fARlAT 
 
 
 AtWM^fh 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 . . Shelf.4-CX-l-<^L^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
IMS' 
 
LYRICS OF THE LARIAT 
 
 POEMS WITH NOTES 
 
 NATHAN KIRK GRIGGS 
 II 
 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY Lj (o 
 
 NFW YORK — CHICAGO — TORONTO 
 
76 \'T'^ 
 
 ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR ONE THOUSAND, 
 
 EIGHT HUNDRED AND NINETY -THREE, BY N. K. GRIGGS, IN THE 
 
 OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, 
 
 AT WASHINGTON, D. C. 
 
 E\)t ILakfsitie Press 
 
 R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS CO., CHICAGO 
 
m^m 
 
 Plain prose is Jersey cream. 
 From stony vessel dipt, 
 
 While poetry is froth. 
 By silver ladle whipt ; 
 
 And tho' the one will give 
 
 Great stores of bread and meat. 
 
 The other rarely yields 
 A blessed thing to eat. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A Cur, ... - - • ^ 34 
 
 An Asp, . - - - - - 203 
 
 An Irishman, - - - - - - 93 
 
 A Poetic Proposal, - - ... 189 
 
 A Suffragist Sufferer, .... 114 
 
 A Thirty Years' Dream, . . - 131 
 
 Bait, 163 
 
 Ben, ------- 24 
 
 Content, ------- 165 
 
 Do Not Fear, • - - - - i39 
 
 Eternity, ...--- 246 
 
 Field of Life, . . - - - loi 
 
 Garland the Land, - - - - - 112 
 
 Gone Before, .... 187 
 
 Good Night, ..-.-- 235 
 
 Hallowed Song, . . - - . 233 
 
 Hasten, ------- 19- 
 
 Haste to the Mount of the Lord, - - 40 
 
 Have I Thy Love, - - - - - 172 
 
 9 
 
lO 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 High Mass of the Masses, 
 Hobo's Lament, 
 Hope, - - . . 
 
 Hope's Offering, 
 
 I'll Sing, - - . 
 
 Inyan Kara, 
 
 Joyless Youth, 
 
 Keep Us Close to Thee, 
 Kitty, 
 
 Land of Rest, 
 
 Life's Afternoon, - 
 
 Life's Service, - 
 
 Little Foxes, 
 
 Love, 
 
 Love's Moods, 
 
 Mammon, - 
 Maverick Joe, 
 Memory's Flight, 
 My Dream of Love, 
 
 O Give Me Your Hand, 
 
 Once More, - 
 
 Only, 
 
 O Thou Supreme, 
 
 Our Flag, 
 
 105 
 211 
 149 
 118 
 
 158 
 95 
 
 144 
 
 231 
 168 
 
 119 
 199 
 197 
 60 
 141 
 224 
 
 174 
 42 
 
 37 
 68 
 
 125 
 205 
 183 
 215 
 59 
 
CONTENTS. 1 1 
 
 Pandora, - - - • - - - i6i 
 
 Parting, --.---- 251 
 
 Passion Flowers, ... - - 23 
 
 Power Divine, --...- 194 
 
 Reliance, ...... 83 
 
 Rest, Peace and Joy, . . . - - 229 
 
 Ruler and Composer, .... 179 
 
 Sabbath Morn, - - - - - - 49 
 
 Sailing 'Neath the Cross, ... 157 
 
 Serpents, - - - - - - 84 
 
 Ships of State, ..... 67 
 
 The Blizzard, - - - - - - 7° 
 
 The Children's Hour, .... 277 
 
 The Cowboy, - - - - - - i3 
 
 The Cowboy Preacher, ... - 237 
 
 The Curlew Song, ..... 152 
 
 The Deserted Church, ... - 89 
 
 The Father Seeth All, - - - - 127 
 
 The Flowers of Love, .... 38 
 
 The Genii of Wine, - - - - - 63 
 
 The Loon Cry, ..... 120 
 
 Then, ....-.- 51 
 
 The Prairie Dog, - • - - • 54 
 
 The Sod House Coming, .... 248 
 
 The Two Trios, - - - - - 115 
 
 The Unfailing Cruse, .... 129 
 
12 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Voice of Hope, ..... xd,2 
 
 The Voyage, - - . . - 176 
 
 The Waters to the Hosts, - - - - 20 
 
 Vesper Cradle Song, .... ig 
 
 What, - - - . . . .170 
 
 What Is Man, - - . . . 103 
 
 When, - - - - . - . 185 
 
 When Life's Sun Goes Down, - - . 82 
 
 While I Dream, - - - . - 98 
 
 Wonderful River of Jordan, ... 227 
 
THE COWBOY 
 
 13 
 
 il2e eov/k)Oy.' 
 
 eyes that were blazing, 
 But now that are glazing, 
 In barroom, "The Bruin " — that rattlesnake den- 
 A cowboy is lying. 
 And silent, is dying. 
 Surrounded by careless, yet resolute men. 
 
 So^ sing of the rover ^ 
 Whose wa7td''rings are over^ 
 And who^ without even a tremor of dread^ 
 Lies doxvn 07t the prairie^ 
 Where nature makes merry^ 
 And spears of the cactus are guarding his bed. 
 
H 
 
 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 J^ms: 
 
 ;, HO' father and mother, 
 
 And even one other, 
 Had begged him to tarry, they pleaded in vain; 
 
 For wild as a ranger. 
 
 And mocking at danger. 
 He cared but to gallop, a Knight of the Plain. 
 
 Tho' zephyrs were creeping, 
 
 Or tempests were leaping, 
 The spur, to the bronco, he wantonly prest; 
 
 And shouting and singing, 
 
 And lariat swinging. 
 Rode on like a spirit that never knew rest. 
 
THE coii'Bor. 15 
 
 Wherever he wandered, 
 
 His money he squandered, 
 With hand of a gambler and kingliest grace; 
 
 And ever was wiUing 
 
 To stake his last shilling 
 On turn of a penny or chance of an ace. 
 
 A hand to the weary, 
 
 And smile to the dreary, 
 He willingly offered to lowliest woe; 
 
 And taunt to the sneering, 
 
 And blow to the jeering. 
 As willingly tendered to insolent foe. 
 
 Last night, at The Bruin, 
 
 He guzzled red ruin. 
 And tackled draw poker, along with the rest; 
 
 When one began stealing 
 
 The cards they were dealing. 
 And waddy objecting, was shot in the breast. 
 
l6 L TRIGS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Aware that he's going, 
 
 For cold he is growing, 
 He calls for his saddle as rest for his head; 
 
 Then says, without flinching, 
 
 That " Death is now sinching," 
 And then, on his blanket, the puncher lies dead. 
 
 So, sing" in soft numbers. 
 
 Of him that noiv shunbei's. 
 Who wantoned with J'ortu7ze and scouted at care ; 
 
 And sweetly is dreaming-, 
 
 Tho"* curlews are screaming. 
 And coyotes howling like imps of despair. 
 
 rf^^'»so.r#»^4<^2^"^ 
 
 
'7 
 
LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Vesper Cradle sSong-. 
 
 Now the day at pra3^er is kneeling, 
 
 Husliabye, baby, sleep; 
 And the vesper notes are steaHng, 
 
 Hushabye, baby, sleep; 
 And the eve, in silver, drest, 
 Pins her star upon her breast; 
 
 Sing low^, svv^ing low, 
 
 Hushabye, baby, sleep. 
 
 Now the day is drowsy growing, 
 
 Hushabye, baby, sleep; 
 And the firefly lamps are glowing', 
 
 Hushabye, baby, sleep; 
 And the lily sips, for you, 
 Nectar from the lips of dew; 
 
 Sing low, swing low, 
 
 Hushabye, baby, sleep. 
 
VESPER CRADLE SONG. 
 
 19 
 
 Now the day is sweetly dreaming, 
 
 Hushabye, baby, sleep; 
 And the eyes of night are beaming, 
 
 Hushabye, baby, sleep; 
 And beside your cherub feet. 
 Pussy purrs to you, my sweet; 
 
 Sing low, swing low, 
 
 Hushabye, baby, sleep. 
 
 / 
 
 
20 
 
 LTIUCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 W^^ Watep^ ho 1:120 +lo<jt:<^. 
 
 As laughing brooklet goes 
 
 To join the noble stream, 
 Or dallies with the birds, 
 
 That e'er its lovers seem, 
 Or tarries, here and there. 
 
 To kiss the bending flow'rs, 
 It ever sweetly sings. 
 
 In happy, holy hours: 
 Ye Hosts above. 
 
 The Lord is Love. 
 
THE WATERS TO THE HOSTS. 2 1 
 
 As smiling river greets 
 
 The pure and lowly stream, 
 Or ripples, while the stars 
 
 Above in beauty beam, 
 Or journeys swiftly on 
 
 To reach the rolling main, 
 It ever sweetly sings, 
 
 That rhythmic, rich refrain: 
 Ye Hosts above, 
 The Lord is Love. 
 
 As boundless ocean hails 
 
 The broad and mighty stream, 
 Or glistens, while the sails 
 
 Upon its bosom gleam. 
 Or surges, while the wind 
 
 In solemn cadence moans. 
 It ever sweetly sings, 
 
 In tender, touching tones: 
 Ye Hosts above. 
 The Lord is Love. 
 
22 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And long as brooklet runs 
 
 To wed the courtly stream, 
 And long as river seeks 
 
 The coral caves to dream, 
 And long as ocean swells, 
 
 With pulse and purpose sti-ong, 
 They yet will sweetly sing 
 
 That same seraphic song: 
 Ye Hosts above, 
 The Lord is Love. 
 
 'S«<,*t»««.;..»Ma^ 
 
PASSION FLOWERS. 
 
 23 
 
 J^^-^ 
 
 PASSI9H 
 
 Love's many strange moods 
 
 Are blossoms of passion, 
 That Will cannot grow, 
 
 Nor Reason may fashion; 
 But Fancy alone, 
 
 Gives birth to the flowers. 
 That burst into life, 
 
 In Cupid's wild bowers. 
 
LTRfCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 % 
 
 eo. 
 
 S many boys li a v e 
 longed to do, 
 And many boys have 
 done, 
 When in my teens, I drift- 
 ed West, 
 To find where wealth 
 was won ; 
 And anchored soon where 
 men were tough. 
 As tough as earth could 
 boast, 
 Where each it seemed, had 
 • volunteered 
 To serve in Satan's host. 
 
BEN. 25 
 
 Among the number there was one 
 
 They called the "Devil's Ace," 
 A fellow with a sorrel top, 
 
 And yellow, freckled face; 
 Whose wrath was like the fiery floods 
 
 That sweep the rolling plain, 
 With fury that no tongue may tell, 
 
 Nor mortal arm restrain. 
 
 Another one was " Saintly Sam," 
 
 A C03', but gamey bird. 
 Who rarely steamed above his gauge, 
 
 And rarer cussed a word ; 
 And yet whose heart was like the wild, 
 
 Where spears of cactus grow, 
 And he that dared to trespass there. 
 
 Received a stinging blow. 
 
26 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And one was dubbed as " Whiskey Jack," 
 
 A brutal, brawling bloat, 
 Who'd meanly thump the tenderfoot. 
 
 Then o'er his anguish gloat; 
 And there were Buck and Booze and Blood, 
 
 Who had no thought of fame, 
 And yet, in way of wickedness, 
 
 Deserved an honored name. 
 
 But there was one among the crowd, 
 
 I only knew as "Ben;" 
 Who stood a notch above the rest 
 
 Of all those rowdy men; 
 Who was a brawny, burly chap, 
 
 The master soul of sin. 
 And where the others called a halt. 
 
 He'd just about begin. 
 
BEN. 27 
 
 In every spree he'd be the one 
 
 To down the most of budge; 
 And as to who had won at cards, 
 
 He'd always be the judge; 
 In short, he was a Hercules, 
 
 A sort of pagan boss. 
 Who made the other heathen bow, 
 
 And worship him as Joss. 
 
 For such a harum - scarum lot, 
 
 Of course my gait was slow; 
 And then, I thought the track tliey took 
 
 Was pointed straight below; 
 Besides, I'd vowed, when yet a kid, 
 
 And pledged my mother, too. 
 That I would never taste the truck 
 
 She said the demons brew. 
 
28 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 It chanced the day I landed there, 
 
 That some one set them up; 
 When I, with fears and yet with thanks, 
 
 DecHned the proffered cup; 
 And then I thought my time had come, 
 
 Because the others said. 
 That if I didn't hoist it in. 
 
 They'd load my hulk with lead. 
 
 At this, hig Ben — God save his soul! 
 
