glow. 
 Ah, she 's an earthly angel — her name you '11 never 
 
 guess ! 
 And so, my gentle readers, we '11 call her — R. F. S. ! 
 Now R shall stand for " royal," and F may " fairy " 
 
 mean, 
 And S, of course, is " sovereign," for she 's the 
 
 Brazos Queen ! 
 
 Yes, she 's the queen of nature, the song of 
 
 morning birds ; 
 The music of the zephyrs re-echoes in her words. 
 But now her doves are mourning, her zephyrs too 
 
 are sad, 
 For they have been deserted ! alas, it is too bad. 
 My lady 's left her kingdom — her village subjects 
 
 frown ; 
 For she has gone to conquer the proud and stately 
 
 town. 
 Her gallant cavaleros that roam the Brazos side, 
 All, all have been deserted, — alone they sigh and 
 
 ride. 
 She took their sunshine with her, to gild a grander 
 
 scene, 
 For now midst courts of fashion she reigns a royal 
 
 queen. 
 
106 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Take care, ye city gallants, in spite of all your arts, 
 This lovely village princess will capture all your 
 
 hearts. 
 Yes ! yes ! You '11 all be sighing around her 
 
 dainty feet ; 
 Ye bees will woo this flower, this blossom pure and 
 
 sweet. 
 And all the lonely zephyrs that sigh around her 
 
 home 
 Will seek and woo and love her, wherever she may 
 
 roam. 
 And though she may forget them, her loyal stars 
 
 look down 
 And dream of her forever, this Venus gone to town. 
 Yes, e'en the dames of Fashion will leave their 
 
 royal sport 
 And flock to do her homage — the Brazos Queen at 
 
 Court. 
 
 Oh, if my hand could gather fame's laurels for her 
 
 now, 
 I 'd cull a lovely garland and place it on her brow, 
 If I could chain the sunbeams, could rope the stars 
 
 of night, 
 I 'd give them to my Lady, and crown her life with 
 
 light. 
 If I could sing such carols as to the birds belong, 
 I 'd gently breathe them to her and fill her soul 
 
 with song. 
 Then perhaps amid her triumphs, perhaps she 'd 
 
 not forget 
 
The Waltz. 107 
 
 Her absent, exiled minstrel, who dreams about her 
 
 yet. 
 Perhaps the "Poet Ranchman," who 's doomed to 
 
 dwell apart, 
 Might hope to live in memory — some Eden of her 
 
 heart. 
 Oh, may she long be happy, this maiden rare, 
 
 serene, 
 And may God always bless her — our dainty Brazos 
 
 Queen ! 
 
 THE WALTZ. 
 
 r T r HE wooing waltz, the wooing waltz, 
 
 -*• Still of that waltz I 'm dreaming, 
 For she was mine that lovely night, 
 Was mine at least in seeming. 
 
 Within that room, that crowded room, 
 
 So crowded, yet so lonely. 
 We drifted on, we two alone, 
 
 I thought of her, her only. 
 
 Her little hand, her jewelled hand, 
 Seemed lightly to caress me ; 
 
 It thrilled my heart with pride and joy, 
 It seemed to say, " I bless thee." 
 
 The music rose, the music fell, 
 Now slower and now faster, 
 
108 Ranch Verses. 
 
 On, on we danced, in easy tune, 
 Close, closer still I clasped her. 
 
 I watched her eyes, her wistful eyes ; 
 
 I breathed through perfumed tresses, 
 Her dimpled cheeks and pouting lips 
 
 Invited warm caresses. 
 
 Her pensive flush, her truant blush, 
 Betrayed her inward feelings ; 
 
 Those drooping eyes, those gentle sighs 
 Suggested love's revealings. 
 
 We drifted on, outside the room ; 
 
 Ah, how could I resist her, 
 For in that dimly lighted hall 
 
 I slyly stooped and — kissed her ! 
 
 The music dreamed, the music breathed 
 
 The story that I told her, 
 And in that hallway's friendly gloom 
 
 She listened on my shoulder. 
 
 
The Hermit's Soliloquy. 109 
 
 THE HERMIT'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 (" There is a solitary hermit living in the Panhandle of 
 Texas who is known to be a foreign nobleman. He dwells 
 in a dugout, entirely alone, and refuses to have any inter- 
 course with mankind. It is said that domestic trouble drove 
 him from a luxurious home in Europe and induced him to 
 adopt his present mode of life." — St. Louis paper.) 
 
 A FAR on the prairies, afar and alone, 
 ■*■ *■ Where Nature dreams, and the Northers 
 
 moan, 
 Where the cayote prowls the long night through, 
 And the owl sighs its sad " tu-whoo "; 
 Where the gloomy buzzard wheels and flies 
 On the wings of Death 'neath Southern skies ; 
 Where the lonely stars shine clear and cold 
 O'er the weary wastes of a world grown old ; 
 To-night alone by the embers glow 
 I am lost in the gloom of a long ago — 
 Lost midst sorrows which none can scan, 
 Close, close to Nature, yet far from man. 
 
 I, who in youth true friends have known, 
 
 Am friendless now, afar and alone, 
 
 My hopes abandoned, my dreams undone, 
 
 Forgotten by all, cared for by none. 
 
 Alone am I, alone with that strife 
 
 Which gnaws at the heart of a blasted life. 
 
1 10 Ranch Verses. 
 
 No love, no hope, no faith — all gone ! 
 'T were better, alas, I had ne'er been born. 
 For what does it matter — this waste of breath, 
 This struggle for life, this fight with death ? 
 Ah ! life 's but a shadow, a shadow in air — 
 We came from darkness, we go to — where ? 
 
 'T were better, indeed, to hope for some sphere 
 Where the soul may rest beyond sorrows here ; 
 But my sad heart, so long deceived, 
 Mistrusts the dreams that it once believed. 
 Yes, I who in youth had faith above 
 Have lost all faith through a faithless love. 
 
 God ! that thought — her false, fair face 
 Still haunts my life in this lonely place. 
 The pensive charm of her wistful eyes 
 
 1 see in the depths of the azure skies ; 
 
 And oft at night midst the moon's pale beams 
 She haunts my den and fills my dreams. 
 
 Her low, sweet voice I have often heard 
 
 In the twilight songs of the mocking-bird. 
 
 Lo ! the winter comes and the summer goes, 
 
 While the tide of seasons ebbs and flows ; 
 
 The spring returns with its birds and flowers 
 
 In a dreary round of weary hours ; 
 
 The months and years roll by — and yet 
 
 Alas ! alas ! I cannot forget ! 
 
 And to-night afar, by the fire alone, 
 
 While the Norther sighs and my spirits groan, 
 
 Where the lonely owl calls " tu-whoo," 
 
Never Despair. 1 1 1 
 
 And the cayote wails the whole night through, 
 
 Alone am I, alone with that strife 
 
 Which haunts the heart of a blasted life ! 
 
 NEVER DESPAIR. 
 
 C"* IVE up vain regretting, don't sigh for the past, 
 * Let the veil of oblivion be over it cast ; 
 Fond memories are pleasant, but they never will 
 
 pay, 
 
 The sight drafts of Time that fall due on to-day ; 
 
 Be up and be doing, don't trifle with Time, 
 
 If you long for success you must labor and climb. 
 
 Success is a blossom that blooms into life 
 On the mountains of toil amidst bowlders of strife ; 
 The paths that lead up to that flower so rare 
 Are rocky and dangerous, and clouded with care. 
 But beyond the dark canyons that yawn on life's 
 
 slope 
 There are halos of glory and rainbows of hope. 
 
 So never despair ! push on with your schemes, 
 If they are not successful, indulge in new dreams. 
 The future still beckons, so do not lament, 
 For the pale vanished past, or the efforts misspent. 
 Though tossed by life's tempests and billows of 
 
 care, 
 Steer on toward the stars and the lights " Over 
 
 There." 
 
1 1 2 Ranch Verses. 
 
 TO KATHERINE. 
 
 [" KNOW a gentle maiden, 
 A A flower fair is she ; 
 As graceful as the lilies, 
 
 That grow by Galilee. 
 Her cheeks are like the roses, 
 
 Such eyes were never seen, 
 Ah, she 's my pretty cousin, 
 
 The pensive Katherine. 
 
 Her thoughts are pure and lofty 
 
 As dreams of paradise, 
 And music swoons enraptured 
 
 In echoes of her sighs. 
 Her laugh is like the ripple 
 
 Of music, too, I ween, 
 Ah, she 's my lovely cousin, 
 
 The gentle Katherine. 
 
 Her life is full of sunshine, 
 
 Her heart is always kind, 
 Her nature 's true and noble, 
 
 Enlightened and refined. 
 Oh, I *m a lucky fellow, 
 
 Related to — a queen J 
 The queen of budding beauty, 
 
 The blosso?n Katherine. 
 
The Question. 1 1 3 
 
 THE QUESTION. 
 
 T^AIR lady, though proud cavaliers 
 *• Are bending round thy throne, 
 And waiting there with eager ears 
 
 To do thy wishes known ; 
 And though thy pure patrician face 
 
 Is proud and passing fair, 
 Methinks, behind the mask, I trace 
 
 A wistful hint of care. 
 
 Though wit and beauty gild the scene, 
 
 And every one seems gay, 
 Though all is life and joy serene, 
 
 Thy thoughts are far away ; 
 The swooning roses on thy breast 
 
 Betray no calm delight ; 
 Alas, their drooping buds suggest ' 
 
 My lady 's sad to-night. 
 
 The viols moan — thy men at arms 
 
 Go proudly whirling by ; 
 Then why, amidst such royal charms, 
 
 Why doth my lady sigh ? 
 Stern valor gaily strives to gain 
 
 Thy smiles and make thee glad ; 
 Alas ! each gallant strives in vain — 
 
 Why is my lady sad ? 
 
114 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Too well thy minstrel knows his doom — 
 
 A lonely life of care — 
 But far beyond the clouds of gloom 
 
 One star is shining there ! 
 For though his sun has long been set 
 
 O'er hopes too fond to last, 
 He lives in halos of regret, 
 
 The starlight of the past. 
 
 Though vain, alas ! his thoughts may be, 
 
 Though doomed to dwell apart, 
 He lives alone with thoughts of thee, 
 
 The mistress of his heart. 
 No matter where his footsteps rove, 
 
 Where e'er his lot is cast, 
 He 's loyal to his early love, 
 
 His first love and the last. 
 
 To-night, while sleeping on the plain, 
 
 Beneath star-curtained skies, 
 He heard thy soft, sad voice again, 
 
 And dreamed of starry eyes. 
 Oh, yes, I dreamed, lost love of mine, 
 
 Once more I felt thy kiss ; 
 Once more I dwelt in realms divine, 
 
 In fervent arms of bliss. 
 
 I dreamed we two at last were one, 
 That through this land of breath 
 
 The current of our lives should run 
 Down to the seas of death. 
 
Youth. 1 1 5 
 
 That far beyond the clouds of life, 
 
 Above God's azure skies, 
 That I could claim thee there as wife 
 
 In realms of Paradise. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! it cannot be, 
 
 Vain, vain, each fond regret ; 
 The regal charms beam not for me, 
 
 But oh, I can't forget ! 
 Thy royal path winds far from mine, 
 
 And it is better so ; 
 For thee a grander sun must shine 
 
 Than that of long ago. 
 
 A richer suitor seeks thy heart, 
 
 Your old knight could not be 
 Both bard and Croesus in one part, 
 
 But still he 'd die for thee ! 
 Then is thy sadness now a whim, 
 
 Some idle fear forsooth — 
 Or is it some fond thought of him, 
 
 The lover of thy youth ? 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 T N the Ocean of Time there 's a wonderful isle 
 -*- Embowered in roses and beautiful trees, 
 Where fountains of Fancy all troubles beguile 
 And the incense of morning perfumes every 
 breeze ; 
 
n6 Ranch Verses. 
 
