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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE ROUGH RIDER 
 
 A POKM BY 
 
 SCOTT CUMMINS 
 
 (PILGRIM BARI» 
 
 AUTHOR OT^ 
 
 •MUSINGS OF THE PILORIM BARD." 
 
 'SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE," 
 
 ETC , ETC. 
 
 ••( 
 
 WINCHESTER. OKLAHOMA 
 
 1904. 
 
UBR-^RYot GOWSRtSS 
 fwo UoDles rfeceivbU 
 
 FEB .80 1905 
 
 OOPY B. 
 
 
 Entered accord iDg to act of CongreBS 
 in the year 1904 
 By SCOTT CUMMINS 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress. 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 eOUNIER PRINT* 
 
 ALVAf OKLAHOMA. 
 

 TO MY OLD TIME FRIEND 
 
 HON. CHESTEK I. LONG 
 
 THIS POEM IS RESPECTFULLY 
 
 DEDICATED. 
 
 Winchei»ter, Oklahoma. 
 Nov. «3, 1»04. 
 
THE ROUGH RIDER. 
 
 BY THE PILGRIM BARD. 
 
 INCANTATION. 
 
 O faithful barp of mine, 
 
 HangiDg all listless on the nearby elm, 
 
 Let sweet weird * 'muses'' come from fancy^s reaLm» 
 
 O be my quest both fervant and condign, 
 
 Come gentle muses whilst poor mortals sleep 
 
 Across the lyre, let fairy fingers sweep. 
 
 Weave me a lay of praise, 
 
 Of proud Columbia, land I fondly love, 
 
 Next to the great eternal God above; 
 
 While unrelenting fate doth sternly raze 
 
 Kingdoms and Empires, be thou just and true, 
 
 And God will shield, the red, the white and blue. 
 
 Erstwnile a measure fling, 
 
 Of the brave pilot, of the ship of state ; 
 
 Justice to all alike his scale and weight, 
 
 A president, is greater than a king 
 
 The voice of Deity, the peoples voice. 
 
 Has made him ruler, by their own free choice. 
 
 Hail, O Columbia, thoti to whom 
 
 All nations of the earth, do turn their gaze, 
 
 And wondering wonder at thy rapid strides, 
 
 Crowns e'en set heavily on royal heads, 
 
 The while the wistful orbs beneath those crowns 
 
 Turn wearily, disgusted with the din 
 
 Of jealous lords, and nobles one and all, 
 
 The murmuring peasant, and scrowling serf, 
 
 The anarchist the nihlist, and their ilk 
 
 In conclave bound by horrid murderous oath. 
 
2. 
 
 Do plot and plan against their country's weal, 
 
 Against their rulers, potentates and peers, 
 
 Against the crowns, whom they have sworn to serve, 
 
 And though they doff their hats and rend the air. 
 
 With cries, '*long live the king, ' the king be damned, 
 
 Is the unspoken fulness of the heart. 
 
 Columbia, *tis to thee, their wistful eyes, 
 
 Do turn in wondeiment and solemn awe. 
 
 The lessons thou art teaching day by day. 
 
 Are driving monaichies to sure decay. 
 
 Columbia, proud Columbia free and brave. 
 
 Where millions govern by their vote and voice, 
 
 The peoples' voice the voice of Deity 
 
 Thy leaders chosen from the plebian host 
 
 Their stations take their duties w^ll fulfill, 
 
 And as they pass what e'er so be the cause, 
 
 Another hand is there to grasp the helm, 
 
 As onward sweeps the grand old ship of state, 
 
 Columbia I thy poor and humble, Bard, 
 
 Hast oft atuned my unpretentious lyre, 
 
 To sing the praises of t y men of might; 
 
 Thy noble sons, Beaven sent propitiously. 
 
 Anointed by the alwise power above. 
 
 Would that the muses might my brain in&pire — 
 
 And wake the echoes of my slumbering lyre. 
 
 Fair bold and free; 
 And as I strike the measure and the chord, 
 I consecrate each phrase and every word 
 
 Roosevelt to thee. 
 
 List ye, a story I will tell, 
 
 (In each detail pray mark me well, ) 
 
 Of cowboy on a western range, 
 
 'Tis not a faiiy story strange, 
 
 No myth this model cow boy mine 
 
 He wore the spurs and threw the twine. 
 
 Wore high heeled boots and broad slouch hat 
 
In duty's line he e'er stood pat. 
 