 Stretched forth his arm of law, 
 And told each guzzler in the gang, 
 
 To cease to wag the jaw; 
 And then he turned to me and asked, 
 
 In way that sounded queer. 
 The why it was I then refused 
 
 To take a drop of cheer. 
 
29 
 
30 LTRTCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Tho' fairly quaking in my boots, 
 
 I yet had nerve enough, 
 To tell them why I'd ^■owed the vow 
 
 To never taste the stuff; 
 And how, till then, I'd kept my word. 
 
 In spite of jeer and scoff. 
 And therefore hoped they condescend 
 
 To kindly let me off. 
 
 Then O, it seemed so good to hear 
 
 The precious words of Ben, 
 As savagely, with blazing eyes, 
 
 He faced the scowling men, 
 And swore, by all the blessed saints. 
 
 He'd plug the imp of sin. 
 Who dared to lay a hand on me 
 
 To make me swig the gin. 
 
BEN. 31 
 
 And then, he said, in lower tones, 
 
 A mother once he'd had, 
 Who tried her best, but died too soon, 
 
 To raise a decent lad; 
 And then he hissed, between his teeth, 
 
 He thought I'd acted square, 
 And that the whelp who disagreed, 
 
 Would climb the golden stair. 
 
 And then the others called the turn. 
 
 And said they wept for joy, 
 To find a chap — who hadn't wings — 
 
 That yet was mother's boy ; 
 Indeed, I guess, tho' strange it was, 
 
 A couple even cried, 
 I reckon just because of her 
 
 Who Ben declared had died. 
 
32 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And, odd to say, they caved around, 
 
 With navy in each hand, 
 And said the one v\^ho filled me up. 
 
 Would hunt the hotter land; 
 And odder too, they formed a ring, 
 
 And raised their hands and swore, 
 That if I dared to break my pledge. 
 
 They sure w^ould hunt my gore. 
 
BEN. 33 
 
 As now I conjure back the scene, 
 
 And live again the day, 
 That Ben stood there, and cussed and cussed, 
 
 And kept those wolves at bay, 
 I swear he seems a Moses sent 
 
 To sternly plead my cause. 
 And show to all those wretched men, 
 
 The might of holy laws. 
 
 Just what the Lord should do with Ben, 
 
 There is, of course, a doubt; 
 But still, I think, the righteous One, 
 
 Should hardly bar him out; 
 At least, when I have reached the gate, . 
 
 Where Peter holds the key. 
 You bet your life I'll plead for Ben, 
 
 As Ben once pled for me. 
 
34 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 'p rlfy'-" " ^" orator, with tongue of fire, 
 ^^ Denounced the deed of one, 
 
 Who scowled the while the polished ire 
 
 In burning satire run; 
 When suddenly, in voice that told 
 
 The keenness of the slur. 
 The latter cried, in manner bold: 
 And dare you call me 'cur?' 
 
 The speaker paused, but not with fear, 
 
 And scanned the glaring foe, 
 Then made reply, with cynic sneer, 
 
 In measured tones and slow: 
 By all the joys, when sorrows end, 
 
 No dog I called you, sir. 
 Because no whelp will wound a friend, 
 
 And you're unlike the cur. 
 
A CUR. 35 
 
 The dog- that jogs before your wheels, 
 
 When riches holds the reins, 
 Will trot behind your heavy heels. 
 
 Nor heed your pauper chains; 
 Nor yet will he your hovel fly, 
 
 Tho' hunger driv'es the spur, 
 And so 'tis plain the reason why 
 
 I shrink to call you ' cur.' 
 
 And so your dog, of golden days, 
 
 When all your worth proclaim. 
 Will share your lot, tho' songs of praise. 
 
 Give place to dirge of blame; 
 And should you sleep in dungeon dread. 
 
 No shame would him deter. 
 But there he'd go to guard your bed; — 
 
 Who'd think to call you 'cur?' 
 
36 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 My prattling maid, a witching fay, 
 
 My angel four-3'ear-old, 
 Went forth to play, one summer day, 
 
 And tripped where waters rolled; 
 When quickly sprang her shaggy mate. 
 
 And lost his life for her; 
 And both for me, in Heaven wait; — 
 
 D'you think I'd call you 'cur?' 
 
MEMORY'S FLIGHT. 
 
 37 
 
 More swift than the hght, 
 Sun -winged on its flight, 
 More swift than the flash, 
 When thunder -clouds clash, 
 Mind flies to life's morn, 
 And brings to the old. 
 When youth they behold. 
 Dead scenes, newly born. 
 
38 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 
 > 
 
 ,^^^' 
 
 
 v'\£^.- 
 
 
 -A 
 
 The flowers of love spring' up in our highways, 
 And wave in our fields and border our bvways, 
 And yet we ne'er learn who plants them nor tills 
 
 them, 
 Nor 3'et, when they die, what secret foe kills them. 
 
THE FLOWERS OF LOVE. 39 
 
 Some flowers of love, tho' carefully tended, 
 And from the rude blast, by fond ones defended. 
 Bloom sweetly an hour, then wither and perish. 
 And leave not a leaf for fond ones to cherish. 
 
 And other love-blooms are beautiful roses. 
 That blossom from spring, till summer-time closes; 
 And then only fade, because we neojlect them. 
 And from the chill frost, we fail to protect them. 
 
 And other love -blooms, tho' frag^ile and lowly. 
 Are jewels of earth, most precious and holy ; 
 For even when Avinds, of Autumn, are sighing, 
 Those flowers bloom on, unfading, undying. 
 
 Those blooms of the heart, that gladden life's 
 
 mountains. 
 Are watered by rills that flow from pure fountains; 
 And tho' a white shroud, in winter, conceals them, 
 An angel again, in spring-time, reveals them. 
 
40 LTlilCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 ^a^-N to tl^e l\oun\ of hb® kopd. 
 
 Tho' the dark flags of the tempest are streaming. 
 
 Waved by the hosts of the sky, 
 And the bright blades o'er the ramparts are gleaming, 
 
 Flashed by the cohorts on high, — 
 Tho' the gray steeds of the winter are leaping, 
 
 Crazed by the lash of the air, 
 And the wan earth in its surplice is sleeping. 
 
 Hushed by the dirge of Despair, 
 Still, on the height, and removed from all sorrow. 
 
 Stung by no chastening rod, 
 Safe may we be, on the beautiful morrow. 
 
 Bathed in the sunlight of God; 
 So, to the One, who is lovingly calling. 
 
 Sing we a song in accord, 
 And, when the shadows of danger are falling, 
 
 Haste to the Mount of the Lord. 
 
HASTE TO THE MOUNT OF THE LORD. 41 
 
 Tho' the rare buds that in childhood we cherished, 
 
 Died in the morning- of June, 
 And the ripe fruits of affection have perished. 
 
 Seared by the glare of the noon, — 
 Tho' the dear friends all around us are paling. 
 
 Chilled ])y the breath of the frost. 
 And the low notes of remembrance are wailing. 
 
 Winged o'er the breasts of our lost. 
 Still, on the height, and beset by no sorrow. 
 
 Scourged by no chastening rod. 
 Glad may we be, on the beautiful morfow, 
 
 Kissed by the sunlight of God; 
 So, to the One, who is tenderly calling. 
 
 Breathe we a prayer in accord. 
 And, when the waters of anguish are falling, 
 
 Haste to the Mount of the Lord. 
 
42 
 
 L TRIGS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 /AaVer^ie^ \oq! 
 
 ON'T know 
 
 Of Maverick Joe, 
 That buster of broncos in chief, 
 And who. 
 As every one knew, 
 Waxed rich as a Maverick thief? 
 
 It's strange. 
 Out here on the range, 
 That you haven't known of his name. 
 Nor heard 
 How ranchers were stirred 
 Because of his Maverick fame. 
 
BRONCO -BUSTER. 
 
 43 
 
44 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Well, then, 
 I'll whisper again. 
 That tale of the cow and her kid, 
 Altho', 
 Thought Maverick Joe, 
 The trick was a corker they did. 
 
 Out West, 
 With lucre unblest. 
 He rangled for others a year, 
 While budge, 
 As well you may judge, 
 Occasion'ly offered him cheer. 
 
 One day. 
 With poker the piny — 
 That game by no tenderfoot learned- 
 I hear 
 He rustled a steer, 
 That wasn't quite honestly earned. 
 
MAVERICK JOE. 45 
 
 And tlien, 
 He built him a den, 
 Way out where the punchers were few, 
 And there, 
 Tlio' not by the square, 
 He soon to a cattle - king grew. 
 
 'Twas queer 
 How often that steer 
 Raised calves for his Maverick "-|-" (cross), 
 Tho' now, 
 I'm bound to allow, 
 His gain was some other one's loss. 
 
 One noon. 
 Along about June, 
 A Maverick daisy he saw — 
 The best. 
 And one that he guessed 
 He'd own by the Maverick law. 
 
46 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And so 
 He rastled it low, 
 And gave it a touch of his brand, 
 Then smiled. 
 For fortune beguiled, 
 That happiest chump in the land. 
 
 Next morn. 
 As sure as I'm born, 
 It chanced that a round-up begun. 
 And then, 
 Some blundering men. 
 Caught on to the caper he'd done. 
 
 For now. 
 They circled a cow. 
 One bearing a " d " (square) on her side, 
 That bawled. 
 And motherly called, 
 At sight of his Maverick j^i'ide. 
 
MAVERICK JOE. 
 
 47 
 
 The kid 
 Then bellowed and slid, 
 And buckled right in for a meal; 
 And — well, 
 It's idle to tell 
 The feelinofs he couldn't conceal. 
 
 Tho' caught. 
 He swore it was bought. 
 Where never a seller was nigh; 
 But all, 
 Tho' praising his gall. 
 Yet reckoned no cattle would lie. 
 
48 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And thus, 
 That ornery cuss 
 Got sinched on account of that pair; 
 Because, 
 By cattlemen hiws, 
 A "-f" shouldn't tackle a " d ". 
 
 rl"^ ; 
 
SABBATH MORN. 
 
 49 
 
 SABBATH MORN. 
 
 ike scenes of youth, to the wandVing one, 
 ike hours of rest, when tlie task is done, 
 ike dreams of health, when the Hps grow pale, 
 ike hearth of home, when the drear winds wail, 
 Is Sabbath Morn. 
 
 ike white of sail, on the lonely deep, 
 ike wand of hope, when the troubles sweep, 
 ike gleam of gold, when the clouds are rent, 
 ike hush of peace, when the storm is spent, 
 Is Sabbath Morn. 
 
 ike kiss of sleep, when the day is o'er, 
 ike face of friend, on an alien shore, 
 ike draught of dew, to the fainting bloom, 
 ike balm of faith, at the closing tomb, 
 Is Sabbath Morn. 
 
50 
 
 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 ike notes of joy, in a dirge of sighs, 
 ike songs of okl, when the dayUght dies, 
 ike ghmpse of stream, in a waste of sand, 
 ike touchy of love, from a dear one's hand, 
 Is Sabbath Morn. 
 
THEN. 
 
 51 
 
 ays of beauty floated round me, 
 
 And my world seemed fairyland, 
 When the shutters of my fancy, 
 
 Wide were swung by Cupid's hand; 
 Then the chalice of my gladness, 
 
 Glowed and sparkled in my sun. 
 While I drained its lioly nectar. 
 
 Quaffed to him, my plighted one; — 
 Marvel not my day of dreaming. 
 
 Marvel not nor query when. 
 
 For I can but give you answer: 
 
 It was then, then, then. 
 
 When the noonday light is guarding, 
 Who may say when dawn begun? 
 
 And when midnight gloom is warding, 
 Who may say when eve was done? 
 
52 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 So, when Love has winged his arrow, 
 Who may say when how he bent? 
 
 And when Love afar has journejed, 
 Who may say the time he went? — 
 
 Marvel not my day of dreaming, 
 Marvel not nor query when, 
 
 For I can but give you answer: 
 It was then, then, then. 
 
 When I heard that olden story. 
 
 Told bv Love with master skill, 
 Like a siren song it wooed me. 
 
 Thralled me with a siren will; 
 And tho' far away I've wandered, 
 
 From that day of perfect bliss. 
 Still, a wand of sweet enchantment, 
 
 Blends, somehow, that time with this;- 
 Marvel not my day of dreaming, 
 
 Marvel not nor query when, 
 
THEN. 53 
 
 For I can but give yovi answer: 
 It was then, then, then. 
 