 There Pleasure's gay banners illumine Hope's 
 bowers, 
 And blossoms of Beauty abound everywhere ; 
 There Love rules a Queen of the glad, golden 
 hours, 
 And Life is a dream without sorrow or care. 
 
 But, alas ! on that island no mortal abides, 
 
 And the currents flow swift by its perilous 
 shore ; 
 No vessels can anchor in Time's swelling tides, 
 They must sail and pass on to return never- 
 more. 
 Do you ask me the name of this beautiful 
 land, 
 That realm of delight and pleasure and truth ? 
 Look back o'er Life's billows toward Memory's 
 strand, 
 Behold it afar — 't is the fair Isle of Youth. 
 
 AGE. 
 
 OST, lost, youth's dreams of long ago, 
 ■*~ -/ Flown are the hopes we used to know, 
 
 All vanished into air. 
 Where are the smiles which Beauty wore ? 
 Where are the buds which Pleasure bore, 
 And where the friends beloved of yore ? 
 
 The echoes answer — where ! 
 
The "G" Strings of the Heart. 1 1 7 
 
 Why, why this fevered pomp and pride, 
 This gilded show which soon must glide 
 
 To deep oblivion's sea — 
 This wealth and power and swelling state, 
 These smiles of love and frowns of hate, 
 Soon, soon must flow through " time's wide gate" 
 
 To dim eternity. 
 
 Yes, yes, we all are born midst tears, 
 To struggle on a few short years 
 
 With doubt and dull despair. 
 Who knows the secret of Life's womb ? 
 Canst thou prove aught beyond the tomb ? 
 Ah ! man's brief day is lost in gloom, 
 
 His spirit lingers — where ? 
 
 Life, life, alas, what worth are ye, 
 To weary mortals such as we, 
 
 Who long for dreamless sleep ? 
 Our years are scarred by pain and grief, 
 Our " sorrows neither few nor brief," 
 'T is death alone can bring relief 
 
 To aged eyes that weep. 
 
 THE "G" STRINGS OF THE HEART. 
 
 T^HIS life iz full uv muzic, 
 A Hits no use tu talk uv art, 
 When Old Nacher cums a-fiddlin' 
 Roun' the " G " strings uv the heart. 
 
" 1 1 8 Ranch Verses. 
 
 But them dim mysterious poets 
 Uv the interlectuool kind, 
 
 Had better tune their bugles 
 Tu the zephyr flutin' wind. 
 
 The world ain't got much leisure 
 
 Fer tu study out a song, 
 Az the people 's all tu busy 
 
 Worryin' how tu git along. 
 If they cums tu poets' problems 
 
 Thet hez neither sense nor rhyme, 
 I know from sad experiunce 
 
 Thet they skip 'em every time ! 
 
 Them meloncholy fellers, 
 
 Wot sings uv woe an' care, 
 Hed better leave their sepulchres 
 
 An' git out in the air ! 
 Fer wot 's the use uv livin' 
 
 In an atmosphere uv gloom, 
 Where sunshine never enters, 
 
 An' the flowers never bloom ? 
 
 The sunshine iz the warmest ! 
 
 An' hit "pays the best," I know, 
 Fer the ole world longs fer laughter, 
 
 Az it has tu much uv woe. 
 So tune yer wailin' fiddles 
 
 To some lively, cheerful part, 
 An' let the muzic vibrate 
 
 From the " G " strings uv the heart. 
 
Highland Evening Song. 1 19 
 
 HIGHLAND EVENING SONG. 
 
 '""pWILIGHT blushing o'er the hillside 
 
 ■*■ Breathes rare kisses to the sea, 
 Whilst fond memory softly murmurs 
 
 Dreams of other days to me. 
 Mark the seabird homeward flying 
 
 To its nestling, cooing mate, 
 While the laughing zephyrs whisper : 
 
 " Love, good night — 't is growing late." 
 
 Ah, these shadows silent gathering 
 
 Round this wave-kissed Highland shore 
 Bring to mind old shadowy faces, 
 
 Faces we shall see no more. 
 Where are they, the buds and blossoms 
 
 Of life's radiant, rosy dawn ? 
 Withered — ay, like rarest roses, — 
 
 And the billows murmur, " Gone." 
 
 Yes, and we shall soon drift seaward 
 
 On oblivion's unknown stream, 
 For the sum of all existence 
 
 Is the essence of a dream. 
 Long these lonely waves shall echo 
 
 Round this haunted Highland shore, 
 But these scenes and lands that know us, 
 
 Shall remember us no more. 
 
 Highland Lights, N. J., July, 1892. 
 
1 20 Ranch Verses. 
 
 LINES TO A PICTURE. 
 
 MISS EMMA G. 
 
 T^AIR lady, when at thee I gaze, 
 ** My spirit dreams of other days, 
 
 Of days beloved of yore. 
 I breathe again that rare perfume 
 Which hovers round youth's radiant bloom 
 Ere yet life's bark is wrecked in gloom 
 
 On manhood's billowed shore. 
 
 That fair patrician face of thine, 
 Thy high-born looks and head divine, 
 
 Recall old dreams anew ; 
 When life's gay current swept along 
 Through realms of love and hope and song 
 As free as seabirds' flight, and strong 
 
 And pure as morning dew. 
 
 The pensive richness of thy face 
 Suggests a wealth of inward grace 
 
 Which charms me like a spell. 
 Thy beauty chains me with its beams, 
 Thy radiant image ever seems 
 To haunt my life and gild my dreams 
 
 Far more than I can tell. 
 
 As one who worships at the throne 
 Of some fair idol he has known 
 
For evermore. 121 
 
 In old affection's isles, 
 Where memory's music softly plays 
 Midst incense of dead vanished days, 
 So I now breathe this song of praise 
 
 To bless thy pictured wiles. 
 
 FOREVERMORE. 
 
 "\ 1 THEN Aurora's rosy kisses 
 
 * * Wake the blushing sleeping morn, 
 And the jewelled dewdrops glisten 
 
 On the silken tasselled corn ; 
 When the mocking-bird is singing 
 
 To the blossoms on the lea, 
 'T is then I cease from dreaming 
 
 And awake to thoughts of thee ! 
 
 When the twilight's golden splendor 
 
 Gilds the mountains far away, 
 And fair evening's sable banners 
 
 Drape the starry couch of day ; 
 When the wooing night-winds whisper 
 
 To the lonely listening sea, 
 'T is then, ah, then, my lady, 
 
 That my spirit yearns for thee ! 
 
 E'en in morning, or in twilight, 
 
 Or midst dreamland's realms divine, 
 
 I think of thee, fair lady, 
 
 For my heart is always thine ; 
 
122 Ranch Verses. 
 
 For like some stream that 's flowing 
 Toward the ocean's wooing shore, 
 
 So flows my life's deep current 
 Toward thee — Forevermore. 
 
 BAR HARBOR DAYS. 
 
 A LONE, far away by a fire to night, 
 "^^ Far away on the Texas frontier, 
 My thoughts have flown backward some months 
 in their flight, 
 To the glad summer days of the year. 
 To the days when I met thee — thou vision of art — 
 
 To those Bar Harbor days by the sea, 
 Though distance dissever, and fate bid us part, 
 I '11 remember that summer — and thee. 
 
 Have you then forgotten those rare mountain 
 rides ? 
 
 Those wonderful views from the shore ? 
 To-night while the Norther booms o'er the Divides, 
 
 I can hear those wild billows once more. 
 And have you forgotten those long afternoons 
 
 When we strolled on the rocks by the sea ? 
 Those days and those rambles, those bass-viol 
 tunes, 
 
 Are full of old memories to me. 
 
 I remember that hop at the jolly West End, 
 Those yachts and our birch bark canoe ; 
 
Bar Harbor Days. 123 
 
 That ball at " The Kebo," where you were my 
 friend ; 
 Where I dreamed away waltzes with you. 
 Oh, the scent of that flower which swooned in 
 your hair ! 
 Oh, the grace of your beautiful charms 
 Was the fairest by far, and the loveliest there, 
 When I held you that night in my arms. 
 
 I remember your arch doubting look of surprise, 
 
 That soft twilight flush on your cheek ; 
 Methinks I saw volumes of thought in those eyes, 
 
 Where thy heart is accustomed to speak. 
 I recall your low voice, like the mocking-bird's 
 trill, 
 
 When it sings in magnolia bowers, 
 And your laugh like the song of the soft-rippling rill 
 
 When it whispers its love to the flowers. 
 
 I recall the old song that you sang 'neath the trees, 
 
 Its music I '11 never forget ; 
 It sighs through my soul like a tropical breeze, 
 
 Which is fragrant with love and regret. 
 I remember all this, yes, more if I choose, 
 
 Ay, more than I '11 ever confess ; 
 But you have forgotten it all I suppose, 
 
 And I am just dreaming — I guess. 
 
 Yes, dreaming alone by the fire to-night, 
 Where the cayotes are calling — " ki-00 ! " 
 
r 24 Ranch Verses. 
 
 While the sad zeyphrs sigh — " Ah, she never will 
 write," 
 
 To a "wild Texas fellow " — like you. 
 Ah, well ! never mind, perhaps it 's all for the best, 
 
 My fair queen of fashion and men, 
 For the summer is past — shall I tell you the rest ? 
 
 Well — I 've married in Texas since then ! 
 
 MY BARK IS ON THE SEA. 
 
 A LYRIC. 
 
 "IV /T Y bark is on the sea, love, 
 ■*■*-*■ My boat chafes at the pier ; 
 'T is longing there for thee, love, 
 Pray do not linger here. 
 Come, let 's away and sail to-day 
 With breezes blowing free, 
 With breezes blowing free, love, 
 Come, let 's away and sail to-day 
 With breezes blowing free. 
 
 I know rare, lonely isles, love, 
 Where waves the stately palm, 
 Where softest sunlight smiles, love, 
 O'er spicy groves of balm. 
 Let 's woo the breeze for tropic seas, 
 With Pleasure at the prow, 
 With Pleasure at the prow, love, 
 Let 's woo the breeze for tropic seas, 
 With Pleasure at the prow. 
 
A Sonnet to the Sea. 125 
 
 The whispering ripples speak, love, 
 Rare songs unto my heart ; 
 The blushes on thy cheek, love, 
 Fond hopes to me impart. 
 So let 's away and cruise to-day, 
 With Cupid at the helm, 
 With Cupid at the helm, love, 
 So let 's away and cruise to-day, 
 With Cupid at the helm. 
 
 A SONNET TO THE SEA. 
 
 "D OLL on, thou proud majestic everlasting Sea ! 
 Too well thou know'st there is no peace or 
 rest ; 
 For in thy cold, relentless heaving breast 
 There throbs the great deep heart of all Eternity. 
 As thou hast been so shalt thou ever be ; 
 
 What dost thou seek — what is thy vain request ? 
 For thou art grasping still and moaning mournfully, 
 Why wailest thou ? What is thy mystery ? 
 
 Though feeble man may gaze on thee to-day, 
 And proudly stem thy breathing, pulseful tide, 
 To-morrow he has gone ! yet on thy boundless 
 billows glide, 
 Forgetful of all time, oblivious to all sway, 
 Save His who rules the world ! whose chariots ride 
 Upon the storms ! His whom the winds and 
 
 waves alike obey. 
 Spring Lake Beach, N. J., July, 1891. 
 
126 Ranch Verses. 
 
 PERSEVERE. 
 
 "DRACE up, my dear fellow, push on, never fear, 
 The victory is thine if you still persevere ; 
 This life is for progress, don't sigh about luck, 
 The battles are won by the soldiers with pluck ! 
 
 No matter how lowly or humble your birth, 
 Ambition's a merit that 's wedded to worth. 
 
 The world is before you ; push onward and win ; 
 
 If you climb to Fame's portal, just boldly march 
 in. 
 
 There 's no harm in trying : do the best that you 
 can — 
 
 Give up useless sighing and fight like a man. 
 
 Aim high and strike hard, leave nothing to chance, 
 Don't skulk in the rear, just ride in advance. 
 