 Loaded with vigor sand and vim, 
 
 No broncho bucked too high for him, 
 
 He ate as other punchers eat, 
 
 (The good bard earth his wonted seat) 
 
 The cow camp fare though plain and rough, 
 
 fle oft remarked was just the stuff; 
 
 Dutch oven biscuit were his pride, 
 
 And bacon o*er the camp-fire fried; 
 
 With beans and coffee on the side. 
 
 Simple his wants well satisfied. 
 
 When night her curtains closed around 
 
 He spread his blankets on the ground, 
 
 The starry sky his canopy, 
 
 The lowing herds his lullaby. 
 
 Shift we the scene, for wars alarms, 
 
 The Nation's sons are called to arms 
 
 Spain's vandal foul the signal gave 
 
 The Maine's brave crew sleep neath the wave. 
 
 Our proud old Eagle soars on high 
 
 And screams aloud the battle cry 
 
 While millions of our freemen proud. 
 
 Prolong the Eagle's cry aloud. 
 
 Meanwhile did good old CJncle Sam 
 
 With features stern serene and calm, 
 
 He bade the pople cease their fears 
 
 And called for willing volunteers. 
 
 In answer to the country's call 
 
 Dissensions were forgotten all; 
 
 No North, no South, no East, no West, 
 
 United freemen forward pressed 
 
 All eager to avenge the Maine, 
 
 And vengance wreak on guilty Spain. 
 
 Among the first brave Roosevelt came 
 
And called for men of cow boy fame 
 
 Comrades he knew of daring well 
 
 Who e'en would charge the gates of Hell, 
 
 A regiment as one man all 
 
 Came trooping in at Roosevelt's call 
 
 He could have formed a whole brigrade 
 
 Twixt rising sun and evening shade, 
 
 Seemed every cow-boy in the land 
 
 Would fain be first to join the band, 
 
 A regiment a western flower 
 
 Not dudes who loiter in the bower 
 
 And spoon with love sick city maid 
 
 Each sun browned face showed lack of shade, 
 
 Their sinewy limbs, and manly forms 
 
 Had braved the fiercest western storms 
 
 Their canopy the starry dome 
 
 Their saddles were their wonted home, 
 
 Rough-riders tbey by trade and name 
 
 History records their deeds of fame 
 
 History records and well it may 
 
 The foremost in each deadly fray, 
 
 They followed where brave Roosevelt led 
 
 And by his side they fought and bled. 
 
 Up San Juan hill their way they hew 
 
 And hand to hand the Spaniards slew 
 
 They reach the summit with a shout 
 
 The foeman fly in panic route 
 
 No mortal could that charge withstand 
 
 The brave Kough-rider and his band 
 
 Ah, meed well earned for hand to hand 
 
 Fell many a brave man of the band, 
 
 In many a household missing still 
 
 Some fallen brave of San Juan hill. 
 
 As night her somber curtains spread, 
 
 And as they gathered up their dead, 
 
 Tears coursed adown the hero's cheek. 
 
5. 
 
 Brave meu oft womaD^s refuge seek 
 And eyes outvieing eagle's keen 
 Oft moisten at a parting scene 
 E*en brows bedecked with laurel wreath. 
 Relax when face to face with death. 
 They placed them neath the sod and dew 
 As mournful dirge the bugles blew 
 Softly and sad the weird notes fell 
 *Twas **Tap8/* the soldiers last farewell. 
 
 ROUGH RIDER REQUIEM. 
 
 Tenderly they laid, each hero down to rest. 
 Folded his hands, across his lifeless breast; 
 Rough-rider sleep, thy warefare now is o'er. 
 The call of the bugle, shall wake thee never more- 
 Sleep, sweetly sleep. Rough-rider calmly sleep, 
 No call of the bugle» will break your slumberb deep. 
 
 Never more will you mount, your prancing broncho's back. 
 No more on the picket line, make your bivouc. 
 Your saddle is empty, your spurs have ceased to ring, 
 Yonr voice will be missed in the song your comrades sing; 
 Sleep, sweetly sleep, Rough-rider calmly sleep, 
 No call of the bugle will break your slumber deep. 
 
 Some one is waiting, some loved one far away. 
 
 Some one's fond idol, must turn to dust and clay, 
 
 Wife, mother, or sweetheart, will watch and wait and weep. 
 
 While the fallen Rough-rider is wrapped in dreamless sleep. 
 