 As the rarest chords of pleasure, 
 
 Die at times, in minor strains. 
 And the silv'ry haze of summer, 
 
 Fades away in autumn rains. 
 So, the one, my soul exalted, 
 
 Of whose life I seemed a part, 
 Wafted me to heights of rapture, 
 
 Then threw down my trusting heart; — 
 Marvel not my day of dreaming, 
 
 Marvel not nor query when. 
 
 For I can but give you answer: 
 
 It was then, then, then. 
 
54 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 ^I^e eppaipi0-J)o^/ 
 
 prairie-dog-, 
 yip, yip, 
 jolly pollywog, 
 flip, flip; 
 And when I give my little yij^, 
 Why then I flip my little tail, 
 And when I give my tail a flip, 
 Why then to yip I never fail ; 
 And thus I ever gayly bark, 
 
 ^^ip' yip^ yip» 
 
 And ever on my daily lark, 
 Flip, flip, flip. 
 
THE PRAIRIE-DOG. 55 
 
 And I reside in squatter-town, 
 Where even corner lots are free, 
 And I'm no common country clown, 
 Altho' somewhat of low degree; 
 For I'm a merry prairie-dog, 
 
 Yip, yip, yip, 
 And, like a jolly pollywog, 
 
 Flip, flip, flip. 
 
 And I'm a great aristocrat, 
 And will admit that I am vain. 
 But never wear a dudey hat, 
 Nor sport a razzle-dazzle cane; 
 Foi" I'm a merry prairie-dog. 
 
 Yip, yip, yip, 
 And, like a jolly pollywog, 
 
 Flip, flip, flip. 
 
56 LyRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And though I rule the city roost, 
 And have the aldermanic skill, 
 I never give my lot a boost, 
 And make another foot the bill : 
 And thus I ever gayly bark, 
 
 ^^ip' yip^ yip> 
 
 And ever, on my daily lark. 
 Flip, flip, flip. 
 
 And tho' the snakes I often see, 
 
 I never go on any toots. 
 
 And not a soul can say of me, 
 
 That I have snakes within my boots; 
 
 And thus I ever gayly bark, 
 
 ^^ip' yip^ yip» 
 
 And ever on my daily lark. 
 Flip, flip, flip. 
 
THE PRAIRIE-DOG. 57 
 
 And I've a judge with owly eyes, 
 Who helps the serpent lawyers thro', 
 And sits around, apjDcaring wise. 
 As little judges always do; 
 And thus I ever gayly bark, 
 
 Yip, yip, yip, 
 And ever on my daily lark, 
 
 Flip, flip, flip. 
 
 And I'm a chap, I surely think. 
 About as cute as other men. 
 For when I want to get a drink, 
 I simply scoot within my den; 
 And thus I ever gayly bark. 
 
 Yip, yip, yip, 
 And ever, on my daily lark, 
 
 Flip, flip, flip. 
 
58 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 O, I'm a merry prairie-dog, 
 
 Yip, yip, yip. 
 And, like a jolly pollywog, 
 
 Flip, flip, flip; 
 And I'm the dandy of the west, 
 And yijD and yip my mellow rhyme, 
 And as my tail declines to rest, 
 I flip and flip in even time; 
 And thus I ever gayly bark, 
 
 Yip, yip, yip. 
 And ever, on my daily lark, 
 
 Flip, flip, flip. 
 
OUR FLAG. 
 
 59 
 
 Ow Raf. 
 
 Of all the numberless flags 
 
 unfurled, 
 Thro'out this hiuTying, 
 
 restless world, 
 The beautiful one we love 
 to view, 
 
 That banner of stars, on field of blue, 
 Is far to the front upon the sea 
 Of boundless and deep prosperity. 
 
6o 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 L!XTLtf^C3 
 
 i-»^eep back the angry frowns, dear maid, 
 For none but laughing e3^es. 
 
 And smiling lips, and heart so gay, 
 And childish glee, from day to day. 
 Are what your parents prize; 
 Keep back the angry frowns, dear maid, 
 For angry frowns make beauty fade. 
 
 Keep back the hasty words, my dear, 
 For well you surely know, 
 
 That even tho' you strive for aye. 
 You never can those words unsay. 
 If once they rudely go; 
 Keep back the hasty words, my dear, 
 For hasty words will cause a tear. 
 
LITTLE FOXES. 6l 
 
 Drive out vour evil thoughts, dear boy, 
 For none will ever bring, 
 
 To wounded heart, the balm of prayer, 
 Nor ever drive away a care, 
 Nor make hosannas ring; 
 Drive out your evil thoughts, dear boy. 
 For evil thoughts ne'er lead to joy. 
 
 Drive out your little sins, my child, 
 For like the nearing night. 
 
 They surely yet will darker grow, 
 And ever gloom your way with woe, 
 And all your future blight; 
 Drive out your little sins, my child, 
 For little sins are all defiled. 
 

 
 
THE GENII OF WINE. 
 
 63 
 
 \q[^\X!J^ 3 
 
 the rosy wine is blushing, 
 
 Like a vuby, kissed with light; 
 O the ringing, thrilling music. 
 
 Makes the dreary hours grow bright; 
 O the dizz}', dreamy dancing, 
 
 True and loving hearts enthrall; 
 O the artful, luring sirens, 
 
 Seem the angels of the ball; 
 Ah! the sirens and the dancing. 
 
 And the music and the wine, 
 Are the spirits of the revel, 
 
 That the foolish deem divine; 
 But the wanton smiles of pleasure. 
 
 Soon will vanish, chased by sneers, 
 And the fragile cup of gladness. 
 
 Soon be running o'er with tears. 
 
64 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 O the blushing wine is glowing, 
 
 Like the ruddy cheeks of mirth; 
 O the lovely, costly mirrors 
 
 Seem reflecting only worth; 
 O the pleasing, princely paintings 
 
 Seem enchanting as a smile; 
 O the winning, wooing billiards 
 
 Seem repeating, "Pause awhile;" — 
 Ah! the billiards and the paintings, 
 
 And the mirrors and the wine, 
 Are so charming that the careless. 
 
 To their magic oft resign; 
 But that stately hall of splendor. 
 
 So beguiling, so sublime, 
 Is a reeking hot-house only, 
 
 Filled with springing shoots of crime. 
 
THE GENIT OF WINE. 65 
 
 O the glowing wine is glaring, 
 
 Like the dragon eyes of hate ; 
 O the reckless, frenzied gambler 
 
 Is defying God and fate; 
 O the brainless, brutal brawler 
 
 Is inviting pain and shame; 
 O the worthless, sotted beggar 
 
 Is profaning manhood's name; — 
 Ah! the begger and the brawler 
 
 And the gambler and the wine, 
 Are companions worthy, only. 
 
 Those attending Pluto's shrine; 
 But the drunkard, witched to madness. 
 
 By a strangely potent spell. 
 Gropes forever in their darkness. 
 
 Sinks forever in their hell. 
 
66 L TRIGS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 O the glaring wine is burning, 
 
 Like the wasting fires of woe; 
 O the deadly, gleaming dagger 
 
 Gives the wanton, wicked blow; 
 O the dismal, darksome dungeon, 
 
 Is awakened by no prayer; 
 O the awful, fearful scaffold 
 
 Tells of hopeless, black despair; — 
 Ah! the scaffold and the dungeon, 
 
 And the dagger and the wine. 
 Are the ripened fruits of satan — 
 
 Aye, thou demon, they are thine! — 
 But, poor drunkard, child of weakness, 
 
 Yours the anguish not alone, 
 For your kinsmen, too, must harvest 
 
 From the sorrows you have grown. 
 
SHIPS or STATE. 
 
 67 
 
 
 ui- noble Ship of State, 
 With swelling sheets 
 The soft wind greets, 
 And spreads her sails, 
 Despite the gales, 
 
 And swiftly bears the Free; 
 
 While others' ships, tho' great, 
 If zephyrs go, 
 Or breezes blow. 
 With canvas wide 
 Yet slowly glide. 
 
 Upon the golden Sea, 
 
LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 There is a Sun, so bright, so bright. 
 That floods my sky with morning Hght, 
 And ever lends me rays, soft rays, 
 To cheer me on my rugged ways, 
 And ever I am drawn above, 
 By that dear Sun, my Dream of Love. 
 
 There is a World, divine, divine. 
 Where trust has reared a golden shrine, 
 And all is filled with joy, pure joy. 
 And cares come not, nor pleasures cloy. 
 And ever I am drawn above, 
 By that dear World, my Dream of Love. 
 
Mr DREAM OF LOVE. 69 
 
 There is a Star, so clear, so clear, 
 That smiles upon my pathway drear. 
 And gives to life a wing, swift wing. 
 With which to soar where angels sing, 
 And ever I am drawn ahove. 
 By that dear Star, my Dream of Love. 
 
 There is a Moon, serene, serene, 
 
 That robes the earth with silver sheen. 
 
 And thrills the dales of gloom, deep gloom, 
 
 And paints a tint on ev'ry bloom. 
 
 And ever I am drawn above. 
 
 By that dear Moon, my Dream of Love. 
 
 There is a Heart, more true, more true. 
 
 Than yet w^as sung, or seraph knew, — '- 
 
 My Sun and World, my Light, sweet Light, 
 
 My Star and Moon, my lone Delight, — 
 
 And ever I am drawn above, 
 
 By that dear Heart, my Dream of Love. 
 
70 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 So Sam, old boy, you were East the day 
 
 That awful storm came across this way, 
 
 With swinging tread, and a blast of woe. 
 
 From up there North, where the Blizzards grow; 
 
 But still you read quite enough, I guess, 
 
 About that spell, in the down-east press. 
 
 For motes out here, make the chaps there, cry, 
 
 While beams, down there, never make them sigh; 
 
 And let the feet of a cyclone swing. 
 
 And trip our turf with a highland fling. 
 
 Or let us wink to the chap. Judge Lynch, 
 
 To treat some whelp to a neck-tie sinch. 
 
 And down it goes, in their blackguard type, 
 
THE BLIZZARD. 
 
 71 
 
 And thus the West gets a back-hand swipe; — 
 
 And, Sam, no doubt for the dauntless 
 
 Nell, 
 
 You threw your hat, with a 
 
 cowboy yell. 
 
 On reading how, in the 
 
 blinding snow. 
 
 She kept the boys 
 
 the girls 
 
 in tow, 
 
 And brought 
 them home, 
 tho' the storm - 
 winds dread, 
 Like devils, clutched 
 
 at the school she led. 
 And then, I'll wage that 
 
 you raised one shout, 
 
72 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 For her that taught where the wood gave out, 
 Whose flock she kept in the room all night, 
 Tho' air grew chill and there gleamed no light, 
 And with them romped, nor allowed them sleep, 
 For fear Death's arms would around them creep. 
 But for that girl, on the cold North Loup, 
 The one that taught in the old sod-coop. 
 Who saved the kids, ev'ry blessed one. 
 Then died herself when the job was done, 
 I'll bet my boots that your sobbing heart, 
 Somehow, old chap, made the tear-drops start. 
 
 But, Sam, one thing, I presume, at least, 
 
 You did not read when away down East, 
 
 For no one there, ever wrote or knew 
 
 How Hank got home, when the mad winds blew, 
 
 And so I'll tell of the tramp he had, 
 
 Steered on alone, by his own brave lad. 
 
 Before that storm, tho' the world seemed glad, 
 
 The sunlight shone in a way half sad, 
 
THE BLIZZARD. 73 
 
 For straf^^ling flakes, with a careless flight, 
 Came floating down, in the soft, weird light, 
 And sailed ahout, in the warm, sweet air, 
 Witli sun-gold twined in their snow-white hair, 
 Then gently fell, with a languid grace, 
 And veiled the face of the earth with lace, 
 And not a twig by a breeze was stirred. 
 And, Sam, no threat of a storm was heard. 
 
 At three that day, or about that time. 
 
 While love yet crooned o'er the slumb'rmg clime, 
 
 There came a sound, o'er the sun-lit plain, 
 
 Like distant roar of a railway train. 
 
 And then the hosts, from the Blizzard's lair, 
 
 .Sprang forth, full-armed, on their steeds of air. 
 
 And, urged by Death, came a thund'ring down, 
 
 With scowls as black as a demon's frown. 
 
 And bowling on, like a thousand steers. 
 
 Whose eyes are bulged, and ablaze with fears. 
 
74 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And then, concealed by the clouds they spread, 
 At once they charged, with an earthquake tread, 
 And shrieking, leaped at the drowsing sky, 
 And bore it down with a fiendish cry; 
 And cursing, smote with an iron hand, 
 The blanching cheek of the quaking land; 
 And frothing, stamped on the prey they slew, 
 Then wailed a dirge as they onward flew. 
 