 Have hope for your beacon forever on high ; 
 
 Press forward, keep trying, and never say die ! 
 So onward, old fellow, brace up, never fear, 
 The victory is thine if you still persevere ! 
 
To the Memory of Gen. Sam Houston. 127 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF GEN. SAM 
 HOUSTON. 
 
 THY memory is blessed in this proud Southern 
 land, 
 Thy praises are sung by mankind ; 
 Fair Texas herself is thy monument grand, 
 Her freedom was won by thy heroic band, 
 Her destinies shaped by thy mind. 
 
 Thy life and its trials still live in each heart, 
 (Youth's romance, alas, was so brief) 
 
 Thy story of sorrow surpasses all art, 
 
 But thy manhood soon silenced the slanderer's dart, 
 Thou hero acquainted with grief. 
 
 Then plant the fair flowers around his lone tomb, 
 
 For this hero who suffered and bled ; 
 O'er his bier let affection breathe forth its perfume, 
 Let the laurels and lilies eternally bloom 
 O'er the dust of the patriot dead. 
 
 Sleep on, gallant chieftain; though thou art no more, 
 
 A proud city clings to thy name ; 
 The future shall echo thy valor of yore, 
 For History has blazoned thy deeds o'er and o'er, 
 
 On the walls of the Temple of Fame. 
 
 Yes ! his name is immortal, but no statue is reared 
 By this land that he struggled to save ; 
 
128 Ranc/i Verses. 
 
 Free Texas should honor his mem'ry revered, 
 And worship in marble her saviour endeared- 
 Sam Houston, the noble and brave ! 
 
 TO-DAY. 
 
 ET 'S woo the flying hours — to-day, 
 *~^ While Hope to Pleasure sings, 
 For who, alas, to-night can say 
 " What dim to-morrow brings ? " 
 
 The future 's but an empty dream, 
 
 The past returneth never ; 
 So woo the present's gilded beam, 
 
 And banish woe forever. 
 
 Life's fitful shades are fading fast, 
 Time's stream soon flows away ; 
 
 And youth's swift sun must set at last, 
 So let it shine — to-day. 
 
 If truth and kindness fill youth's hours, 
 
 Old age will ever be 
 A garland of affection's flowers, 
 
 Which love shall cull for thee. 
 
 Then in the afterglow of years, 
 When memory soothes all strife, 
 
 Remembrance then can weep no tears, 
 For peace shall crown thy life. 
 
Lines to a Lady. 1 29 
 
 Improve the flying hours, to-day, 
 For time has winnowing wings ; 
 
 And who, alas, to-night can say 
 "What dim to-morrow brings?" 
 
 LINES TO A LADY. 
 
 \T AY, lovely lady, you are wrong, 
 *■ ^ I am not "always gay," 
 Nor is my "life a happy song," 
 
 As I have heard you say. 
 Ah, no ! I, too, have weary hours, 
 
 But hearts like mine conceal 
 The thorns which hedge life's scentless flowers 
 That withered in youth's garden bowers ; 
 
 I do not weep ; I feel ! 
 
 Though you may think my heart is light, 
 
 Alas, it is not so ; 
 But still 't is best to make things bright 
 
 In darkest hours of woe. 
 I know the world is full of grief, 
 
 That life o'erflows with wrong ; 
 But dull despair won't bring relief, 
 So I believe 't were best, in brief, 
 
 "To suffer and be strong." 
 
130 Ranch Verses. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 A LAS, for the whim of a proud beauty's ways, 
 J ^*- It is really too sad to believe it ; 
 I adore her, I love her, I breathe her my praise, 
 But her majesty will not receive it. 
 
 Ah, once she was gentle and lovely and kind, 
 
 And did not object to my passion ; 
 But alas for the peace of my heart and my mind — 
 
 I am scorned by this lady of fashion. 
 
 I have sued and entreated and suffered in vain, 
 But her proud haughty heart is unshaken ; 
 
 She is deaf to my woe, she exults in my pain, 
 I am exiled, forlorn, and forsaken ! 
 
 She refuses my love, she " will not be my friend," 
 She refuses me, too, "as a brother" : 
 
 Alas, is it over? Is my dream at an end — 
 Must I leave her and look for another? 
 
 No ! no ! that is vain, for my heart is still true, 
 
 She, only, controls my affection ; 
 If she spurns me at last, I shall nevermore woo 
 
 Till — I meet with some other selection. 
 
 Ah, yes, I must wait till the wane of the moon, 
 Then perhaps she will pity my sorrow ; 
 
 Perhaps she '11 relent when she thinks of last June, 
 So I '11 wait till — day after io-morrcnv ! 
 
Texas Types — The Sheriff. 1 3 1 
 
 MISUNDERSTOOD. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 DURN on, proud soul ! no matter the cost — 
 
 Thy destiny to fulfill ; 
 The sun must glow though its gleams be lost, 
 
 It shines and it always will ; 
 So let thy spirit gleam and glow 
 
 O'er the twilight hills of care. 
 Remember at last though the clouds gloom low, 
 Though the night seems dark and the tempests 
 blow, 
 
 There 's a rosy dawn somewhere ! 
 Thy fate is the fate of a lofty mind — 
 
 How little is known of the good — 
 To thy worth the world is cold and blind, 
 Thy wealth is too pure — yes, too refined — 
 
 Thou art Misunderstood. 
 
 TEXAS TYPES— THE SHERIFF. 
 
 T T E'sa quiet, easy fellow, with his pants tucked 
 
 •*■-*• in his boots, 
 
 And he wears a big revolver which he seldom ever 
 
 shoots ; 
 He has served his time as ranger on the reckless 
 
 Rio Grande, 
 
132 Ranch Verses. 
 
 And he has the reputation for great marksmanship 
 and sand ; 
 
 He has strung up several horse thieves in the rust- 
 ler days gone by, 
 
 And although he seems so pleasant there 's a devil 
 in his eye. 
 
 When he goes to take a prisoner, he calls him by 
 
 his name, 
 In that confidential manner which suggests the 
 
 bunco game ; 
 If the culprit is not willing, takes exception to the 
 
 plan, 
 Our Sheriff gets the drop, sir, and he likewise gets 
 
 his man ; 
 Oh, it's "powerful persuadin'," is a pistol 'neath 
 
 your nose, 
 " Hands up, you 've got to go, Sam," and Sam he 
 
 ups and goes. 
 
 In the fall at " County 'lections " when the candi- 
 dates appear, 
 
 The Sheriff 's awful friendly, for he loves to 
 " 'lectioneer "; 
 
 Then he takes the honest granger and ye stockman 
 by the hand, 
 
 And he augers them for votes, sir, in a manner 
 smooth and bland ; 
 
 He is generous, brave, and courtly, but a dangerous 
 man to sass, 
 
Texas Types — The Cattle Queen. 133 
 
 For his manner is suggestive of that sign — "Keep 
 off the grass ! " 
 
 He may run a livery stable, or perchance he keeps 
 
 hotel ; 
 He may own a bunch of cattle, or may have some 
 
 lots to sell ; 
 He is full of go and travel, for he 's paid so much 
 
 per mile, 
 And his little bills for " extras," make County 
 
 Judges smile. 
 " Hyars lookin' at yer," Sheriff ; come, boys, lets 
 
 drink her down, 
 To the most important man, sir ! of every Texas 
 
 town. 
 
 TEXAS TYPES— THE CATTLE QUEEN. 
 
 T N the lovely land of Texas, 
 A Where the " rustlers " seldom vex us, 
 And the " Legislature checks us 
 
 With its land laws if you please " — 
 There, within a hacienda, 
 Dwells a lady dark and slender, 
 Who is radiant, rare, and tender — 
 
 The dashing little widow — Mistress Breeze. 
 
 She is pretty as a fairy, 
 She is gay, and glad, and airy, 
 Is that queen of the " perairie," 
 She 's the dearest of our joys, 
 
1 34 Ranch Verses. 
 
 You '11 surrender when you meet her, 
 When you see this fair chiquita ; 
 Yes, you '11 love this seiiorita, 
 It 's the fate of all the boys. 
 
 She is graceful as a lily, 
 
 But she knocks the stockmen silly 
 
 When she rides her lively filly 
 
 Round the ranges after steers. 
 She can rope a maverick yearling 
 With her light riatta twirling ; 
 Oh, I oft have seen it curling 
 
 'Round some bawling brindle's ears. 
 
 She owns thirty thousand cattle, 
 
 And a bank up in Seattle ; 
 
 Oh, she makes the dollars rattle 
 
 When she goes to San Antone — 
 Oh, I tell you she 's a winner, 
 Who can cook and grace a dinner 
 For a famished bachelor sinner, 
 
 That will make his spirit groan. 
 
 Yes, she " raises the old Harry" 
 With the boys — and likewise Larry, — 
 But, alas, she will not marry, 
 
 She 's so " powerful hard to please" 
 Yet mankind is still her debtor, 
 For she makes her wild world better, 
 And I thank God that I met her, — 
 
 This lovely little widow — Mistress Breeze. 
 
To an " Unknown Friend " — " A. M." 135 
 TO AN "UNKNOWN FRIEND "— " A. M." 
 
 ON RECEIVING HER VERSES AND FLOWERS. 
 
 "T^AIR lady, though we "never met," 
 -*- Though fate our lives dissever, 
 Thy kindness I will ne'er forget, 
 For like some star in Eden set, 
 
 My heart is thine forever ! 
 
 Yes, when such kindly acts as thine 
 
 Illume care's weary hours, 
 The poet feels that life 's divine, 
 And fancy's royal rainbows shine, 
 
 Through all his future showers. 
 
 Though like some waif upon time's stream 
 
 My lonely bark is driven, 
 Remembrance of thy song will gleam, 
 And haunt life's drear delusive dream, 
 
 Like angel notes from heaven. 
 
 Thy fragrant flowers are fair to see, 
 Their perfume rare discloses 
 The gentle thought which prompted thee 
 To send those lovely blooms to me, 
 Those lilies and the roses. 
 
 And though this song but faintly rings 
 With echoes of my feeling, 
 
1 36 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Remember, lady, he who sings, 
 Alas ! was born with feeble wings, — 
 
 His thoughts are past revealing ! 
 
 THE RANCHMAN'S RIDE. 
 
 T TURRAH for a ride on the prairies free, 
 
 On a fiery untamed steed, 
 Where the curlews fly and the cayotes cry, 
 And the fragrant breeze goes whispering by ; 
 
 Hurrah ! and away with speed. 
 
 With left hand light on the bridle-rein, 
 
 And saddle-girths cinched behind, 
 
 With lariat tied at the pommel's side, 
 
 And lusty bronchos true and tried, 
 
 We '11 race with the whistling wind. 
 
 We are off and away, like a flash of light 
 
 As swift as the shooting star, 
 As an arrow flies towards its distant prize, 
 On ! on we whirl toward the shimmering skies 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 As free as a bird o'er billowy sea 
 
 We skim the flowered Divide, 
 Like seamews strong we fly along, 
 While the earth resounds with galloping song 
 As we plunge through the fragrant tide. 
 
The Ladies — A Toast. 137 
 
 Avaunt with your rides in crowded towns ! 
 
 Give me the prairies free, 
 Where the curlews fly and the cayotes cry, 
 And the heart expands 'neath the azure sky ; 
 
 Ah ! that 's the ride for me. 
 
 THE LADIES— A TOAST. 
 
 TO " DI VERNON." 
 
 f~* OD bless the ladies — everywhere — 
 ^-^ And all their lovely graces ; 
 This world would be a world of care 
 
 Without their winsome faces. 
 Come ! fill the cup with purest wine, 
 
 Let every lip now press them ; 
 Here 's to the ladies ! fair, divine — 
 
 Again I say, God bless them ! 
 
 They brighten all our weary hours ; 
 
 To them the power is given 
 To make life's pathway bloom with flowers, 
 
 And gild this earth with heaven. 
 Nay ! chivalry — it is not dead, 
 
 Though knightly Bayard 's perished, 
 For manhood's shield is always spread 
 
 Toward lovely woman cherished. 
 