 Sleep, sweetly sleep, Rough-rider calmly sl«ep, 
 
 No call of the bugle, will break your slumbers deep. 
 
 Behold him now, this hero great, 
 For tardy train he did not wait 
 But from his own unstinted purse 
 Supplied with bandage lint and nurse 
 His wounded comrades were his care, 
 
No wonder that Rough-rideis swear, 
 By honest * 'Teddy/* till this day, 
 Their leader in the battle fray. 
 Rough-riders were his comrades trae 
 And Forward, **when the bugles blew. 
 He spurred his broncho to the front 
 And with them faced the battlers brunt. 
 
 The war has passed to history, 
 And Cuba's lovely aisle is free; 
 Not mine the task to laud the fame, 
 Of others who all justly claim, 
 Historians honors just accord, 
 Line upon line, and word on word, 
 But for an humble Bard, twere vain, 
 To bid the muse prolong the strain, 
 In musing mood my task to tell 
 Of one whom millions love full well 
 A leader of Rough-rider fame 
 In peace a leader just the same 
 The saber and the olive wand, 
 Are both adapted to his hand. 
 Who knows no color caste or creed, 
 Well has he earned this fitting mede 
 In war a hero, peace a sage 
 The greatest man of any age 
 
 The pageant changes, mark him now, 
 Vice-President he makes his bow, 
 Firm modest unpretending all. 
 The foremost in the senate hall, 
 The gavel did he wisely weild, 
 As wont of late on battle field. 
 The trusty sworu on duty worn, 
 Whatever befell, a leader born. 
 
ChaDge we the paDaramic show, 
 The Nation all ie *gulfed in woe, 
 A Nation's wail the air hath rent, 
 Our good and noble President, 
 One well beloved in all the land 
 Is slain by an assassin's hand. 
 O cursed stain on history's page, 
 Coward of foreign parentage 
 His birth cieation's foulest blot, 
 flis name in ignomy will rot. 
 The nation mourns as well it may 
 In sorrow o'er the great man's clay. 
 None mourn that dire assassin's doom, 
 Would that in hell's most torrid room 
 His spirit soon have company. 
 With all the ilk of anarchy. 
 
 Mark well the scene without a jar, 
 The ship of state with mast and spar, 
 Above all floats "old glory" grand, 
 The helm is safe in Roosevelt's hand, 
 Nations in admiration gaze, 
 In awe perchance and sheer amaze 
 To see this land of proud free men 
 Pay homage to a citizen. 
 
 •X- -x- * 
 
 Again we change, the final scene, 
 Passing the years that intervene. 
 Well hath he filled the highest chair, 
 In all his rulings just and fair. 
 Without a blunber or a blight 
 Prosperity and peace unite, 
 And fortune smiles with open hand. 
 On tne good people of our land. 
 So firm in Roosevelt is their trust 
 
s. 
 
 As fitting inede for ruling just, 
 Count ye his votes f jr President 
 And know that poeple are content 
 To let this brave Rough-rider be. 
 Their emblem of Prosperitv 
 In war a hero, peace a sage 
 The wisest ruler of the age. 
 
 Farewell, the twilight dawns, 
 
 'Tis morn my task is done; 
 
 Gladly I drop my pen witb gape and yawn. 
 
 And hail the coming of the rising sun; 
 
 The fitful muse has led a merry chase. 
 
 As is its wont, unheeding time and space. 
 
 By flickering midnight oil, 
 
 The Muses willing slave; 
 Not for myself my weary brain racked toil— 
 
 For you my friendo, no other boon I crave. 
 That you in christian charity may scan, 
 This humble tribute to a mighty man. 
 
 Farewell the sun shines bright, 
 
 0*er hilltop vale and lea; 
 
 So may the dawning of trancendant light. 
 
 Greet weary Pilgrims in Eternity; 
 
 Where none will know the pangs of broken hear: 
 
 And friend meets friend, never again to part. 
 
 Winchester, Okla., il, 23, 04. 
 
S('OTT (TMiMIXS 
 
 Author of ''MUSINGS OF THE PILGRIM BARD," a book 
 of Poems bound in full cloth, over 300 pagevS 90 of the Bard's Best 
 Poems, 65 pages of sketches of the West Ask your bookseller foi the 
 book or send $'^.00 to SCOTT CUMMINS, Winchester, Okla., and get 
 the volume Postage Paid with special written autograph. 
 
FEB 20 19C5 
 
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 LBvlL '05