 Well, Sam, that noon, as he alwaj's did. 
 Hank romped awhile with the tow-head kid — 
 That six-year-old, little pug-nosed tod, 
 Who ruled his ranch with a wizard's rod — 
 Then gave the lad a resounding smack. 
 And told his wife he would soon be back. 
 And whistling loud, to the fields was gone, 
 Without his gloves, nor a thick coat on. 
 And thus he was when the drunken snow 
 Came reeling in with the hosts of woe. 
 
75 
 
76 LTRICS OF THE L ART AT. 
 
 Now, when Hank's wife saw the storm rush in, 
 With brow as bhick as the soul of sin, 
 She cried with fright, hke a woman would, 
 Then grabbed her shawl, and her warm, knit hood. 
 And thus prepared, — 'twas an insane prank, — 
 She sought to go on a search for Hank. 
 
 Just then the lad, like a w^ayward elf, 
 Got up and joined in the cry himself. 
 And held her dress, and declared he knew 
 His pa would come when his work was thro'; 
 And then ht smiled, in a trustful way, 
 And said: I'll ring, and mamma, you pray, 
 And then he'll hear, and he'll think he's late. 
 And come right home, for he'll know we wait. 
 Now, Sam, what else could the poor thing do. 
 While Furies raved and the cohorts flew. 
 Than kneel and pray to the one Great One, 
 To steer Hank home to herself and son? 
 
n 
 
78 LTIUCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 So down she got and at once sailed in, 
 Just like one does when the stakes he'd win; 
 And, Sam, I guess, in her wild despair, 
 She held four kings at the game of prayer. 
 
 The boy, ere this, with a brave, strong heart, 
 Had hopped upstairs to perform his part, 
 And, in less time than a man dare tell, 
 
 Had reached the cord of 
 
 the big farm-bell. 
 And pulled and jDulled, till 
 
 it creaked and swung. 
 Then yanked and yanked, 
 
 while it rung and rung; — 
 And, Sam, right here, I'll remark one thing. 
 That those great bells, in the towns, now ring, 
 Alone, I think, just to kill sick folks. 
 For not one soul to the church they coax ; 
 Their senseless clang, when the world's at rest, 
 Appears to me like a wanton jest;— 
 
THE BLIZZARD. 79 
 
 But Hank's big bell never tolled but joy, 
 And so that day, for that precious boy. 
 It sent Hank cheer, thro' the grizzly gloom. 
 And, in his heart, made the hope-buds bloom. 
 Now, when the troops, spurred along by Death, 
 Came charging down on the Whirlwind's breath, 
 Hank gave one look, with a wild surprise. 
 Then swifter flew than the greyhound flies, 
 But paused, ere long, for the seething frost 
 So filled his eyes that his course he lost; 
 Now, while he stood, and the Blizzard jeered. 
 And gloating imps at their victim leered, 
 He heard the voice of the wooing bell. 
 Come floating on, with a wondrous swell. 
 As ring the tones from the heav'nly dome: 
 '•Your loved ones wait, hurry home, come home;" — 
 I'll grant that Fame, with her lies and wiles. 
 Can lure her dupes where delight ne'er smiles, 
 That scowling Hate, with its madd'ning spell, 
 Can drive some souls to the depths of hell, 
 
8o LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 That Gold — that king of the heartless reign — 
 Can steel his serfs to the cries of pain, 
 Yet, Sam, true love has a 'force or will 
 That shames those slaves of the realms of ill; 
 So, when that voice, thro' the whirling foam, 
 Came floating down with that prayer from home. 
 Hank's mind flew on to the loved ones there, 
 Then full he turned on the ranks of air, 
 And fiercely on to the northward prest, 
 Tho' ice-shot rained on his thin-clad hreast, 
 Nor stayed his feet in the sleet-bound grass, 
 Tho' legions fired in his face with glass. 
 Nor changed his course, nor with fear once quailed, 
 Tho' blind the way, and his strength then failed, 
 
 But, Sam, no tongue on the earth can tell 
 Just how Hank tramped to that pleading bell, 
 And so I'll skip from the gloom and roar, 
 And say he fell, thro' his own wide door, 
 For Death, right there, tripped his stone-like feet, 
 
THE BLIZZARD. 
 
 8l 
 
 Then slunk awa}-, with his winding-sheet; — 
 Then, Sam, gewhizz, l)ut the prater stopped then, 
 Without a hint of the word "Amen;" 
 And tliat big bell, that the brave bov swung. 
 Just creaked, "Hank's here," then it held its tongue; 
 And that wide door, with a slam, went to. 
 And shut the wrath of the storm from view. 
 Then, when he'd thawed, you can bet your life, 
 He hugged that lad and he kissed that wife; 
 And she, poor soul, why she cried and cried, 
 As tho,' in truth, that her Hank had died; 
 But that strange kid, tho' he wept some, too. 
 Just said, "Say, Pa, was your w^ork all thro'?" 
 
82 
 
 LTBICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 >ho' the gloom of night is falling, 
 And the wintry winds are calling, 
 Tho' we feebly stand and shiver. 
 While the earth is bare and brown, 
 If above we have our treasure, 
 Garnered there in goodly measure, 
 We will gladly cross the river, 
 When life's sun goes down. 
 
RELIANCE. 
 
 83 
 
 
 mMG!; 
 
 Ill, 
 
 Jiaiiiiiifesaiiiliiiii^^^^^^^ 
 
 I will not bow, 
 
 I In trial hour, and call 
 for mortal arm 
 4I{||II» To ward the blow, 
 
 But only bow 
 II And pray to Him, who 
 
 shields from ev'ry harm, 
 And ev'ry foe. 
 
 J". 
 
 LK:Fir3.|i 
 
 Hpii 
 
 IIIP^I"" 
 
 ^■'ll, 
 
 '''''illiE;illilili!i«i«"" 
 
84 
 
 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 SERPENTS. 
 
 THOUSAND boughs are bending, 
 Within the vvoodhmd wild, 
 As softly bends a mother 
 
 Above her slumb'ring child; 
 And tiny brooks are sporting, 
 
 Where elves their vigils keej). 
 As children sport, at ev'ning. 
 
 Ere hushed by wand of sleep; 
 And dainty blooms are blushing. 
 
 With tints from realms of bliss, 
 As maidens blush with rapture, 
 
 When lovers steal a kiss; — 
 Ah, surely, 'mid such beauty. 
 
 Where Peace unfolds her wing, 
 A serpent is not lurking, 
 
 To dart a deadly sting; — 
 
SERPENTS. 
 
 85 
 
 Not so, for here the foe, 
 
 With poisoned tongue of Satan, 
 Lies low 
 
 To strike the blow. 
 
 A hinnble home is ringing, 
 
 With joyful notes of song. 
 Awaking, with their gladness. 
 
 No dread nor thought of wrong; 
 And happy boys are dreaming 
 
 Of place and honored name. 
 And thinking that a nation 
 
 May yet their worth proclaim; 
 And smiling girls are trusting, 
 
 That life, with them, will be 
 As riyer, gliding, gently. 
 
 To find the sily'ry sea; — 
 
86 
 
 L TRIGS OF THE L ART AT. 
 
 Ah, surely, 'mid such pleasure, 
 
 Where Love unfolds her wing, 
 A serpent is not lurking. 
 
 To dart a deadly sting; — 
 Not so, for here the foe. 
 
 With venomed tongue of Satan, 
 Lies low 
 
 To strike the blow. 
 
 A woman proud, is singing. 
 
 And throngs acclaim her thrall. 
 
 And hail the magic numbers 
 That chain the hearts of all; 
 
 And statesmen wise, are speaking 
 The words that woo and thrill. 
 
SERPENTS. 
 
 87 
 
 And forcing, with their logic, 
 
 The world to do their will; 
 And warriors bold, are leading. 
 
 Where Horror shrieks and raves, 
 And gaining, by the carnage, 
 
 The wreath that hero craves; — • 
 Ah, surely, 'mid such power, 
 
 Where Fame unfolds her wing, 
 A serpent is not lurking. 
 
 To dart a deadly sting; — 
 Not so, for here the foe. 
 
 With forked tongue of Satan, 
 Lies low 
 
 To strike the blow. 
 
/>'■ 
 
 te feERTEb %Uf^CH- 
 
THE DESERTED CHURCH. 
 
 89 
 
 There's an old gra}' church, deserted and lone- 
 
 Where, fondly, the ivy yet clings — 
 Whose glory is gone, and sj^irit has flown, 
 
 And never to worship now rings; 
 Nor ever the strains of beautiful lay. 
 
 Re-echo enchantingly there, 
 But only the wind's weird wailings to-day, 
 Awaken that sanctum of prayer. 
 O, hallowed Church, so dear. 
 Thy ivy-clad walls I'm longing again to see, 
 And thy roof, by moss o'ergrown. 
 And thy floor, of slabs and stone. 
 For memory fond now carries me back to thee. 
 
90 L7'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Up aloft, in gloom, in wondering dome, 
 
 The church-bell, corroding, is dumb, 
 W^herc swallows have found, in quiet, a home, 
 
 And owlets, in safety, have come ; 
 And sweetl}^, for 3ears, the sexton, so brave, 
 
 lias rested with those he laid low, 
 And over his breast, the willow-boughs wave, 
 And lovely forget me-nots blow. 
 O, hallowed Church, so dear. 
 Thy sorrowing notes, that often awoke the dell, 
 Were attuned, by hands above. 
 To inspire, by tones of love. 
 The mourner to sigh the answer of faith; 'Tis well. 
 
 When the star, of day, has faded from sight, 
 And darkness its banner unfurled. 
 
THE DESERTED CHURCH. 91 
 
 And pickets, on high, in armor so bright. 
 
 Are guarding the shunbering world, 
 My fancy creates me visions of yore. 
 
 That ravish my heart with their spell, 
 And, happy, I dream the sexton, once more. 
 Is ringmg that resonant bell. 
 O, hallowed Church, so dear, 
 How often, at eve, I fancy thy songs resound. 
 And invoke the scenes, long fled. 
 And recall the friends, long dead. 
 And summon the days when childhood, witli jov 
 
 was crown'd 
 
 I have roved thro' groves of olive and palm. 
 And trespassed on Arctic's domain ; 
 
 The ocean I've sailed, in tempest and calm. 
 And sauntered thro' temple and fane; 
 
92 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And often I've stood where worshipers thronged, 
 
 As music through corridors rolled, 
 Yet ever, 'mid all, I strangely have longed, 
 That luin to sadly hehold. 
 
 O, hallo\ved Church, so dear, 
 The echoing notes of anthems, so rich, so clear. 
 And of chants, so full, so sure, 
 And of hymns, so soft, so pure, 
 I'm longing to hear awaken thy walls, so drear. 
 
A.V rRlSHMAN: 
 
 93 
 
 AN Irishman, 
 
 Be there a sad note 
 
 In an Irishman's lays, 
 Yet joy will he found 
 
 In his rhythmical line; 
 And be there a cloud, 
 
 Over all of his days, 
 He gladdens the rifts 
 
 With effulgence divine. 
 
INTAN KARA. 95 
 
 Qvan 4^apa.' 
 
 O Thou, my Inyan Kara, 
 
 Thou JNlouut, in uiouut's embrace, 
 No more by Arla-Eeka, 
 
 My steps to thee I trace; 
 O Thou, where merry songsters 
 
 Sent echoes far and wide. 
 And gave a wildwood greeting 
 
 To her, my dusky bride. 
 
 O Thou, my Inyan Kara, 
 
 Thou Mount, with breath of bloom, 
 No more, by Arhi - Eeka, 
 
 I scent thy rare perfume; 
 O Thou, where oft I wandered, 
 
 With light and wary tread, 
 To find, amid thy windings, 
 
 The haunt where prey had fled. 
 
9^ Ll'niCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 O Thou, my Inyan Kara, 
 
 Thou Mount, of rugged height, 
 No more, by Arla-Eeka, 
 
 I watch the eagles' flight; 
 O Thou, where morning greeting 
 
 I gave to rising sun, 
 Then kneh to distant altar, 
 
 Where hero rites were done. 
 
 O Thou, my Inyan Kara, 
 
 Thou Mount, from earth's unrest. 
 My own, my Arla-Eeka, 
 
 Now sleeps upon thy breast; 
 O Thou, where fallen chieftain 
 
 Is rocked by forest arms. 
 While Zephyr croons above him. 
 
 And stills the Wind's alarms. 
 
INTAN KARA. 
 
 97 
 
 O Thou, my Inyan Knra, 
 
 Thou Mount, from vanished sea, 
 To meet my Aila-Eeka, 
 
 In dreams I fly to thee; 
 O Thou, where ne'er I'll wander, 
 
 To list to plaintive pine, 
 Nor scale thy sunlit summit, 
 
 To kneel to warrior shrine. 
 