 Though silent now the troubadours, 
 
 And hushed the minstrels' singing, 
 All hearts still throb — the poet soars 
 
138 Ranch Verses. 
 
 When Beauty's songs are ringing. 
 So fill the cups again, my boys, 
 
 And clink the brimming glasses — 
 Here 's to the noblest of our joys ! 
 
 Our ladies and our lasses ! 
 
 THE NEW YORK GIRL. 
 
 I" HAVE known dark senoritas, 
 
 And proud creole maidens rare 
 I have seen Parisian ladies, 
 
 And some British beauties fair ; 
 But of all the royal women 
 
 That are leaders in life's whirl, 
 I swear there 's none to equal 
 The dashing Gotham girl. 
 
 She is charming, chic, and rapid, 
 
 Full of graces that beguile, 
 And of all our Yankee maidens, 
 
 She 's the one that leads in style. 
 Oh, her dresses are bewitching, 
 
 And her costume always suits, 
 For her raiment is " the latest," 
 
 From her bonnet to her boots. 
 
 Ah, she loves a mild flirtation, 
 For she 's practised all the parts ; 
 
 She has read the latest novels, 
 And is up in all the arts. 
 
The Boston Girl. 139 
 
 She 's a cynic and sarcastic, 
 
 Yet she seldom speaks her mind, 
 
 But withal she 's still a woman 
 Truly noble, good, and kind. 
 
 So salute her now, " deah chappie," 
 
 And remember what I say, 
 That the New York girl 's a winner 
 
 From Fifth Avenue to Cathay. 
 Oh, I doff my old sombrero 
 
 To this Queen of Beauty's pearls, 
 And to-night I say, God bless 'em ! 
 
 The dashing Gotham girls ! 
 
 THE BOSTON GIRL. 
 
 O HE usually wears glasses — 
 ^ Has a cool and thoughtful air — 
 Oh, she " dotes on Browning classes," 
 And she talks about Voltaire. 
 
 She is always craving knowledge, 
 For she dwells in learning's mart ; 
 
 Ah, she longs to found a college, 
 Or to start a school of art. 
 
 She does not care for fashion, 
 
 Or the cool New England youth ; 
 
 For "science is her passion," 
 And she only pines for — Truth ! 
 
140 Ranch Verses. 
 
 She 's a realist — calm, discerning, 
 Scorning everything ideal ; 
 
 And her spirit 's always yearning 
 For the " realness of the real " ! 
 
 She has aims and plans by dozens, 
 For her nature is intense ; 
 
 And she apes her English cousins 
 In broad a's — and common-sense. 
 
 No ! she never is " romantic," 
 
 And she thinks " most men are fools' 
 
 For she nearly drives them frantic 
 With her knowledge born of schools. 
 
 She 's a critic and a teacher, 
 And she plays a useful part ; 
 
 But, alas ! this cultured creature 
 Lets her brains usurp her heart ! 
 
 THE WESTERN GIRL. 
 
 T HEARD the deep bass-viol's cry 
 A Float through the fragrant night ; 
 I saw fair angels drifting by 
 In youth's purpureal light. 
 
 My lips were near her dreamy hair, 
 
 Close to a nestling rose, 
 That breathed soft incense to the air, 
 
 Blessing such sweet repose. 
 
The Southern Girl. 14 J 
 
 Her little hand lay warm in mine, 
 
 I watched her starry eyes, 
 Pure, soft, and rare, deep and divine 
 
 As realms of paradise. 
 
 We floated on in dreamy dance, 
 Kissed by the wooing breeze ; 
 
 My cares asleep in fancy's trance 
 Near Heaven's Hesperides. 
 
 Oh, could I thus forever tread 
 
 O'er trouble's stormy sea ; 
 My angel spoke — my ideal fled — 
 
 "I'm Mowed, let 's quit" said she. 
 
 THE SOUTHERN GIRL. 
 
 HER face is like a tropic sea, 
 Soft is her olive cheek, 
 Her eyes withhold some happy dream, 
 She seldom cares to speak. 
 
 Ah ! sometimes silence will express 
 Far more than prattling words, 
 
 And yet her voice is low and sweet 
 As song of mocking-birds. 
 
 Her pensive smile is like the kiss 
 Of moonlight on the hills ; 
 
 Her wooing laugh is pure and clear 
 As tinkling mountain rills. 
 
142 Ranch Verses. 
 
 She plays the languorous, soft guitar 
 Beneath the orange-trees ; 
 
 She knows the songs that zephyrs sing 
 To tropic twilight seas. 
 
 She 's gentle, lovely, rare, and pure, 
 The poet's living dream ; 
 
 A flower that haunts my memory, 
 A lily on life's stream. 
 
 THE CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 '"INHERE 's a wild rose breath of beauty 
 
 -*■ 'Bout the California girl, 
 That intoxicates the senses, 
 And makes the spirits whirl. 
 
 She is breezy as the zephyr 
 
 On the fair Pacific seas, 
 Yet as balmy as the fragrance 
 
 Of her blooming almond-trees. 
 
 Her laugh is like the music 
 
 Of those crystal mountain streams, 
 
 That ripple through the valleys 
 Of her buoyant land of dreams. 
 
 She is gen'rous and impulsive, 
 Has a keen and cultured mind ; 
 
 She is bright, and pure, and glowing, 
 With a heart of gold refined, 
 
The Ladies of Dixie. 143 
 
 Her voice is like the echo 
 
 Of some dear old Spanish tune, 
 
 While her presence is a garden 
 Of the fairest flowers of June. 
 
 She 's a royal child of nature 
 
 Cradled by the sunset seas ; 
 She 's the Queen of the Sierras, 
 
 Wooed by every incensed breeze. 
 
 You '11 surrender when you meet her 
 (Ah, she gave my heart a twirl), 
 
 She 's our twilight seiiorita, 
 Is the California Girl. 
 
 THE LADIES OF DIXIE. 
 
 TF the ladies of Dixie had marched to the field, 
 A The war would have never been fought ! 
 Every man had surrendered to such graces re- 
 vealed 
 And the Yankees would all have been caught ! 
 
 The lilies that bud in the cold, stately North 
 
 Are royal and graceful to see — 
 But the gentle magnolias that bloom in the South 
 
 Are the flowers of fragrance for me. 
 
144 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Their pure, pensive perfume surpasses all art — 
 
 I care not what others may say, 
 This Yankee surrenders and yields up his heart 
 
 To the lovely magnolias for aye ! 
 
 His cannons are silent — all warfare is past — 
 
 The eagle is tamed by the dove ; 
 My lady of Dixie has conquered at last 
 
 With the wonderful arrows of love. 
 
 Our people are one — and the pine woos the palm — 
 The palmetto oft dreams of the pine ; 
 
 The West for the East has a pure, glowing charm, 
 And our union of States is divine. 
 
 So let us be kinder — our future is bright. 
 
 Let the war drums forevermore cease. 
 With shoulder to shoulder, let 's work for the right, 
 
 Controlled by the angels of peace. 
 
 THE OLD MACKENZIE TRAIL. 
 
 O TRETCHING onward toward the sunset, 
 ^ Over prairie, hill, and vale, 
 Far beyond the Double Mountains 
 Winds the old Mackenzie Trail. 
 
 Ah, what thoughts and border mem'ries 
 Does that dreaming trail suggest ; 
 
 Thoughts of travellers gone forever 
 To the twilight realms of rest. 
 
The Old Mackenzie Trail. 145 
 
 Where are now the scouts and soldiers, 
 And those wagon-trains of care, 
 
 Those grim men and haggard women ? 
 And the echoes whisper — where ? 
 
 Ah, what tales of joys and sorrows 
 
 Could that silent trail relate ; 
 Tales of loss, and wrecked ambitions, 
 
 Tales of hope, and love, and hate ; 
 
 Tales of hunger, thirst, and anguish, 
 Tales of skulking Indian braves, 
 
 Tales of fear, and death, and danger, 
 Tales of lonely prairie graves. 
 
 Where are now that trail's processions 
 Winding westward sure and slow ? 
 
 Lost ! — ah, yes, destroyed by progress, 
 Gone to realms of long ago. 
 
 Nevermore shall bold Mackenzie, 
 With his brave and dauntless band, 
 
 Guide the restless, roving settlers 
 Through the Texas border land. 
 
 Yes, that soldier's work is over, 
 And the dim trail rests at last ; 
 
 But his name and trail still lead us 
 Through the borders of the Past. 
 
146 Ranch Verses. 
 
 LINES TO AN ARTIST IN NEW YORK. 
 
 M. T. D. 
 
 ' 1 "HERE 's a snug little nook in the city's great 
 -*■ heart, 
 
 Far above the dull rumble of care ; 
 *T is the home of a painter — the birthplace of art, 
 A studio dainty, o'erlooking trade's mart, 
 
 A beautiful castle in air. 
 
 There the sun loves to come, and he lingers all day ; 
 
 There the wind sighs its musical bars ; 
 There the twilight's last kiss gilds the sky far away, 
 And the zephyrs go wooing the moonbeams at play, 
 
 Where the grim chimneys dream of the stars. 
 
 There are curious things in that snug little room, 
 Full of pictures and paintings galore ; 
 
 There are keepsakes and trophies, and flowers in 
 bloom, 
 
 Old sea-chests and fish-nets, and jars of perfume, 
 And deer-heads hung over the door. 
 
 There are pious prayer-rugs and friendly old books, 
 
 Rare orchids in bloom on old plates ; 
 There are strange little mirrors inviting sly looks, 
 Low divans and lounges and chairs in queer nooks, 
 Suggestive of fond tete-a-tetes. 
 
A Song. 147 
 
 But of all the rare things in that dear little place, 
 
 Of all that fair plunder and pelf, 
 The fairest of all is a patrician face, 
 A picture of beauty — an ideal of grace, 
 
 A study — the artist herself ! 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 AA/E are tired of new-fangled verses, 
 
 * * Oh, sing us some old-fashioned song, 
 Full of music, and fire, and pathos, 
 
 From a heart that is generous and strong. 
 
 Yes, give us a song full of feeling, 
 
 Such rhymes as the Northers rehearse, 
 
 Some sonnet of Nature's revealing ; 
 We are tired of " magazine verse." 
 
 Oh, sing of the rain on the shingles, 
 Or the caroling notes of the birds, 
 
 And let the deep chords of the ocean 
 Resound through the musical words. 
 
 Then breathe us the song of the zephyrs, 
 As they sigh through the musical pines, 
 
 And let the far cry of the sea-birds 
 Re-echo again in thy lines. 
 
 Oh, sing the pure songs of life's river 
 As it flows from the fountains of youth, 
 
 Such music is welcome forever, 
 
 For it whispers of Love and of Truth. 
 
148 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Then sing us a song for the people, 
 A tune that's unfettered by art, 
 
 A song that will make the world better, 
 And live in the depths of the heart. 
 
 Yes, sing us a song full of feeling, 
 Such songs as the Northers rehearse, 
 
 Some sonnet of Nature's revealing ; 
 We are tired of new-fangled verse. 
 
 A MEMORY OF WASHINGTON SQUARE, 
 N. Y. 
 
 TIT" HEN I was a bachelor — long, long ago, 
 v * And lived on old Washington Square, 
 Ah, then I was happy, no care did I know, 
 
 For I dwelt in a castle of ah' ! 
 How well I remember that snug little room, 
 
 With its books and its old easy chairs ; 
 It was fitted with hangings from Fancy's gay loom, 
 And Hope was the beacon that lightened its gloom, 
 
 And youth never thought of steep stairs. 
 
 There, there all alone, in a tattered old gown, 
 
 With my pipe by the cheerful grate-fire, 
 I could muse far above the dull roar of the town, 
 And watch the soft ashes sift silently down, 
 
 As my fancies rose higher and higher ; 
 There, lost in fond dreams by the embers' warm glow, 
 
 While the smoke curled in clouds through the air, 
 How happy was I in that lost long ago, 
 
 When I lived on old Washington Square. 
 