98 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Oh, I often dream 
 
 Of the happy, happy golden hours, 
 Whiled awa}'. 
 
 Gaily whiled away, 
 When, with romping ones. 
 
 Seeking dainty, dainty, fairy flow'rs, 
 I would stray, 
 
 Idly I would stray; 
 And, with glee untold, 
 
 Caroled many, many, simple songs, 
 Childish songs, 
 
 Simple, childish songs; — 
 
WHILE I DREAM. 99 
 
 Ah, those jovs of old, 
 
 Come in wooing-, wooing, cheering throngs, 
 While I dream. 
 
 While I sweetly dream. 
 
 Oh, I often dream. 
 
 As the lurking, lurking imps of care, 
 Haunt my way, 
 
 Grimly haunt my way, 
 Of the darling ones. 
 
 Who my heavy, heavy trials share, 
 Day by day, 
 
 Kindly, day by day; 
 Then a hand above. 
 
 Conquers ev'ry, ev'rv lurking foe, 
 Haunting foe, 
 
 Lurking, haunting foe, 
 And the rays of love, 
 
 Make my dreary, dreary pathway glow, 
 
lOO LTRTCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 While I dream, 
 
 While 1 sweetly dream. 
 
 Oh, I often dream 
 
 Of the final, final end of strife, 
 Soon to be. 
 
 Very soon to be, 
 When the shining ones, 
 
 Thro' the blessed, blessed gates of life, 
 Come for me. 
 
 Gladly come for me; 
 Then, where none repine, 
 
 I will ever, ever surel}' dwell, 
 Safely dwell, 
 
 Siirely, safely dwell. 
 And, with bliss divine. 
 
 Hear the holy, holy anthems swell. 
 While I dream. 
 
 While I sweetl}' dream. 
 
FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 lOI 
 
 'A<k of Lfife. 
 
 The world is a field, where trials ahoiind, 
 And errors are met, and evils are found ; 
 And soldiers of Right, must ever be strong, 
 In smiting to earth, the vassals of Wrong. 
 
 The valiant alone, may victories win, 
 In fighting the hosts of treacherous sin, 
 As faltering arm ne'er parries a blow, 
 Nor craven of heart, ne'er conquers a foe. 
 
I02 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 But when we have fought and victories won, 
 And all of our deeds are worthily done, 
 The Father divine, will give as a prize, 
 A beautiful home where Joy never dies. 
 
 And then, from the throne of jasper and gold. 
 The good we have done, will gladly be told; 
 And all of the love, we've planted in gloom, 
 Will blossom in light, and evermore bloom. 
 
WHAT IS MAN? 
 
 103 
 
 An Alchemist, 
 Who wields the wonder-working stone; 
 
 A Worshiper, 
 Who meekly bows at Mammon's throne; 
 
 A Monarchist, 
 Who basely wills that gold should reign; 
 
 A Laborer, 
 Who meanly dies the slave of Gain. 
 
 ''-^^^^if^i^w:'^^^-'^' 
 
104 
 
HIGH MASS OF THE MUSES. 
 
 105 
 
 +li^l7 [Da^^ of ht^c /Aa^e^.' 
 
 N careless mood, I chanced to roam, 
 Near wonderland's majestic dome, 
 That long had stood, a soldier stern, 
 To ward the sons of storied Berne. 
 
 The sun had gone to dreamful rest. 
 Behind a silvered mountain-crest; 
 And balmy eve, with smile serene, 
 Had gently veiled the valleys green. 
 
 'Twas then the time, as darkness grew, 
 And verdure quaffed the nectar dew. 
 That many sought that stately pile, 
 An idle hour to there beguile. 
 
Io6 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 While yet I roamed, the minster bell 
 Sent forth, afar, o'er mount and dell, 
 A voice that strangely seemed to say: 
 The Muses hold High Mass to-day. 
 
 And then, tho' faint the light had grown, 
 I marked that poem, wrought in stone, 
 Whose tower low, seemed ill, a part 
 Of that rare mold of gothic art. 
 
 Ere yet the bell had ceased to woo, 
 And o'er the crags had tongued " adieu," 
 I paused to note, then joined the tide, 
 That drifted thro' the entrance wide. 
 
 No flaming jets, with dazzling glare. 
 Then welcomed those ^vho gathered there, 
 But feeble tapers gleamed on high. 
 Like twinkling lights in vaulted sky. 
 
HIGH MASS OF THE MUSES. 1 07 
 
 The Muses famed, those mystic maids, 
 Then wandered thro' the ghostly shades, 
 And sung a simple, winning song, 
 That held entranced, the list'ning throng. 
 
 And e'en as yet the maidens sang, 
 A herald call of triumph, rang. 
 And martial strains re-echoed then. 
 Like bugle notes in Alpine glen. 
 
 But soon there came an angry jar. 
 That seemed to come from tempest car, 
 And then a storm, in fury, broke. 
 With clash and clang of cymbal stroke. 
 
 The god of winds, unloosed the breeze. 
 And hidden hands swept magic keys, 
 While brazen mouths gave startling blare. 
 And wizard notes seemed everywhere. 
 
Io8 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Then bassoons laughed and viols sighed, 
 And trombones sobbed and hautboys cried, 
 And clarinets, with voices shrill. 
 Repeating, mocked the flute's soft trill. 
 
 As e'en I list, in half day-dream, 
 Methought I heard a purling stream, 
 And zephjn's, whisp'ring o'er the leas, 
 And songsters, warbling in the trees. 
 
 Methought I roved in sylvan bow'rs. 
 Amid the fragrant, fairy flow'rs. 
 While harp and lute and ancient lyre, 
 Made music sw^eet as siren choir. 
 
 Still, o'er the sounds, so weird, so wild, 
 The Muses' song came soft and mild, 
 And yet, in tone, so rich, so clear, 
 'Twas off'ring fit for angel's ear. 
 
HIGH MASS OF THE MUSES. 109 
 
 And yet the witching song went on, 
 Till other sounds were hushed and gone, 
 And then, tho' mourned by fond Delight, 
 Its spirit winged its upward flight. 
 
 Thus closed the song: 
 
 " All hail, to thee, 
 
 Apollo, thou god of harmony; 
 Thou dwellest apart in shady nooks. 
 Where revel the fays and babbling brooks; 
 Thou knowest the notes of heav'n and earth, 
 For, Patron, 'twas thou who gave them birth. 
 
 Thou tunest our harps on sacred mount. 
 And quenchest our thirst at inspired fount; 
 Thou guidest our feet where'er we go. 
 And ever we joy thy will to know; 
 So, whither we roam, we sing to thee, 
 Apollo, thou god of harmony." 
 
no LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 When Maidens' voice had ceased to ring, 
 And restful night had spread her wing, 
 Each one went fortli with rapture filled, 
 Who whiled that hour where music thrilled. 
 
 For fifty years, a monarch there, 
 Had ruled, with song, that haunt of praj^'r; 
 And hearts that came in earthly chains. 
 He quickly freed with heav'nly strains. 
 
 And all those sounds — of lyre, of lute, 
 Of breeze, of brook, of harp, of flute, 
 Of song, of storm, of warblers' trill — 
 Were organ-notes, made by his skill. 
 
 Then wreath of renown, 
 From earth. 
 We bring, 
 
HIGH MASS OF THE MUSES. 
 
 And chant, while we crown, 
 
 With worth. 
 The King: 
 O, long be thy clays, 
 
 Thy heart still young! 
 O, sweet be thy lays, 
 
 Thy harp unstrung! 
 Thou King of the soul. 
 
 Thro' chords divine. 
 May strains ever roll, 
 
 With thrall like thine. 
 
I 13 
 
 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT, 
 
 ^ij?l6J\CtF^Ur\tf 
 
 Tho' the world is abloom, 
 
 In the heart there is gloom, 
 And lips of gladness are dumb. 
 
 For the land of the brave, 
 
 Is a pi"ey to the knave, 
 Who murders his brother with rum. 
 
 By the bright, sunny way, 
 Where the youth are at play, 
 
 There dwells, in splendor, a foe, 
 That allures and beguiles, 
 And depraves and defiles. 
 
 And revels in visions of woe. 
 
GARLAND THE T.AND 
 
 113 
 
 In the thrill of the wine, 
 And the spell of the vine, 
 
 There seems no sorrow nor care, 
 But the dregs of the bowl, 
 Are the tears of the soul. 
 
 Awakened by frenzied despair. 
 
 Let us strike with a will, 
 At the hosts of the still, 
 
 Let us strike, for the foe is at hand, 
 And delight will resound, 
 For the right will be crowned. 
 
 And beauty will garland the land. 
 
114 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 A 3affra^ist dafferer. 
 
 Ach, frau, mein frau, mein liebe frau, 
 Such dricks, as dese, I don't allow; 
 You go so soon, und sthay so late, 
 Unt makes poor Fritz for supper vait; 
 Unt neffer makes de fires no more, 
 Nor chops de woot, like once pefore; 
 Unt say, vat use hab men for fraus, 
 Ven dey, demselves, must milk de cows? 
 Ach, donner, how I hates dose men, 
 Dat gomes here dwenty dimes again, 
 Unt dakes you off pefore mein eyes. 
 No madder how dot paby cries; 
 Unt, frau, I dells you vat I says: 
 Iv you don't sthop dose horrit vays, 
 I'll for dose fellers chust will lie, 
 Unt gick meinself unt plack mein eye, 
 Unt den yourself gone det you'll see, 
 Veil hangfingf on von hazel dree. 
 
THE TWO TRIOS. 
 
 "5 
 
 
 The Trio of sirens were queens of the sea, 
 That conquer'd the waters by rugged Capri; 
 Then govern'd their kingdom, so famous and strong, 
 Thro' power of magic — the magic of song. 
 
 Those consorts of Pluto, were fair to behold; 
 Their ebon-hued tresses were fretted with gold; 
 Their innocent faces were haloed with light; 
 Their heavenly glances put darkness to flight. 
 
II 6 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Their words were as winning as angel e'er spoke; 
 Their notes were as thrilling as goddess e'er woke; 
 Their tones were so wooing that none ever tried 
 To pass by unheeding — all hearkened and died. 
 
 Those mystical maidens, with only a breath, 
 The fearless and mighty deliver'd to death; 
 They smilingly fettered the noble and proud, 
 Then gave the enchanted a billowy shroud. 
 
 The homeward-bound sailor, who paused on his oar. 
 To hear their sweet voices,ne'er gained the lov'd shore ; 
 The hero, whose prowess had won the world's praise, 
 To Lethe they wafted by beautiful lays. 
 
 Those queens so beguiling, allured to destroy; 
 Their wands were of upas, to slay was their joy; 
 Their coral -paved kmgdom was only a grave 
 That cruelly welcomed the victim they gave. 
 
THE TWO TRIOS 
 
 Those sirens accursed, now govern no more, 
 They, too, are sepulclired where surging- waves roar, 
 Tho' sisters, more cruel, their flags have unfurlVl 
 To conquer and ruin a perishing world. 
 
 Those others are Avarice, Envy and Hate, — 
 The one, a grim tyrant, no power can sate, 
 The second, a dragon, the parent of woe, 
 The other, a demon, a murderous foe. 
 
 The hand of the tyrant e'er crushes the heart; 
 
 The tongue of the dragon is Satan's own dart; 
 
 The fangs of the demon give quickly and sure 
 
 The wound that no Mercy nor Pardon can cure. 
 
 Those rulers e'er offer, with scoffing and sneers, 
 To sorrowing mortals, a goblet of tears; 
 They wither the flowers that bloom in the soul; 
 They madden and anguish, to damn is their goal. 
 
Il8 L TRIGS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 H0PC'$ oFrnRiNa. 
 
 Set free from sin's beguiling snare, 
 Set free from loads of grinding care, 
 Set free from bonds of grim despair. 
 We shall true pleasure share. 
 
 Above the depths where troubles flow, 
 Above the plains where sorrows grow. 
 Above the heights of somber woe. 
 We shall of heaven know. 
 
 Beside the waters, cool and sweet, 
 Beside the throne where loved ones meet. 
 Beside the dear-bought mercy-seat. 
 We shall the Savior greet. 
 
LAND OF REST. 
 
 I.AND OF REar. 
 
 BLESSED Realm, 
 
 Where all may be, 
 With eye of faith. 
 
 We look to thee; 
 O, smiling Land, 
 
 Of holy throngs, 
 With ear of hope, 
 
 We hear thy songs; 
 O, heav'nly Home, 
 
 A message blest, 
 Invites to thee — 
 
 The Land of Rest. 
 
LYRICS OF THE LAR/AT. 
 
 I wandered in the nortliland, 
 Where lakes, enchanting, slejDt, 
 
 While o'er the day expiring. 
 The eve, in silence, wept; 
 
 And as the starry soldiers 
 
 Came forth to gnard the sky, 
 
THE LOON CRT. 121 
 
 I heard a voice repeating 
 
 The strange and truthful cry: 
 Only a fool I see, 
 A fool, a fool I see! — 
 Thus sung the loon to me, 
 The loony loon to me. 
 
 And as that cry re - echoed, 
 
 I thought of ladies fair. 
 Of those with powdered faces, 
 Who spoil their lovely hair, 
 And lace themselves so tightly, 
 They can but barely sigh; — 
 Poor things, they, too, should listen, 
 And hear the truthful cry: 
 Only a fool I see, 
 A fool, a fool I see! — 
 Thus sung the loon to thee. 
 The loony loon to thee. 
 
133 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And then I thought of others, 
 
 Of youths with slender canes, 
 Who smoke cigars so proudly, 
 
 And wear such massive chains, 
 And stand upon the corners, 
 To see the girls go by; — 
 Poor things, they, too, should listen. 
 And hear the truthful cry: 
 Only a fool I see, 
 A fool, a fool I see! — 
 Thus sung the loon to thee, 
 The loony loon to thee. 
 
 And then I thought of others. 
 Of those with wealth untold, 
 
 Who sell their souls for money. 
 And worship only gold; 
 
 Who have no tears for sorrow. 
 And wipe no weeping eye; — 
 
THE LOON CRT. 123 
 
 Poor things, they, too, should listen, 
 And hear the truthful crv: 
 Only a fool I see, 
 A fool, a fool I see! — 
 Thus sung the loon to thee, 
 The loony loon to thee. 
 
 And then I thought of others, 
 
 Of those with hopes of fame, 
 Who seem to think that honor 
 
 May come thro' sin and shame; 
 Who basely bribe the voter. 
 
 And God and man defy; — 
 Poor things, they, too, should listen. 
 And hear the truthful cry: 
 Only a fool I see, 
 A fool, a fool I see! — 
 Thus sung the loon to thee. 
 The loony loon to thee. 
 
124 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Ah well, we all, insanely, 
 
 Go rushing on thro' life, 
 Pursuing fleeting pleasure. 
 
 Thro' days and years of strife; 
 But ere we grasp the phantom. 
 
 We stumble, fall and die; — 
 Poor things, we all should listen, 
 And hear the truthful cry: 
 Only a fool I see, 
 A fool, a fool I see! — 
 Thus sung the loon to me. 
 The loony loon to thee. 
 
O GIVE ME TOUR HAND. 
 
 125 
 
 .--^--^pnSv 
 
 When night has veiled the earth, so fair, 
 And hosts of heaven are guarding the land, 
 
 The boy repeats his ev'ning prayer, 
 
 Then saj's: Dear Mamma, O give me your hand. 
 
 And when his youthful days are done, 
 
 Tho' proud and stately, no ruler more grand, 
 
 He yields the heart to some fair one, 
 
 And pleads: My Idol, O give me your hand. 
 
126 
 
 LJ'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And when, to him, the world is drear, 
 
 And waves of sorrow, break over life's strand, 
 
 He seeks, at home, for words of cheer, 
 
 And sighs: My Darling, O give me your hand. 
 
 And wdien, the cares of life are o'er, 
 
 And round him, weeping, the loving ones stand, 
 He bids his friends to grieve no more, 
 
 Then prays: Dear Father, O give me Your Hand. 
 
THE FATHER SEETH ALL. 127 
 
 In the days when we are building 
 
 Stately castles in the air, 
 And when youthful joys enrapture, 
 
 And no clouds are seen of care, 
 We should heed the voice of heaven, 
 
 Ere the sins of earth enthrall, 
 And, thro' life, fore'er remember 
 
 That the Father seeth all. 
 
 And when time has borne us onward. 
 
 To the fields of ripened age. 
 Where the mighty hosts are gathered, 
 
 And for food the battle wage. 
 And where few may fill their garners, 
 
 While the rest for succor call, 
 We should surely then remember 
 
 That the Father seeth all. 
 
128 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Should we safely ride the waters, 
 
 While the foamy billows rave, 
 And neglect to pause for others, 
 
 Who are wrecked upon the wave. 
 When we near the icy ocean, 
 
 On whose bosom floats the pall, 
 We will sadly then remember 
 
 That the Father seeth all. 
 
 And at last, when toil is over. 
 
 And we've crossed the vale of years. 
 If for others we have labored, 
 
 And have helped to dry their tears, 
 Tho' the sweets our lips have tasted, 
 
 May have seemed to turn to gall. 
 We will gladly then remember 
 
 That the Father seeth all. 
 
THE UNFAILING CRUSE. 
 
 i2g 
 
 THE UNFAILiNG CRUSE. 
 
 When thy cares are pressing, 
 And when joy withholds its blessing, 
 
 Should some one be weeping, 
 O'er the hopes behind him sleeping, 
 
 Dry the tears then welling, 
 Kindly all his grief dispelling. 
 
 And thy act, so holy. 
 Will make light thy heart, so lowly. 
 
130 
 
A THIRTT TEARS' DREAM. 1 31 
 
 A THIRTY YEARS' DREAM." 
 
 Where is that little school -house, Alf, 
 
 That stood beside the lane? 
 I looked for it to-day, but, strange, 
 
 I looked for it in vain; 
 It may have been I could not see, 
 
 For something' made me weep, 
 But if I saw, then I have had 
 
 A Rip Van Winkle sleep. 
 
 We were but school -boys yesterday — 
 
 At least, to me, it seems 
 As if a single fleeting night 
 
 Now dims our boyhood dreams; 
 Then why say you that we're not young? 
 
 You know you can't lie right, 
 For boys don't grow to bearded men. 
 
 At once, in one short night. 
 
132 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Ah, Alf, what splendid times we've had 
 
 Within that school house old ! 
 We there have played most roguish tricks — 
 
 The half were never told! 
 Each object in that humble room, 
 
 We've hallow'd with our sins; — 
 You know, last week the teacher sat 
 
 Upon some crooked pins. 
 
 We've marred the desks and notched the seats 
 
 With jack-knives sharp and bright. 
 And cuffed our books and scratched our slates, 
 
 As school -boj^s have the right; 
 And if it chanced that now and then, 
 
 The teacher boxed our ears. 
 We scai-cely cared, for joy was nigh 
 
 To kiss away our tears. 
 
A THIRTY TEARS' DREAM. 1 33 
 
 At twelve o'clock — that blessed hour, 
 
 When time for play beg-uii — 
 We sallied forth with boundino- hearts, 
 
 Intent on having fun; 
 At times we sought the woods near by, 
 
 To plague the wary squirrels, 
 At other times, we loitered round 
 
 To plague the chary girls. 
 
 The fort we built, not long ago, 
 
 Was strong and finely planned, 
 And those brave lads who stormed it, Alf, 
 
 Declared it was well manned ; 
 For tho' they far outnumbered us. 
 
 We yet fought long and well. 
 But when our balls of snow gave out, 
 
 Of course our colors fell. 
 
134 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Last week we helped the girls to build 
 
 Their play-house all anew; 
 Then furnished it with mossy seats, 
 
 And soft, green carpets, too; 
 And made a cupboard with one shelf, 
 
 To hold their china-ware; — 
 Don't you suppose, when we are gone 
 
 A fairy queen lives there? 
 
A THIRTT YEARS' DREAM. 135 
 
 When yesterday, our school was out, 
 
 I bounded thro' the door 
 Of that old house, with gladsome shout, 
 
 Nor cared to see it more; 
 And then, at nine, I went to bed, 
 
 With heart all filled with joy. 
 For mother's voice had softly said: 
 
 Good night, my darling boy! 
 
 And then I heard a gentle song — 
 
 "Lie still, my child, and sleep!" 
 But soon the song seemed more a prayer- 
 
 " May heav'n thy footsteps keep!" 
 And then I dreamed a troubled dream, 
 
 Of fancies strange and wild; 
 I thought T ceased, at once, to be 
 
 A laughing, romping child. 
 
136 L TRIGS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 I dreamed I moved away out West — 
 As oft I've longed to do — 
 
 And met and loved a schoolma'm there, 
 And wooed and won her too; 
 
 And then I thought a girl and boy- 
 Came climbing on my knee, 
 
 And, strange to say, my friends declared 
 Those children looked like me. 
 
 And then my fancy bore me on, 
 
 O'er many a stranger land; 
 It carried me o'er ocean weaves, 
 . O'er vales and mountains grand; 
 And ere I turned my rambling feet, 
 
 To take the homeward way, 
 I thought the icy breath of age. 
 
 Had tinged my hair with gray. 
 
A THIRrr THARS' DREAM. 1 37 
 
 When I awoke, I felt so worn, 
 
 I could not help but cry; 
 And schooltime, Alf, still found me sad — 
 
 I really can't tell why! 
 And then I went, with heavy heart, 
 
 To meet my coinrades dear. 
 And found that e'en the house was gone, 
 
 And not a soul came near. 
 
 And as, perplexed, I waited there. 
 
 The cars went thund'ring o'er 
 The very grounds on which we played 
 
 A single night before. — 
 Now tell me, Alf, how comes all this? 
 
 Who took the house away? 
 What has become of all the boys? 
 
 Where are the girls to day? 
 * * * 
 
I3S 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Alas, say you my dream was true, 
 
 And that our youth has fled? 
 That all the boys and girls are gone, 
 
 Or rest among the dead? 
 Then, trul}^, Alf, I've sweetly dreamed 
 
 A score of years and ten; — 
 O, would that I could dream for aye, 
 
 That we were boys again. 
 
 
DO NOT FEAR. 139 
 
 Po yNoh Rean>. 
 
 Fainting one, on foamy sea, 
 Reacliing out its arms for thee, 
 Do not fear the angry wave. 
 For a Friend thy bark will save. 
 
 Dreary one, in desert lone, 
 List'ning to the wind's sad moan, 
 Do not fear, tho' bleak the sky, 
 For a Friend is standing nigh. 
 
 Weary one, in depths of woe, 
 Wand'ring as the shadows grow, 
 Do not fear the gath'ring night, 
 For a Friend will give thee light. 
 
140 
 
LOVE. 
 
 141 
 
 When the cheeks of morn are glowing, 
 
 None may bid tlie hhish be gone, 
 And when eyes of eve are paHng, 
 
 None may bid tlie light stream on; 
 Bo, when Love comes stealing coyly. 
 
 None mav frown the sprite away, 
 And, when Lo\e would plav the truant, 
 
 None may coax the rogue to stay. 
 
LJ'RrCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 ^^^iiii^: 
 
 tt iit i'',-^ 
 
 ¥126 Voice of "flope. 
 
 O, Care, while hearts before you are bending, 
 The Voice of Hope its message is sending. 
 
 To flood dull eyes with visions of beauty. 
 And nerve the arm by challenge to duty. 
 
 O, Want, while gloom about you is falling, 
 The Voice of Hope is tenderly calling. 
 
 To drive the clouds from hearts of the dreary. 
 And woo the dreams that strengthen the weary. 
 
THE VOICE OF HOPE. 143 
 
 O, Grief, while tears are telling your sadness, 
 The Voice of Hope sends radiant gladness. 
 
 To hush the moans of murmuring- sorrow, 
 
 And blush the now with rays of the morrow. 
 
 O, Woe, while mounds beneath you are springing, 
 The Voice of Hope is soothingly ringing. 
 
 To lift the soul where joys are unending, 
 
 And loves of earth, in oneness, are blending. 
 
 O, Voice, rejoice and echo forever, 
 
 To thrill the will with dauntless endeavor; 
 
 And sing and wing the beautiful story. 
 
 That still shall fill the world with new glory. 
 
144 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 JOYLESS YOUTH. 
 
 I feel quite sure the children now, 
 
 Know naught of childish joys, 
 For I ne'er see a girlish girl, 
 
 Nor hear of boyish boys; 
 Indeed, they look so very odd, 
 
 I fancy they are elves, 
 That chase the darkness from our skies, 
 
 Yet live in gloom themselves. 
 
 In summer time, the lads incase 
 
 Their feet in useless shoes — 
 As wise 'twould be to shield the grass 
 
 From God's refreshing dews; 
 And then they are so richly clad, 
 
 And do not care to romp, 
 Not knowing that an hour of jo}'. 
 