Ye Bachelors, Bezvare ! 149 
 
 I had things in that room with its queer little 
 nooks, 
 That were full of old memories to me. 
 There were trophies, and pictures, and friendly old 
 
 books, 
 Old sabres, and pistols, and rusty old hooks, 
 
 And shells from the Tropical Sea. 
 But of all the cheap treasures which bachelors 
 love, 
 There was one which I cherished with care, 
 'T was a souvenir dainty — a mousquetaire glove, 
 That hung on the looking-glass there. 
 
 And to-night, far away from old Gotham's gay 
 sights, 
 
 As I hear the wild blue Northers blow, 
 I wonder who lives in that room up four flights, 
 I wonder who smokes by that fire these nights, 
 
 At my castle in days long ago. 
 Does some jolly bachelor live in that den, 
 
 Does he cherish a soft mousquetaire ? 
 Ah, well, let it pass — I am wiser since then, 
 
 Since I lived on old Washington Square. 
 
 YE BACHELORS, BEWARE ! 
 
 CHE is pensive and pouting and pretty, 
 ^ She is dainty and dimpled and fair, 
 She is winsome and wilful and witty — 
 But, ah, my dear fellow, beware ! 
 
1 50 Ranch Verses. 
 
 The sunbeam may d7-eam of one river, 
 Yet it glows on a hundred fond streams ; 
 
 It is lovely, but fickle forever, 
 
 Like this maiden who dwells in my dreams. 
 
 She is graceful and gay and ascetic, 
 
 She is pure as a vision of air ; 
 She is cultured and so sympathetic — 
 
 But, ah, my dear chappie, take care ! 
 
 The roses that bloom in life's morning 
 May glisten with jewels of dew, 
 
 But they speak to their wooers a warning : 
 Remember love's thorns when you woo ! 
 
 For this dear little lovable maiden 
 
 Is practised in dangerous arts, 
 And her arrows of Cupid are laden 
 
 With trophies of lost, bleeding hearts. 
 
 And though she seems earnest and artless, 
 As an angel from heaven, I swear 
 
 This maiden, my mistress, is heartless, 
 So I bid you, my rivals, beware ! 
 
 For behold me, a sad, luckless sinner, 
 She has robbed my gay life of its ease ; 
 
 But I swear by the stars I will win her, 
 So, give me a chance, if you please ! 
 
 For though she seems earnest and artless, 
 As some lovely Madonna divine, 
 
A Bar Harbor Idyl. 1 5 1 
 
 Remember, old fellow, she 's heartless. 
 (Her heart has surrendered to mine.) 
 
 My coquette has tired of folly, 
 
 The ranchman has corralled his dove ; 
 
 Soon, soon, we '11 be happy and jolly, 
 Bound fast by the lassoes of love ! 
 
 A BAR HARBOR IDYL. 
 
 T^AREWELL, gentle lady, the season is o'er, 
 
 A The summer's gay flowers are dying, 
 
 Like the hopes in my bosom which blossomed of 
 
 yore; 
 They wither and perish to blossom no more, 
 And regret o'er the landscape is sighing. 
 
 You remember that night — ah, that rare night in 
 June, 
 On the cliffs near the whispering ocean, 
 Where the light ripples laughed 'neath a silvery 
 
 moon, 
 And the soft fluted zephyrs sighed love's rarest 
 tune, 
 How I pledged you my faith and devotion. 
 
 You are lovely I grant, you have long ruled my 
 heart, 
 I have loved you with summer's warm passion, 
 But alas, my affection is doomed to depart ; 
 
1 5 2 Ranch Verses. 
 
 For truth has discovered the depths of your art, 
 The arts of a coquette of fashion. 
 
 Ah, the harvest is past — 't was a harvest of woe, 
 
 Too long at thy shrine have I tarried, 
 Pray give back my heart — it was not mine, you 
 
 know, 
 For this telegram says : " Come and meet me, dear 
 Joe," 
 For you see — well, you see — I am married 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 (Birthday lines to the baby boy of Henry A. Chittenden, Jr. 
 of the New York Herald.) 
 
 f~* OD grant thee much success, my boy, 
 ^~* And may thy life bestow 
 New honors on an honored name, 
 On that proud name — Gano ! 
 
 Consider well thy ways in youth, 
 
 Have lofty aims, my boy ; 
 Invest in kindness, love, and truth — 
 
 These things will bring thee joy. 
 True worth is more than worldly gain, 
 
 Engage to bless mankind, 
 New riches then shalt thou obtain — 
 
 Delights the noble find. 
 E'en then at last, when life is o'er, 
 
 New joys shall bless thee evermore. 
 
The Shrewsbury River. 153 
 
 THE SHREWSBURY RIVER. 
 
 TO MR. AND MRS. LYMAN D. GILBERT. 
 
 /^\NWARD rolls the Shrewsbury river, 
 ^^ Sweeping proudly to the sea, 
 Dreaming oft, yet slumbering never, 
 Clothed in mists and mystery. 
 
 Speak and tell thy tales, river ! 
 
 Tell thy story now, I pray, 
 Whisper me some olden legend 
 
 From thy realms of yesterday. 
 
 Oft when moonbeams fair are flying 
 
 O'er the ivory silver seas, 
 And the zephyrs sad are sighing 
 
 Through the drowsy whispering trees, 
 
 I have heard thy ripples murmur 
 Ghostly songs in rhythmic flow — 
 
 Of old faces drifted seaward 
 In the far-off long ago. 
 
 Thou hast heard Atlantic dirges 
 
 And the lonely sea-bird's cries, 
 Long before the birth of Moses, 
 
 E'er brave Hudson blessed thy skies. 
 
 E'er he watched the golden twilight 
 Plant her banners starry furled, 
 
1 54 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Far beyond the sun-kissed Highlands 
 Of a new-found western world. 
 
 Thou hast heard the billows murmur 
 In the dusky red man's ear, 
 
 That there is a Great, Great Spirit, 
 Ever present, always near. 
 
 Thou hast seen red-handed rovers, 
 Fierce and wild amid thy groves — 
 
 Ay, and buried wreckers' treasures 
 On the margins of thy coves. 
 
 Well thou know'st the sailors' coming, 
 Homeward-bound to kiss their brides, 
 
 Gladly singing in the morning 
 
 As their vessels stemmed thy tides. 
 
 Youth and beauty rare have rested 
 On thy gently swelling breast ; 
 
 Yachtsmen gay and weary seamen 
 Love thy Horseshoe harbor rest. 
 
 Ah, what hearts of joys and sorrows 
 Thou hast won in thy league's race ! 
 
 Ah, what wealth of rich to-morrows 
 Has flown seaward o'er thy face ! 
 
 Ah, what throngs of ardent lovers 
 Thou hast lost since days of yore ! 
 
 Lost ! ah, yes ! Their spectre vessels 
 Shall return to thee no more. 
 
Rondeau — Ye Friendly Book. 1 5 5 
 
 Fare thee well, thou generous river ; 
 
 May life's current flow like thee, 
 Blessing lives and lands forever, 
 
 And at last wind safe to sea ! 
 
 RONDEAU— YE FRIENDLY BOOKS. 
 
 TO J. E. B. 
 
 AT'E friendly books — old friends of mine, 
 * There is no comradeship like thine ; 
 For who like thee canst always show 
 The wisdom which thy pages know, 
 Or who thy faithfulness divine ? 
 If we to thee our hearts incline, 
 Ready art thou with storied line 
 To banish all our grief and woe, 
 Ye friendly books. 
 
 Thou standest guard in rain or shine, 
 Like sentinels with gilded sign, 
 To point the way that all may know 
 The royal road to learning's show, 
 Where all mankind can delve or dine, 
 Ye friendly books. 
 
156 Ranch Verses. 
 
 A STOCKMAN'S ADVENTURES IN 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 A STORY OF THE BUNCO GAME. 
 
 \\J HEN I give up trail-herdin', an' thought I 'd 
 
 jes' vamoose, 
 An' see my nativ' kentry in a first-class freight 
 
 caboose, 
 I wuz called er knowin' feller, an' I owned the 
 
 Z Bar brand, 
 Fer in getherin' maverick yearlin's, I hed proved a 
 
 lively hand. 
 I hed heerd thet New York city wuz a dandy 
 
 place fer camps, 
 With water, grass, 'n clover — (pervided yer hed 
 
 stamps). 
 So I riz a heap uv munney fer my pasture at " the 
 
 Branch " ; 
 An' got shet uv all my cattle thet wuz on the Z Bar 
 
 Ranch ; 
 Then I bought a new sombrero, an' an outfit thet 
 
 wuz neat, 
 An', sez I, " Wal neow, ole feller, we '11 get there 
 
 with both feet." 
 So I rid to Jersey City, an' struck the round-ups 
 
 there, 
 An' got aboard er steamer, an' took passage fer the 
 
 fair ; 
 
A Stockman s Adventures in New York. 157 
 
 When at last the vessel landed I broke from her 
 
 ole pen, 
 An' galloped 'cross a dirty trail uv teams an' cussin' 
 
 men ; 
 An' up ole Cortlandt street I rolled, er-feelin' kinder 
 
 blue, 
 When all ter onct, a feller cum an' sez, " Why, heow 
 
 de do ? 
 I us'ter know yer in the West, yer name iz Joseph 
 
 Breen ? " 
 "Yer wrong ! " sez I, " I 'm Texas riz, I cum from 
 
 Abilene, 
 An' on the ole T diamond trail they calls me Jeeter 
 
 Brown. 
 This hyar iz my furst takin' in uv this hyar takin' 
 
 town ! " 
 " Oh, ah," he sez, " excuse me, sar ! I 'm wrong, I 
 
 see — good-day." 
 An' then he vamoosed in the crowd, an' I hit big 
 
 Broadway — 
 Huh ! thet 's a canyon fer yer ! with houses on each 
 
 side, 
 An' the streams er-flowin' through hit iz a roarin' 
 
 human tide ; 
 The Clear Fork of the Brazos, hit ain't nuthin', so I 
 
 say, 
 Ter the noisy roarin' torrints wot 's a-flowin' through 
 
 Broadway. 
 Oh, them crowds jes' kep' a-comin', allers rushin', 
 
 hurryin' through, 
 An' there wuz thousands uv 'em, but nary one I knew. 
 
1 5 8 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Then I felt kinder home-sick fer my dugout in the 
 
 vale, 
 Whar the ole owls wuz a-hooin' on the ole McKenzie 
 
 Trail ; 
 Whar the cattle wuz a-browzin' on the yeller-blos- 
 
 somed sod, 
 An' the pious plains wuz sleepin' with drowsy 
 
 dreams uv God ! 
 Oh, I longed fer them perairies in ole Texas far 
 
 away, 
 Fer I felt like I wuz smotherin' on that suffercatin' 
 
 day. 
 Wal, az I stood there a-studdyin', feelin' lonesum- 
 
 like and down, 
 A hansum feller cum an' sed, "Why, how-dy ! 
 
 Jeeter Brown ? 
 When did yer leave ole Texas ? Wot 's the news in 
 
 Abilene ? 
 Heow iz Jim Lowden at the Bank, heow iz ole 
 
 Keyrnal Deane ? 
 I guess yer don't remember me, but I remembers 
 
 you, 
 I 've often seen yer on the Range down by the 
 
 Kickapoo. 
 I us'ter live in Abilene, my uncle 's Theo Heyck. 
 He 's sot me up in business hyar, my name iz 
 
 Charles Van Slike." 
 Neow, you must jes' put up with me while stayin' 
 
 hyar in town, 
 Fer I 'm powerful glad ter.see yer, my ole friend, 
 
 Jeeter Brown." 
 