 Outweighs an age of pomp. 
 
yOl'LESS rouTH. 145 
 
 We used to call the little maids 
 
 Forget - me - nets, so dear, 
 But girls are now like jewel - weeds, 
 
 Those touch-me-nots, so queer; 
 For foolish fashion decks them out. 
 
 In jewels, silks and lace, 
 And gives to them a jaunty look, 
 
 But ne'er a lovely face. 
 
 In dear old times, our parents said, 
 
 If we could write and read, 
 And cipher thro' the rule of three, 
 
 'Twas all we e'er would need; 
 The brain was ne'er o'erburdened then, 
 
 The youthful heart was light; 
 The cheek by blushing health was kissed, 
 
 The eye with joy was bright. 
 
146 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT, 
 
 It was with digits we were taught 
 
 To reckon, when at school, 
 But now it seems that \\dser heads 
 
 Have wrought a wiser rule; 
 For when, last week, I chanced to go 
 
 To school, on closing day, 
 I saw a scholar working sums 
 
 In some new-fashioned way. 
 
 Thus, he declared and said he proved 
 
 That a, b, minus c. 
 Just equaled d, plus e, f square, 
 
 When multiplied by g; 
 Of course his words were wondrous wise, 
 
 Of that I had no doubt, 
 But why and how he figured so, 
 
 I failed to figure out. 
 
JO r LESS ruuTH. 147 
 
 A while I watched his thoughtful face, 
 
 And marked his languid looks, 
 Then said, " A problem solve for me. 
 
 Not found within the books; 
 You seem to know life's value, lad, 
 
 Plus study, minus mirth; 
 Now, if, to study, mirth you add. 
 
 Then what would life be worth ? " 
 
 The young folks have no time to-day, 
 
 For sport or childish dreams; 
 Their only pastime seems to be 
 
 To sail on classic streams; 
 For now they reap from modern fields. 
 
 And glean from ancient lore. 
 And feast their minds, on choicest fruits, 
 
 Till brain will hold no more. 
 
14S LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 The boldest heights that Thought has reared, 
 
 They now attempt to scale, 
 With far more zeal than chastened knight 
 
 E'er sought the Holy Grail; 
 In short, they give with lavish hand, 
 
 The food to feed the flame. 
 That glows within the lamp, by which 
 
 Man finds his way to fame. 
 
 Altho' 'tis true that knowledge lights 
 
 The road to honors great, 
 And tho' the wise are best prepared 
 
 To break the lance with fate. 
 The youths who strive to win renown, 
 
 But take no time for play. 
 Will weary soon and fail at last, 
 
 To bear the prize away. 
 
HOPE. 
 
 149 
 
 ■ei9;e^^r^ 
 
 OOo a smiling sea, 
 In rosy morn of spring, 
 '"^Ah^ Hope gently came to me. 
 
 On light and silv'ry wing. 
 
 And with her mystic wand, 
 Entranced the bending skies. 
 
 And, in the bright beyond. 
 Made spendid visions rise; — 
 Visions rise, joylit skies. 
 
150 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And then my fancy flew, 
 
 O'er wide and wooing plains, 
 
 While huts to castles grew, 
 And fields to vast domains; 
 
 And hand of siren fame. 
 With glory robed my dav^s, 
 
 And nations gave acclaim. 
 
 And sung me songs of praise; — 
 Songs of praise, witching days. 
 
 Ere long the vision fled, 
 Beyond a shoreless wave. 
 
 And round me grief was spread, 
 And near me yawned a grave. 
 
 While earth itself grew drear. 
 And face of nature paled. 
 
 And, o'er the fading year. 
 
 The notes of autumn wailed; — 
 Autumn wailed, loved ones paled. 
 
HOPE. 
 
 151 
 
 But soon across the sea, 
 
 Across the dreamy deep, 
 HojDc winged again to me. 
 
 Her plighted troth to keep, 
 And with her fairy wand, 
 
 Swung back the gates of gloom, 
 And morn eternal dawned, 
 
 Above a vanquished tomb; — 
 
 Vanquished tomb, vanished gloom. 
 
 ?^*i^ 
 
'52 
 
 L TRIGS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 ROVED in western wonder-land, 
 Enraptured by a vision grand, 
 Where wand of God, in age unknown, 
 Had swayed across an ocean zone, 
 And changed a vast and mighty deep 
 To boundless fields where millions reaj?; 
 And where the bird, with carol sweet, 
 And plumage bright and pinion fleet. 
 Flew gaily on, its love to greet; 
 And while I roved, a curlew, coy. 
 With breast of gold and heart of joy, 
 
THE CURLEW SONG. 153 
 
 Swept on before, and sung and sang 
 The happy song, that rung and rang: 
 I bathe my wing in pearly dew, 
 And sing and sing, dear mate, for you; 
 I cleave the air when foe is nigh. 
 Nor care, nor care, dear mate, have I. 
 
 I stood within the world of trade. 
 And marked the cares by ]-iches made; 
 I saw its dupes, in surging street, 
 Pursuing wealth, with aching feet; 
 I saw it drive them madly on, 
 Tho' weary day to rest had gone; 
 And then I heard desponding sighs. 
 And marked how few had won the prize, 
 And saw how wretched miser dies; 
 And then I thought: What slaves they are! 
 To be like them? — 'twere better far, 
 
[54 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 To be the bird that sung and sang 
 The happy song that rung and rang: 
 I bathe my wing in pearly dew, 
 And sing and sing, dear mate, for you; 
 I cleave the air when foe is nigh, 
 Nor care, nor care, dear mate, have I. 
 
 I strolled thro' stately, gilded halls. 
 
 And marked the ways in siren balls; 
 
 I saw, within the mazy dance, 
 
 The eye of beauty hotly glance; 
 
 I saw the cheek of manhood glow. 
 
 Inspired by wine and passions low; 
 And then I heard a tale of woe, 
 And marked a reeling drunkard go. 
 And saw a wanton, wicked blow; 
 
 And then I thought: What knaves they are! 
 
 To be like them? — 'twere better far. 
 
THE CURLEW SONG. 1 55 
 
 To be the bird that sung and sang 
 The happ}' song that rung and rang: 
 I bathe my wing in pearly dew, 
 And sing and sing, dear mate, for 3'ou ; 
 I cleave the air when foe is nigh. 
 Nor care, nor care, dear mate, have I. 
 
 And then I roamed 'mid real worth. 
 
 And marked the scenes where joy has birth; 
 
 I saw the laughing eye of youth, 
 
 Reflect the light of holy truth; 
 
 I saw the eve of life come on. 
 
 And bring a hope of golden dawn; 
 And then I heard the voice of song. 
 And marked a land unruled b}'- wrong. 
 And saw a glad, contented throng; 
 
 And then I thought: How wise they are! 
 
 To be like them were better far, 
 
156 
 
 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Than be the bird that sung and sang 
 The happy song, tliat rung and rang: 
 I bathe my wing in pearly dew, 
 And sing, and sing, dear mate, for you; 
 I cleave the air when foe is nigh, 
 Noi' care, nor care, dear nrate, have I. 
 
 
SA/L/Nd \NEATII THE CROSS. 
 
 '57 
 
 ^ 
 
 5AiLii<6 '^SmTHE(B©35, 
 
 When you leave the harbor, in the glow of morning, 
 Thinking not of danger, dreaming not of loss. 
 
 Hear yon then the Master give the gentle warning: 
 Sailor, make thy voyage, sailing 'neath the cross. 
 
 When you ride the ocean, storms around you beating. 
 Battling with the billows, that in fury toss, 
 
 Hear you then the Master lovingly entreating: 
 Sailor, seek for safety, sailing 'neath the cross. 
 
 When you sight the haven, with a joy enthralling. 
 Bringing golden treasure, unalloyed by dross. 
 
 Hear you then the Master, o'er the waters, calling: 
 Sailor, speed thy nearing, sailing 'neath the cross. 
 
15S LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 I'LL SING. 
 
 I'll sing in the morning 
 
 A song to the King, 
 Whose magic awakened 
 
 The slumbering spring; 
 Whose fiat has given 
 
 The streamlets their birth, 
 Whose pencil is painting 
 
 The flowers of earth. 
 
 I'll sing in the morning 
 
 A song to the One, 
 Whose splendor is mirrored 
 
 In dewdrop and sun ; 
 Whose smiling is answered 
 
 By mountain and plain. 
 Whose glory is murmured 
 
 By billows of grain. 
 
FLL SING. 159 
 
 I'll sing in the morning 
 
 A song to the Lord, 
 Whose bounty has given 
 
 The reapers reward; 
 Whose foinitains have flooded 
 
 The meadows with gold, 
 Whose goodness and mercy 
 
 Can never be told. 
 
 I'll sing in the morning 
 
 A song to the Guide, 
 Whose mandate can silence 
 
 The tempest and tide; 
 Whose presence is sunlight 
 
 In winter and gloom. 
 Whose pleasure makes Eden 
 
 Eternally bloom. 
 
i6o 
 
 LriNCS OF 77 {E LARIAT. 
 
 fll praise The Redeemer^ 
 
 In days of the spring-., 
 And praise Hivi in summer., 
 
 W/ien bonghs gently szving^ 
 And praise Him in autumn., 
 
 Wlien leaves are a - zvi/ig. 
 And praise Him in xvinter., — 
 
 Yes., ever Pll sing. 
 
PANDORA. 
 
 l6l 
 
 With tireless tread, Pandora goes, 
 And bears, with pride, the box of woes 
 She brought, to earth, to give the one 
 Who mocked the gods and robbed the sun. 
 
 That dowry gift supplies her well. 
 With human hurts — those imps of hell; 
 And so she wends thro' ev'ry land. 
 And deals out ills with lavish hand. 
 
1 62 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 She finds her way to hut and hall, 
 And flings a tear to great and small; 
 And e'en as buds by frosts are killed. 
 So hearts, of love, by her are stilled. 
 
 And yet within her box of pain, 
 Of hope, there lies one golden grain, 
 And he to whom she gives a woe, 
 May find the gem concealed below. 
 
 And he who gains that golden gift, 
 In sorrow's cloud will see the rift; 
 And tho' he treads the vale of gloom, 
 Will scent the rose of rare perfume. 
 
 O, thankless one, then thankful be. 
 Nor scorn the grief she brings to thee; 
 For the' she wounds thy tender heart. 
 She offers balm to cure the smart. 
 
BAIT. 
 
 163 
 
 In the streams of life 
 
 that swiftly glide, 
 Where the hooks are cast 
 
 for honors great, 
 Tho' the few may l^nd 
 
 the game with pride, 
 All the rest of earth 
 
 must cut the bait. 
 
164 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 For the one who holds the potent reel 
 
 O'er the depths that bear our ship of state, 
 
 Has a need no more to bless the keel 
 
 Than he has the friends who cut the bait. 
 
 So, the ones who seek for miser gold, 
 
 In the wake of fears and dogged by hate. 
 
 Gather up and hoard their wealth untold, 
 By the toil of those who cut the bait. 
 
 And the ones who own the flying trains, 
 That are borne on wings of seeming fate, 
 
 Hurry on the wheels, thro' snows and rains. 
 By the skill of those who cut the bait. 
 
 But the man who gains the final goal, 
 
 Where the wreaths of fame for victor wait. 
 
 Very soon has learned to wield the pole 
 With a hand that knows to cut the bait. 
 
CONTENT. 
 
 16=; 
 
 CooteoL 
 
 Where the fowl, with a lordly pride, 
 
 Calls to the drowsy morn, 
 And the pig, with a careless stride. 
 
 Roams in a wealth of corn, 
 And the cow, in the twilight wan. 
 
 Rests in the narrow lane, 
 And the horse, at the blush of dawn. 
 
 Feeds in the boundless plain. 
 Remote from the fields of strife, 
 And sweet from the Fount of life, 
 Content, with the grace of rhyme, 
 Flows o'er the sands of time. 
 
166 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Where the hid, by the hmpid brook, 
 
 Sits with a rural rod, 
 And the dog, in a restful nook, 
 
 Sleeps on the velvet sod, 
 And the lark, with a liquid trill. 
 
 Mounts to the bending sky, 
 And the breeze, with a mystic thrill. 
 
 Makes to the bird reply. 
 Remote from the 
 
 fields of strife, 
 And glad from 
 
 the Source of life, 
 Content, with 
 
 a bliss divine. 
 Bows at 
 
 a sylvan 
 shrine. 
 
CONTENT. 
 
 167 
 
 Where the Hght, on a peaceful scene, 
 
 Falls where the zephyrs play, 
 And the wood, with a smile serene. 
 