A Stockman s Adventures in New York. 1 59 
 
 Wal, I commenced er-swellin', kinder tickled at 
 
 sech talk, 
 From that hansum-lookin' feller on the Broadway 
 
 uv New York ; 
 He knew my town's best people, an' hit 'peered 
 
 like he knew me, 
 So I wuz glad ter see him, I wuz lonesum, don't 
 
 yer see ? 
 Wal, Van he soon suggested thet we drink an' 
 
 hev a chat 
 About our friends in Texas, an' ole times an' sech 
 
 ez thet ; 
 So we mozied up the Bowery inter one uv them 
 
 saloons 
 Whar the gals wuz slingin' whiskey an' a band wuz 
 
 slingin' chunes. 
 Then we drank ter Editor Hoeny, we drank ter 
 
 Keyrnal Deane, 
 An' we drank ter Sam Lapowski of the town of 
 
 Abilene. 
 Oh, the likker flowed like water, huh, I tell yer, 
 
 we wuz gay — 
 Oh, Van wuz jes' a daisy, an' I won't ferget that day. 
 When we left thet thar The-a-ter — an' went shyin' 
 
 up the street, 
 I wuz feelin' powerful frisky — kinder skittish 
 
 'round the feet. 
 Soon we cum to a Museum — whar they showed a 
 
 hump-back horse, 
 An' Charley, he suggested thet we take hit in — uv 
 
 course. 
 
160 Ranch Verses. 
 
 So we went inside sight-seein', till we met a chap 
 
 who sed 
 He could tell us our char-ack-ters by a-feelin' uv 
 
 our head ; 
 So we had our heads examined, most particularly 
 
 mine, 
 Fer I wuz a splendid subjeck, full uv bumps, an' 
 
 traits — an' wine. 
 Wal, after Doc hed lectured in er most delightful way, 
 He perlitely intermated thet he 'd like ter hev sum 
 
 pay, 
 Then Charley showed a greenback, which the 
 
 Doctor could n't change, 
 So, of course, I paid the charges, which appeared 
 
 a little strange, 
 Fer the ole chap hed dun told us thet hiz lecture 
 
 would be free, 
 But, since Van wuz in fer payin', why, so wuz I, 
 
 yer see. 
 Right then I showed my money, the whole big 
 
 chuffy pile, 
 Till Van commenced hiz smilin', and said that I 'd 
 
 struck ile ; 
 Then he whispered confidential, sez he, " Now, 
 
 Jeeter Brown, 
 You 'd better leave thet at the Bank afore you 
 
 paint this town. 
 The city 's full uv sharpers, who are sure ter take 
 
 you in, 
 So let 's go 'round to my cashyeer and hive away 
 
 yer tin." 
 
A Stockman's Adventures in New York. 161 
 
 So we stepped " around the corner " to whar hiz 
 
 Bank wuz at, 
 Whar we found a cashyeer writin', who wuz plez- 
 
 zant-like an' fat. 
 Then I handed him my money, and took a big 
 
 receipt, 
 An' after drinkin' tew the Bank, we started up the 
 
 street. 
 The 'lectric lights wuz sizzin', fer hit wuz gittin' dark, 
 But we took them high-up steam-kyars, ter go to 
 
 Central Park ; 
 An' we passed a beefy feller, full of New York 
 
 Irish pride, 
 Who kep' up an awful yellin', " step lively there 
 
 inside ! " 
 But I soon lost my desires fer ter see the flyin' 
 
 views, 
 Fer I wuz feelin' drowsy from thet Bowery Banker's 
 
 Booze, 
 An' I never noticed Charley, may be so he wuz n't 
 
 there. 
 Fer I fell asleep a-rockin', an' a-rushin' through 
 
 the air. 
 But hit hain't no us' ter finish, the sequil 's kinder 
 
 tame, 
 Fer yer see, I wuz the victum uv thet little Bunco 
 
 Game. 
 Slick Charley an' hiz pardners — the man on Cort- 
 
 landt Street, 
 That cashyeer an' thet Doctor, hed done me up 
 
 complete. 
 
1 62 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Though I got my ole six-shooter, an' caved an* 
 
 charged around 
 A-lookin' fer my munney, them chaps could not be 
 
 found. 
 Ah, them Bunco Boys iz artful, az all pious men 
 
 agree, 
 If yer ever run across 'em, jes' round 'em up — fer 
 
 me ! 
 An' when yer social fellers leaves the home-range 
 
 with yer chork, 
 Jest remember my experiunce with them sharpers 
 
 in New York. 
 
 TO A LADY PLAYING THE GUITAR. 
 
 L. S. 
 
 AS I pensive sit and listen, while her jewelled 
 *■ fingers glisten 
 
 Through some tuneful old romanza, on her airy 
 sad guitar ; 
 I indulge in recollections, and fond dreams of old 
 affections, 
 Which haunt my vagrant fancy like a vision 
 from afar. 
 
 Ah, I hear her spirit straying o'er the strings she 's 
 softly playing, 
 And I feel a gentle rapture swelling through this 
 heart of mine ; 
 
The Vikings of Cape Ann. 163 
 
 Far beyond the music stealing there 's a hidden 
 chord of feeling, 
 Which woos my restless nature like some melody 
 divine. 
 
 Yes, my lady proud and queenly, playing there 
 midst dreams serenely, 
 That tender chord has bound me to the portals 
 of thy heart. 
 There, ah there, O let me hover, for I fain would 
 be your lover, 
 Who from thy tuneful presence wouldst never- 
 more depart. 
 
 THE VIKINGS OF CAPE ANN. 
 
 "W'E fishermen of Gloucester, 
 A That sail the Northern Sea, 
 Ye hardy sons of Neptune, 
 
 All hail, I say, to thee ! 
 Though history sings of Norsemen, 
 
 And Scotland boasts her clan, 
 Here 's to our Yankee skippers, 
 
 The Vikings of Cape Ann. 
 
 Ye nurslings of the billows 
 That wail on Norman's woe, 
 
 There were no better seamen 
 In days of long ago ; 
 
164 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Through storms and death and danger, 
 Through dark, wild winter nights, 
 
 They cruise the seas from Iceland, 
 To Thatcher's Island lights. 
 
 Nursed by the wild Nor'easter, 
 
 And cradled by the sea, 
 These rugged Northern sailors 
 
 Are stalwart, bold, and free. 
 Through fogs and blinding snowstorms, 
 
 From Labrador to Maine, 
 They ply their dangerous calling 
 
 With hook and trawl and seine. 
 
 How oft at early morning, 
 
 'Midst dreams of summer's calm, 
 I 've watched their vessels sailing 
 
 Seaward from Annisquam. 
 And oft when twilight's kisses 
 
 Have made the ocean smile, 
 I 've seen their dories dancing 
 
 Off wild Monhegan's Isle. 
 
 No matter where you find them, 
 
 Where e'er these vessels be, 
 They breathe a tale of danger, 
 
 A romance of the sea ; 
 They hint of wrecks and hardship, 
 
 Of toil-worn, active lives, 
 Of tempest-tossed, doomed seamen, 
 
 Of sad-eyed, wistful wives. 
 
THE VIKINGS OF CAPE ANN. 
 
To Summer. 165 
 
 For many a family circle, 
 
 On bold New England's main 
 Waits for some sea-gone member, 
 
 But waits, alas, in vain. 
 And many a tangled graveyard 
 
 Along that billowed lea, 
 Contains this sad old story, 
 
 This legend — " Lost at Sea." 
 
 And yet these true-born sailors, 
 
 In spite of dangerous toil, 
 Still love their restless ocean 
 
 And scorn the steady soil. 
 Let history sing of Norsemen, 
 
 And Scotland praise her clan, 
 Here 's to our Yankee skippers, 
 
 The Vikings of Cape Ann. 
 
 East Gloucester, Mass., 1892. 
 
 TO SUMMER. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 T^ECKED with her roses, roses rare, 
 
 *~^ With drowsy dreams in her laughing eyes. 
 
 The Summer drifts from the Southern skies, 
 While wreathed in her warm, glad golden hair ; 
 The sunbeams glow like jewels there, 
 
 And borne afar on her perfumed sighs 
 
 The choired songs of the birds arise, 
 Through the soft, voluptuous, vibrant air. 
 
 Lo ! the slumbering lilies breathe and swoon, 
 
1 66 Ranch Verses. 
 
 With pale delight, for the Summer's voice 
 
 Has wed fair May to a royal June, 
 And the bridesmaid Earth has blessed the choice, 
 
 For the echoes ring with a joyous tune 
 Which bids all listening life rejoice. 
 
 TEXAS TYPES— "THE BAD MAN." 
 
 T T E has a drooping winged moustache, 
 ■*■ A A little chin goatee ; 
 His face is hard, he dresses flash, 
 His eyes are strange to see. 
 
 His boots have two-inch concave heels, 
 
 He wears a big slouch hat ; 
 He 's full of sand ! he never squeals, 
 
 Has too much nerve for that. 
 
 Oh, yes, he gambles — on the square — 
 He sports gay diamond pins ; 
 
 He has that cool, dare-devil air 
 Whereby the gambler wins. 
 
 You '11 always find "he 's killed his man" 
 
 Or "rounded up a band," 
 Or slain some greaser Mexican 
 
 Down on the Rio Grande. 
 
 And yet with all his scars and sin 
 He seldom seeks a fight, 
 
To the Memory of Gen. R. S. Mackenzie. 167 
 
 But when he does, he shoots to win 
 Against all odds in sight. 
 
 You '11 find him in the larger towns, 
 
 He haunts the big bar-rooms, 
 And, ah ! He haunts those silent mounds 
 
 Which mark the city's tombs. 
 
 For like some flowers of colder climes, 
 
 Which wither while yet green, 
 This Texas type of frosty times 
 
 Soon leaves life's thorny scene. 
 
 For he is now beyond the age 
 
 And order rules the day ; 
 Texas has passed the pistol stage, 
 
 The law has come to stay. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF GEN. R. S. MAC- 
 KENZIE. 
 
 (Border hero, Indian fighter, and graduate of West Point, 
 General in United States Army stationed in San Antonio, 
 Texas. " He died of mental troubles " at New York, in 
 1889.) 
 
 1\ MACKENZIE, thy warfare is o'er— 
 "*■* *• Thy bold, loyal heart is at rest, 
 Thy noble soul suffers earth's sorrows no more, 
 For thy bark sailing seaward has reached the lone 
 shore 
 Of that far-away land of the blest. 
 
1 68 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Brave hero, we mourn not for thee, 
 
 Thou hast gone from life's troubles and care ; 
 Thy stern soldier spirit forever is free ; 
 It has joined the Grand Army encamped by the 
 sea 
 
 In the bivouac realms over there ! 
 
 And yet since by love thou wert slain, 
 
 In pity we bow o'er thy bier, 
 And we sigh when we think of thy story of pain, 
 Of that proud, loyal love that thou lavished in 
 vain, 
 
 And in secret we shed the sad tear. 
 
 But we feel that affection like thine 
 
 Is not lost 'neath the gloom of the sod, 
 That beyond the dark valley where love is divine, 
 It will glow evermore and eternally shine 
 In the balm-breathing Edens of God. 
 
 Mackenzie, true soldier, good-by ; 
 
 The wind wails thy long reveille, 
 And to-night on the plains where the weird cay- 
 
 otes cry, 
 Far away o'er thy trail 'neath the tents of the sky, 
 
 I breathe this slight tribute to thee. 
 
The Florida Keys. 169 
 
 THE FLORIDA KEYS. 
 
 "T^AR away in the land of the graceful palmetto, 
 A Where the shy Southern Cross woos the fair 
 
 crescent moon ; 
 Where the mocking-birds sing midst the mangoes 
 and myrtle, 
 
 And life is a dream of perennial June ; 
 Where the nautilus floats o'er an ocean of azure, 
 
 And the rarest of incense perfumes every breeze ; 
 There, there far away are some tropical islands, 
 
 Fair islands of beauty — the Florida Keys. 
 
 There the lime-tree and orange forever are wooing 
 
 And showering gifts to the passionate rose, 
 There the spectre crane dreams 'neath the droop- 
 ing banana, 
 And the warm, vibrant air breathes the life of 
 repose ; 
 There the frigate-bird drifts like a dream in the 
 heavens, 
 While the pelican broods on the mango-bush 
 near, 
 There the silver king swims through a palace of 
 coral 
 'Midst gardens of sponges that bloom all the 
 year. 
 
 There the lonely loon calls to the fair snowy ibis 
 While the Seminole paddles his lazy canoe ; 
 
170 Ranch Verses. 
 
 There the cocoanut grows and the guava is bloom- 
 ing 
 Beneath a soft sky of cerulean hue ; 
 Oh, the color and light and the charm of these 
 islands, 
 These islands of coral 'midst emerald seas, 
 There the tired heart blooms into garlands of 
 fancy, 
 Ah, life is divine on the Florida Keys. 
 Biscayne Bay, Fla. 
 
 TEXAS TYPES, "THE TENDERFOOT." 
 
 "VTOU can tell him by his " weepons ! " 
 
 ■*• And his soft, confiding air, 
 His bran-new gorgeous outfit, 
 And his high-priced aged mare. 
 
 He is primed with tales of dangers 
 In the wild and woolly West, 
 
 And bold dreams of robber rangers 
 Disturb his nightly rest. 
 
 He has queer ideas of Texas ; 
 
 Thinks her people live in gore ! 
 He seems queer to all the sexes, 
 
 For his actions make folks roar. 
 
 But he soon gets used to chaff, sir, 
 For he 's green as April wheat, 
 
 Yet for men to make you laugh, sir, 
 I commend the Tenderfeet. 
 
Broadway, N. K, 6 P. M. 171 
 
 Soon he pines to be a cowboy 
 
 And to ride a pitching horse, 
 Ah, then you ought to see him. 
 
 For he 's paralyzed — of course. 
 
 Then he writes some lying story 
 
 To his family far away, 
 Some brave tale of border glory 
 
 Where he figures in the play. 
 
 If he goes back where he came from, 
 
 He assumes a Western air, 
 Then I tell you he is woolly ! 
 
 And his actions make folks stare. 
 
 Yes, you know I tell the truth, sir, 
 
 Now I never lie for pelf, 
 But I was — yes ! in my youth, sir, 
 
 Was a Tenderfoot myself ! ! 
 
 BROADWAY, N. Y., 6 P. M. 
 
 A LONE in the crowded thoroughfare 
 ^*- In the whirlpool of Broadway, 
 I wander on in the evening air 
 And watch the storied faces there 
 At the close of the busy day. 
 
 On, on they rush with joy and woe, 
 Each hurrying past his neighbor ; 
 The rich, the poor, the high and low, 
 
172 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Like a restless tide they ebb and flow 
 From the rugged shores of labor. 
 
 There are faces there in that motley crowd 
 
 Which show misfortune's fingers ; 
 There are some with features cold and proud, 
 And some with shame and sorrow bowed, 
 And some where pleasure lingers. 
 
 On, on they sweep with rush and roar, 
 A breathing stream of motion ; 
 
 With wrecks and driftwood on its shore, 
 
 A river flowing evermore 
 
 Towards dim oblivion's ocean. 
 
 And yet that whirl of hope and fear, 
 
 That torrent of endeavor, 
 Shall ebb and flow year after year, 
 For though life's bubbles disappear, 
 
 Its tide swells on forever. 
 
 REFLECTIONS AT A YOUNG LADIES' TEA 
 PARTY. 
 
 '"THERE 'S a beautiful home in a realm that I 
 *■ know 
 
 In the proud mountain town of Montclair, 
 Where the robins are singing and the wild asters 
 
 grow, 
 Where the warm zephyrs play and the sun loves to 
 glow, 
 Round a mansion which love builded there. 
 
Reflections at a Young Ladies Tea Party. 173 
 
 And there by a mountain which dreams of the sea, 
 
 One autumnal rare afternoon, 
 As the soft twilight shadows stole down o'er the lea, 
 I attended a party — A Five o'Clock Tea — 
 
 A party I won't forget soon. 
 
 Oh, the laughter and joy of those glad golden 
 hours 
 Ah, the beauty I saw gathered there 
 Was as lovely and pure as a bouquet of flowers, 
 It was culled from the gardens of youth's royal 
 bowers 
 That bloom in that Eden — Montclair. 
 
 As the music arose with its plaintive bassoon, 
 And the sunset's gold arrows were cast, 
 
 There swept through my soul on that fair after- 
 noon 
 
 Old memories as fragrant as roses of June, 
 Old far-away dreams of the past. 
 
 As I watched the leaf curtains expand with the 
 breeze, 
 
 And saw those fair maidens drift by, 
 I thought of old days by the far azure seas, 
 Of an old hacienda 'neath magnolia trees' 
 
 Of a home 'neath the tropical sky ; 
 
 Of a home where the cypress is shrouded with 
 moss, 
 Where the jasmine breathes forth its perfume ; 
 
1 74 Ranch Verses. 
 
 In a land far away 'neath the fair Southern Cross, 
 Where the lilies and roses are drooping with loss 
 By the side of a lone tangled tomb. 
 
 Ah, then as I looked at that beautiful throng 
 
 Of loveliness, laughter, and youth, 
 There swelled through my heart like the sigh of a 
 
 song 
 An echo of sorrow, a whisper of wrong, 
 
 A question of Nature's stern truth. 
 
 Oh, why must love's lilies soon learn of life's frost, 
 Oh, why must youth's beauties soon fade ; 
 
 Like the leaves in yon forest, soon, soon tempest- 
 tossed, 
 
 They must wither and perish and forever be lost 
 In the gloom of oblivion's shade. 
 
 Ah, this question of life and its wierd mystery — 
 
 Soon, soon the last bugle will call, 
 Soon the muffled drum sounds the long, lone re- 
 veille, 
 And the spectre ships sail o'er death's desolate sea 
 
 And Hie Jacet soon answers for all. 
 
 Ah, yes, as I looked at that festival throng, 
 Of beauty and youth gathered there, 
 
 There swept through my soul, like the sigh of a 
 song, 
 
 An echo of sorrow which did not belong 
 To that Five o'Clock Tea in Montclair. 
 
Farewell, Farewell, My Lady. 175 
 
 FAREWELL, FAREWELL, MY LADY. 
 
 "T^AREWELL, farewell my lady. The mourn- 
 
 -*- ful zephyrs sigh 
 
 That summer days are over, that we must say 
 good-by, 
 
 For all the drooping roses have felt that wistful 
 spell 
 
 Which haunts the listening landscape when sum- 
 mer sighs " farewell." 
 
 The sea-birds' songs are weary, and weary seems 
 the sea, 
 
 For mists of separation have parted you and me. 
 
 No more we walk together along the lonely shore ; 
 
 The lanes, the rocks, the meadows, remember us 
 no more. 
 
 Alas, the season 's over, and you will soon forget 
 
 Your scattered summer lovers, who left you with 
 regret. 
 
 For now you 're in the city engulfed in fashion's 
 cares, 
 
 And flirting with your lovers among the million- 
 aires; 
 
 Your costumes are bewitching, you 're at the opera 
 seen, 
 
 And though a slave to fashion, you still are 
 beauty's queen. 
 
 You visit all the theatres, you dabble in the arts, 
 
176 Ranch Verses. 
 
 You ride out in your carriage, you trample over 
 
 hearts, 
 You go to church, my lady — I long to see you 
 
 there, 
 To view that glimpse of heaven, my angel bowed 
 
 in prayer. 
 But no, I 'm distant from you, and you, ah, you 
 
 forget 
 Your absent summer lovers, who dream about you 
 
 yet. 
 
 But, ah, proud pensive lady, sometimes perhaps 
 there '11 be 
 
 A far-off recollection, a longing for the sea ; 
 
 Sometimes within your chamber, beside the em- 
 bers' glow, 
 
 Perhaps your jaded fancies will sigh for long ago ; 
 
 Perchance your weary nature will dream of sum- 
 mer's calm, 
 
 Those peaceful woods and meadows, that vine em- 
 bowered farm ; 
 
 Then when you 're tired of fashion and all its glit- 
 tering cares, 
 
 And tired of flirting lovers and doubtful million- 
 aires, 
 
 Ah, then, ah, then, my lady, perhaps you '11 not 
 forget 
 
 One loyal summer lover who 's faithful to you yet. 
 
To the Memory of Major Daniel Gano. 177 
 
 AL FRESCO ! 
 
 A ROMANTIC youth of Bar Harbor so fair 
 -**■ Was madly in love with a maid, 
 And once after dark in the cool evening air 
 He attempted a sly serenade. 
 
 He warbled and sang with his rare tenor voice 
 
 Till morning bejewelled the skies, 
 But, alas for youth's hopes ! the maid of his choice 
 
 Never came in response to his sighs. 
 
 At last tired out and weary at heart, 
 
 And swelling with rage and regret, 
 He went to her door, where he read, with a start, 
 
 " This large vacant house is — To Let ! " 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR DANIEL 
 GANO. 
 
 BORN, 1794 J DIED, 1873. 
 
 TJ IS life was a poem of kindness and grace, 
 -*■ -*- A sermon of love for mankind, 
 His hope, like the sun, illumined life's face, 
 He was good to the poor — he exalted his race, 
 He was noble, sincere, and refined ! 
 
 la 
 
1 78 Ranch Verses. 
 
 His friends they were many — his equals were 
 few, 
 He was cultured and courtly and cool, 
 He was gracious and generous to all whom he 
 
 knew, 
 He was gallant and fearless, an American true, 
 " A gentleman of the old school." 
 
 His monument 's more than all marble that 's 
 scrolled, 
 
 For his memory surpasses the arts ; 
 By the chisels of Love his virtues are told, 
 And his name is emblazoned in letters of gold 
 
 On the portals of all of our hearts. 
 
 TO A DALLAS LADY. 
 
 SING this song to one who long 
 Has charmed me with a spell ; 
 A lady who has blessed my life 
 
 Far more than I can tell. 
 'T were vain to try, I cannot guage, 
 
 Her charms in feeble measures, 
 For, oh, her mind and soul refined 
 Are rich in mental treasures. 
 
 Her song, with smiles, all care beguiles, 
 
 To her the pow'r is given 
 To gild all weary hearts with joy, 
 
 And make this earth a heaven. 
 
A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL." 
 
 (MAJOR DANIEL GANO.) 
 
The Lonely Congaree. 179 
 
 She is a garland of delight, . 
 
 A queen of royal manner, 
 A wreath of flowers from Southern bowers, 
 
 From fair Louisiana. 
 
 Ah, yes ! she 's kind, you '11 always find 
 
 Her heart is free from malice, 
 She seems ideal, but yet she 's real, 
 
 This lady lives in Dallas. 
 This song I send to her, my friend, 
 
 The loveliest of the sexes, 
 Long may she live to bless the world 
 
 And reign a Queen of Texas. 
 
 THE LONELY CONGAREE. 
 
 T ONG ago in South Carolina, 
 • L ' Near fair Charleston by the sea, 
 Stood a lovely old plantation 
 On the lazy Congaree. 
 
 There in drooping Southern splendor 
 Waved the tall palmetto trees, 
 
 There the fragrant, rare magnolia 
 Breathed its blessings to the breeze. 
 
 There the sunlight loved to linger 
 Through the golden incensed hours, 
 
 There the humming-birds were wooing 
 In a wilderness of flowers. 
 
180 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Ah, what memories of enchantment 
 Doth my wayward fancy see, 
 
 When I think of that old homestead 
 On the dreaming Congaree. 
 
 Here to-night within my chamber, 
 Pensive by the embers' glow, 
 
 How my memory backward wanders 
 To the realms of long ago. 
 
 I can hear the darkies singing, 
 And the drowsy hum of bees, 
 
 And the laughter of the children 
 Playing 'neath the cypress trees. 
 
 On the airy, bowered veranda, 
 Partly hidden from the sight, 
 
 I can see a graceful hammock 
 And a vision clad in white. 
 
 'T is the vision of a lady, 
 
 Proud and pensive, darkly fair, 
 
 Fairer than the royal flowers 
 That were swooning in her hair. 
 
 Ah, that face of wistful beauty, 
 And those pure, commanding eyes 
 
 Told of noble aspirations 
 And the dreams of Paradise. 
 
 There my roving, restless spirit 
 Found at last a resting-place ; 
 
AH, THAT FACE OF WISTFUL BEAUTY." 
 
The Lone Congaree. 181 
 
 There I found my earthly Eden 
 In the heaven of a face. 
 
 Then my life was filled with music 
 And my heart from care was free, 
 
 For I loved that dark-eyed lady 
 Of the dear old Congaree. 
 
 There we floated on the river 
 
 In a lazy-oared canoe, 
 There we dreamed life's old, old story, 
 
 Old indeed, yet always new. 
 
 How those moonbeams danced and glistened 
 Through the soft, voluptuous air, 
 
 How the ripples paused and listened 
 To the romance whispered there. 
 
 How the zephyrs breathed their passion 
 As they kissed each truant tress, 
 
 How those drooping lashes quivered 
 When she softly answered "yes ! " 
 
 But, alas for youth's fair visions, 
 That fond dream was not to be, 
 
 For she sleeps below the lilies 
 By the sobbing Congaree. 
 
 Yes, the mournful winds are wailing 
 Through those sombre cypress trees, 
 
 And the flowers weep with sorrow, 
 'Midst the sighings of the bees. 
 
1 82 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Though that river still flows seaward 
 As it flowed in days of yore, 
 
 It is haunted now forever 
 
 With that spectre — nevermore ! 
 
 Yes, to-night I 'm sad and weary, 
 Pensive by the embers' glow, 
 
 For my spirit, like the river, 
 Fondly dreams of long ago. 
 
 Ah, my haunted soul drifts backward 
 Through the realms of memory, 
 
 For my heart is with the lilies 
 By the lonely Congaree. 
 
 THE SQUALL— OFF SANDY HOOK, N. J. 
 
 TTIGH o'er the bowsprit flies the brine, 
 
 As we cleave the crests of the white-cap sea ; 
 Once more we quaff of the ocean's wine, 
 Once more our prisoner hearts are free. 
 With mainsail reefed and helm hard down, 
 With rails a swash and a bending boom, 
 Our stanch sloop reels past the bell buoy brown 
 And shivers and leaps through the gathering 
 gloom. 
 
 With the wild wind's song in the whistling shrouds 
 And a seething sea in our frosty wake, 
 
 We scan the scurrying, muttering clouds 
 And grimly note each tack we make. 
 
The Squall— Off Sandy Hook, N. J. 183 
 
 On the leeward bow is Sandy Hook ; 
 
 To the windward far the waves are white ; 
 In the lap of night the Highlands look 
 
 Like some huge sea-snake with eyes of light. 
 
 The hissing rain is loosed at last — 
 
 It sweeps and swishes around us all — 
 The cordage wails, and the groaning mast 
 
 Bends far to the kiss of a nor'east squall. 
 We roll and pitch through the angry sea, 
 
 O'er hills and valleys of waves we fly, 
 Till the hoarse, long order of " H-a-r-d a-lee ! " 
 
 Is lost in the answers of " Aye, aye, aye ! " 
 
 With rattle and roar we go about, 
 
 The shivering sails swell out afar, 
 With wind astern and our boom far out 
 
 We weather and pass the harbor bar. 
 The anchor lights shine out and gleam 
 
 Like dancing jewels in night's dark crown, 
 While across the bay twin beacons beam 
 
 And glow o'er the Navesink Highland town. 
 
 Now the storm has ceased, and the wind has passed, 
 
 Yet a wild sea wails on the windward shore ; 
 With all things tight, and our anchor cast, 
 
 The yachtsman's cruise for the day is o'er. 
 Eight bells have struck as we go below 
 
 To enjoy our cabin of snug delight, 
 But we soon turn in, for a lullaby slow 
 
 Chugs under our keel — Good-night ! Good- 
 night ! 
 Sloop Yacht " Myrtis." Summer, i8q£. 
 
1 84 Ranch Verses. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 U^AREWELL, farewell, ye summer flowers, 
 
 Pale autumn cries, prepare ! 
 Adieu, adieu, ye fragrant bowers, 
 Death lingers near with leafy showers 
 To deck thy funeral bier ! 
 
 Alas, alas, youth's flowers of yore, 
 
 Oh, where, oh, where are ye ? 
 Dead, sigh the zephyrs to the shore ; 
 Lost, sob the echoes evermore ; 
 
 Gone, wails the whispering sea. 
 
 Good-by, good-by, since we must go, 
 Since all must hear Death's knell. 
 
 Adieu, ye withered wreaths of woe ; 
 
 Adieu, stern Nature's echoes low, 
 Life is a long Farewell ! 
 
 "OUTWARD BOUND." 
 
 Steamer Concho en route north. 
 
 Galveston, June, 1892. 
 
 T)ROUD Southern land, farewell, farewell ! 
 "■■ Our bark is on the sea ; 
 
 The anchor 's weighed, the breezes swell — 
 The Concho sobs its parting knell 
 To bear us far from thee. 
 
A Question of Profit. 185 
 
 The warm gulf zephyrs woo the shrouds 
 
 With many a wistful sigh ; 
 The ocean's dome is flecked with clouds 
 And from the seaward gazing crowds 
 
 There swells — a long good-by. 
 
 The whispering ripples onward glide 
 
 With loving, laughing sound. 
 Our stately vessel breasts the tide 
 And filled with steamer breathing pride 
 
 She plunges " Outward Bound ! " 
 
 Though far on foreign shores we dream 
 
 Or 'midst the isles of Maine, 
 Fond memories of the South will gleam 
 And fancy's inward eye will beam 
 
 With thoughts of — home again ! 
 
 Soon sinks the sun in twilight's sky ; 
 
 Sad wanes the wistful light, 
 The eager sea-birds homeward hie, 
 Like winged dreams that landward fly 
 
 Fair Southern land — good-night ! 
 
 A QUESTION OF PROFIT. 
 
 HEN the curtain rolls down, and thy life's 
 farce is ended, 
 And the grim prompter, Death, calls an end to 
 your part, 
 
 W 
 
1 86 Ranch Verses. 
 
 Will it profit you then that your life was expended 
 In hoarding and stinting while starving your 
 heart ? 
 
 When the story is told and thy book has been 
 written, 
 And the contents show nothing but chapters on 
 self, 
 Will it profit you then that you 're gone and for- 
 gotten, 
 And lost in oblivion and laid on the shelf ? 
 
 When the last debt of all has been surely collected 
 
 And you sleep in the silence and gloom 'neath 
 
 the sod, 
 
 Will it profit you then, when your life is dissected, 
 
 And your shams and your cheats are computed 
 
 by God ? 
 
 THE DYING SCOUT. 
 
 A STORV OF THE ABILENE COUNTRY, TEXAS. 
 
 /^OME, Pinto, ole feller, creep close to me side, 
 ^-" For the norther is comin' across the Divide ; 
 I knows its wild muzic, so shrill an' so strange, 
 An' the owls iz a-hoo-in' outside on the range ; 
 The cayotes ar' roamin' the prairies ter-night, 
 They 're awaitin' fer me, they 're hungry with fight. 
 This pain it ar' awful, an' the meat iz all gone, 
 An' the fire won't last, I 'm afeered, till the morn, 
 
The Dying Scout. 187 
 
 An' our blanket iz ragged, but we iz alone, 
 
 So we '11 share it ter-night, though I 'm cold az a 
 
 stone ; 
 But them flames iz a-laughin' an' smilin' with glow, 
 An' they make me feel good like in days long ago, 
 When I wuz light-hearted an' waz n't a fool, 
 An' played mumblepeg on the grass, near the 
 
 school, 
 With dear little Bess — bless her honest blue eyes — 
 But she 's far away, mabbie home in the skies. 
 Fer thet thar Jim Basset, the storekeeper's son, 
 He jilted my Bessie an' thought it whar fun, — 
 An' he ruined her, too, so I settled him ; 
 (P'r'aps I would n't be hyar if it waz n't fer Jim) 
 Oh, Bessie wuz lovely, all kindness an' joy, 
 An' I jist worshipped her with the love uv a boy. 
 
 But, Pinto, ole feller, thet mother er mine, 
 Wuz the darlin'est mother, jes' angel divine, 
 She 'd nurs' the sick nabors, wharever they 'd be 
 An' she allers wuz prayin' fer Sandy an' me ; 
 But Sandy fergits her, an' its little he keers 
 Fer his brother thet 's scoutin' for nigh twenty years. 
 Then thar wuz Aunt Lucy, so gentle and mild, 
 She allers wuz smilin' an' said I " wuz wild " ; 
 Yet somehow she liked me, it whar no mistake, 
 Fer she allers wuz givin' me soft ginger cake ; 
 An' she 'd tell me long stories an' sing ter me too, 
 Oh, I tell yer I loved her, I loved me Aunt Lou. 
 Her heart it wuz bigger than the warm tropic sea, 
 
1 88 Ranch Verses. 
 
 An' sich lives ar' sermons, ter fellers like me, 
 Who b'lieves in religion thet comes from the heart, 
 An' hates false pretence, an' the hippercrit's part. 
 I jedge a man's actions, instead uv his pray'r, 
 An' I never goes back on what 's honest an' squar', 
 An' though I 'm so triflin," such a poor human clod, 
 Wild nature hez taught me the wizdom uv God. 
 An' some day, ole feller, when I 'm over this pain, 
 We '11 go home tergether, an' be happy again. 
 
 We '11 find the old homestid, with its birds an' its 
 
 trees, 
 Whar life wuz all music an' flowers an' bees ; 
 Whar I loved ter go swimmin' with the lilies so 
 
 cool, 
 In them years long er go when I hated the school. 
 But the fire is dyin', its dark an' so cold, 
 An' Pinto, ole feller, I 'm puny an' old ; 
 An' the door iz a-creaking so sad in the wind, 
 But we 's close tergether, ole chap, never mind. 
 Hez I ever hurt yer sence I found yer thet day, 
 A perp on the trail an' the boys far away ? 
 Yer knows what I 'm sayin', I see by yer eyes, 
 But yer mad, my ole doggie, an' thet 's a surprize. 
 Thar ! thar ! my ole feller, what 's makin' yer bark ? 
 I did n't serpose yer wuz skeered uv the dark ; 
 But yer say them iz eyes gleamin' in at the door, 
 Wall, I never have noticed sich doin's before. 
 So Pinto, good feller, creep close to me side, 
 Fer the norther is moanin' across the Divide. 
 
The Dying Scout. 1 89 
 
 Hark ! muzic ! I heers it, so mournful an' strange, 
 Like lost children's wailin' outside on the range ; 
 But the cayotes are watchin' our dugout ter-night, 
 They 're waitin' fer me, an' they 're hungry with 
 
 fight; 
 An' I am so puny, an' so shiverin' too, 
 But Pinto, dear feller, I 'm pardners with you ; 
 An' you are so honest an' faithful an' brave, 
 Thet you *d starve ter death on your ole marster's 
 
 grave ; 
 But I feels better now than fer many a day, 
 So cheer up, ole feller, don't whine that 'er way ; 
 Fer when the perairies iz kivered with flowers, 
 An' the mockin'-birds sing an' the hills iz all ours, 
 We '11 hunt an' we '11 roam az we did long er go, 
 Two pardners tergether, in pleasure an' woe ; 
 An' we '11 go home agin, to the banks of the stream, 
 Whar the ole folks iz livin' an' life iz a dream ; 
 An' with all our wrong-doin's we '11 try ter live 
 
 right ; 
 An', Pinto, dear feller — old Pinto ! — good-night ! 
 
 But Pinto, poor fellow, moans wild at his side, 
 For the scout, with the norther, has crossed the 
 Divide. 
 
 THE END. 
 

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