 Lies in the arms of day. 
 And the bud, with the rifting crown, 
 
 Swells to the gorgeous rose. 
 And the eve, in a silvered gown, 
 
 Sinks to a soft repose. 
 Remote from the 
 
 fields of strife 
 And bright from 
 the Throne 
 
 of life. 
 Content, with 
 
 a wizard hand. 
 Rules o'er the 
 
 love-lit land 
 
1 68 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 KITTY. 
 
 Ah, my pet, so sweetly sleeping, 
 While the phantom shades are creeping, 
 Wake at once, for now I'm lonely, 
 But for 3'ou am longing only; — 
 Wake, my Kitty, wake. 
 
 Ah, my pet, 
 
 so gently waking. 
 Come to me, your rug 
 
 forsaking, 
 And my arms shall safely rest you. 
 Where no one will dare molest you; — ^^-'t^ 
 
 Come, my Kitty, come. 
 
KITTT. 
 
 169 
 
 Ah, my pet, so softly purring, 
 Even tho' the mice are stirring, 
 Sing to me, nor heed their scheming, 
 Even the' they think you dreaming; — 
 Sing, my Kitty, sing. 
 
17° LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 WHAT? 
 
 What hope is yours, O one with darling boy? 
 What dream is yours, that fills your soul with joy? 
 What path is that, you counsel him to tread? 
 What pray'r is that, you whisper o'er his bed? 
 
 A hope that Worth will cro-^n his name; 
 
 A dream that Time will sing his fame; 
 
 A path that sin has ne'er defiled; 
 
 A pray'r for grace for him, my child. 
 
 What hope is yours, O fond and trusting lad? 
 What dream is yours, that makes your heart so glad ? 
 What path is that, you vow you e'er will keep? 
 What pray'r is that, you say before you sleep? 
 
 A hope that cheers like meed of praise; 
 
 A dream that Right will guide my ways; 
 
 A path that leads to heights above; 
 
 A pray'r that sweeps the chords of love. 
 
WHA T? 171 
 
 What now the hope, O worn and faithful one? 
 What now the dream for him, your wayward son? 
 What now the path he goes with falt'ring pace? 
 What now the pray'r for him, who sneers at grace? 
 
 A hope that ends in grief and gloom; 
 
 A dream that tells of death and doom; 
 
 A path where Furies rove and rave; 
 
 A pray'r, to God, for help to save. 
 
 What now the hope, O man of golden dawn? 
 What now the dream to spur and woo you on? 
 What now the path that yet hefore you lies? 
 What now the pray'r you send to greet the skies? 
 
 A hope an imp would dread to claim; 
 
 A dream of woe and want and shame; 
 
 A path where serpents writhe and crawl; 
 
 A pray'r for drink, a curse, is all. 
 
172 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 may claim thy love alone, 
 For trust I will not pine, 
 As love is but the bud alone, 
 That bursts to trust divine; 
 Then shield the bud of love from cold, 
 So that, to full, it may unfold; 
 Yes, ever guard, w^ith tender care. 
 The bud that bursts to bloom so rare, 
 If with, or without trust. 
 
HAVE I Tlir LOVE. 
 
 173 
 
 Tho' free from trust, pure love alone, 
 
 Has often pleased and won, 
 But free from love, sure trust alone, 
 Has charmed and conquered none; 
 Then shield the hud of lo\e from cold, 
 So that, to full, it may unfold; 
 Yes, ever guard, with tender care, 
 The bud that bursts to bloom so rare, 
 If with, or without trust. 
 
174 
 
 L TRIGS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Old Mammon is the mighty king, 
 Whom mortals serve and nations sing, 
 And yet who sneers at friend and foe. 
 And grimly smiles at want and woe. 
 
 The king is he, whose cruel reign 
 Has taught the heart to bow to brain; 
 And who now breaks, on rack of greed. 
 The ones that yield him servile heed. 
 
 Ay, he's the wretch who takes the boys, 
 And robs them of their childhood joys. 
 Then goads them on like galley slaves 
 And scourges them to early graves. 
 
MAMMON. 175 
 
 And he's the one, of miser hand, 
 Wlio gathers wealth in ev'ry hnul. 
 And crushes love beneath his heels. 
 Nor e'en one pang of pity feels. 
 
 Ah, he's the king, of crimes untold. 
 Who damns his folk with curse of gold. 
 And ne'er a deed, of worth, has done. 
 Nor paid the meed that Worth has won. 
 
 And e'er he rules the vassal world. 
 
 And keeps a pirate flag unfurled. 
 
 And even holds despotic sway. 
 
 When Rest would claim her jDrecious day. 
 
 Then down with him, the sordid one, 
 Who basely plans, from sun to sun, 
 To frighten sleep from teary eyes, 
 And fill the earth with weary sighs. 
 
176 
 
 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 F, ho! we slip the hawser, 
 
 And loose, and launch the boat, 
 To speed upon the waters. 
 
 To joy, to dream and float; 
 For Fancy sends but pleasure, 
 
 To cleave, to breast the deep, 
 Where waves seem molten silver, 
 
 Becalmed, bewitched to sleep. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 177 
 
 Heigho! upon life's ocean, 
 
 We race, we glide along, 
 And hail the pulsing billows. 
 
 With laugh, with shout and song; 
 For wings of snowy canvas, 
 
 Have kissed, have caught the breeze, 
 And bear us swiftly onward, 
 
 To sing, to rule the seas. 
 
 But lo! we're sadly longing 
 
 To greet, to gain the shore, 
 For billows now are foaming. 
 
 And leap, and toss and roar, 
 And giant winds are wailing 
 
 A threat, a dirge of woe, 
 And mighty depths are calling 
 
 To beds, to graves below. 
 
178 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 But no! the winds have vanished, 
 
 To rave, to wail no more, 
 And ocean -waves have banished 
 
 The frown, the scowl they wore, 
 And all we weary farers 
 
 In port, in peace may be. 
 Where tempests do not gather, 
 
 To lash, to rouse the sea. 
 
 We're on life's ocean sailing., 
 
 Sailing day by day.. 
 And o''er the billows bounding., 
 
 Bounding far away., 
 And tho' the waters thunder., 
 
 Thunder ''neath the gale., 
 We yet may voyage safely.. 
 
 Safely home may sail. 
 
RULER AND COMPOSER. 179 
 
 The Present truly seems unjust, 
 
 For oft it pays where naught is due, 
 
 And then again lays claim to trust, 
 
 From those who've rendered service true. 
 
 It fawns on those of princely birth. 
 
 And smooths the sunny paths they tread, 
 
 And surfeits them on fat of earth. 
 
 While Merit dines on crusts of bread. 
 
 But tho' it bows to royal will. 
 
 And lowly bends at gilded shrine, 
 
 It scorns the one whose magic skill 
 
 Enchants the world with chords divine: 
 
l8o LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Who sweetly sings on sacred mount, 
 And stirs the pulse of Rapture there, 
 
 And gladly fills, at fabled fount. 
 The cup of Joy for lips of Care. 
 
 Who gladdens poor as well as rich, 
 For cottage writes as well as hall, 
 
 And wakens notes, that woo and witch 
 Alike in dance and courtly ball. 
 
 Whose song is like the dainty bloom. 
 That bursts beside the dusty road, 
 
 And floods the air with rich perfume, 
 For all who bear life's heavy load. 
 
 And yet, altho' he lifts the cloud, 
 That darkly veils the face of day, 
 
 There swell, for him, no plaudits loud. 
 Nor twines, for him, a wreath of bay. 
 
RULER AND COMPOSER. l8l 
 
 But tho' the Present thus is dumb, 
 
 When Right demands that praise should ring, 
 In time, to be, Dehght will come, 
 
 And o'er the tomb of Merit sing. 
 
 The Present spreads o'er titled dead, 
 
 A purple pall of richest woof, 
 And makes for him a marble bed, 
 
 Beneath the mausoleum's roof. 
 
 But when the artist lays him down — 
 His couch perchance a pauper bier — 
 
 The Present dons no sable gown. 
 Nor deigns to shed a kindly tear. 
 
 And yet, when kingly vault is locked. 
 The key is thrown in Lethe's wave; 
 
 And loving Thought has rarely knocked, 
 Where slumber those in royal grave. 
 
LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 But great composers never die, 
 
 E'en tho' their earthly race be run; 
 
 For whereso'er they hve or He, 
 
 There is, for them, no setting sun. 
 
 And polished stone may claim no part. 
 When artist wears the crown of fame; 
 
 For then, within the human heart, 
 
 The hand of God has g-i-aved his name. 
 
ONL r. 
 
 183 
 
 Only a few little rays of dawn, 
 
 Giving a glimmer of light; 
 
 Only a smile, and the day is gone 
 
 Leaving the shadows of night; 
 
 So, gladly we cling to the hand above, 
 
 And carol a song of the morn of love. 
 
 Only a few little strands of fate, 
 
 Given to mortals to spin; 
 Only a step to the mystic gate, 
 Swinging its welcoming-in; 
 So, gladly we go at the day's decline, 
 To revel in bliss, in a realm divine. 
 
i84 
 
 LTNICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Only a few little days are ours, 
 
 Laden with labor and strife; 
 Only a few little wayside flow'rs, 
 Blossom in valleys of life; 
 So, gladly we press thro' the vales of gloom, 
 To beautiful fields in the land of bloom. 
 
WHEN. 
 
 WHEN? 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 When baby receives the fatherly kiss, 
 When little ones coo, in heavenly bliss. 
 When parent and child sing hallowed lays, 
 When rapture resounds in lowliest ways, 
 O Sot, O Thou, of smouldering brain. 
 Do sights, like these, give pleasure or pain ? 
 O Sot, O Thou, of darkening sky. 
 Do sights, like these, awaken no sigh? 
 
 When motherly love gives happiness birth. 
 When little ones shout their innocent mirth, 
 When parlor is strewn with trinkets and toys, 
 When orchard is filled with frolicking boys, 
 O Sot, O Thou, of smouldering brain. 
 Do sights, like these, give pleasure or pain? 
 O Sot, O Thou, of withering heart. 
 Do sights, like these, awaken no smart? 
 
l86 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 When Evil entraps the manliest men, 
 When Virtue is lost in hideous den, 
 When Furies dethrone the goddess of Right, 
 When Horrors invoke the demons of night, 
 O Sot, O Thou, of smouldering brain, 
 Do sights, like these, give pleasure or pain r 
 O Sot, O Thou of perishing soul. 
 Do sights, like these, betoken a goal? 
 
 When shivering wife is flying with dread. 
 When hungering child is crying for bread. 
 When Poverty walks the sorrowing land. 
 When Misery smites with murderous hand, 
 O Sot, O Thou, of smouldering brain, 
 Do sights, like these, give pleasure or pain? 
 O Sot, O Thou, of maddening spell. 
 Do sights, like these, betoken a hell? 
 
GONE BEFORE. 
 
 187 
 
 i (sToiAe'Be.f'ore. 
 
 Gone before — 
 Closed the mystic door! 
 
 Soft the loved is sleeping, 
 
 Safe in holy keeping; 
 
 Cease the bitter weeping — 
 Only gone before! 
 
 Gone before — 
 
 Gained the unknown shore! 
 Hosts are gladly singing; 
 Harps are sweetly ringing; 
 Joy thro' heav'n is winging — 
 
 Only gone before! 
 
i88 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Gone before — 
 Balm for hearts so sore! 
 O, forget your sorrow; 
 Smiles from dear hope borrow; 
 Loved you'll greet to-morrow — 
 Only gone before! 
 
A POETIC PROPOSAL. 1S9 
 
 A POETIC PROPOSAL. 
 
 " O love, my love, my only love. 
 Be now my own true wife," 
 An ardent suitor whispered low, 
 To one he prized as life; 
 " And then, as one, we'll gently glide 
 Adown the stream of time;" — 
 To which the maiden calmly said : 
 " Lord Byron wrote that rhyme." 
 
 " O love," he sighed, " my angel one, 
 
 I worship none but you. 
 For in the round of all the earth, 
 
 No other one's so true; 
 And should you cast my love aside, 
 
 Despair would fill my breast;" — 
 To which the maiden gently said: 
 
 " Those lines are Bulwer's best." 
 
rpo LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 " O love," he moaned, " but lend a smile, 
 
 And fame shall weave a spell, 
 To make the lips of wond'ring man. 
 
 My vs^orth and valor tell; 
 For, armed by thought and hope of you, 
 
 I'll w^age a vs^ar w^ith wrong;" — 
 To which the maiden kindly said: 
 
 " La me, that's Cowper's song." 
 
 « O love," he cried, " my peerless one, 
 
 O sylph, with grace divine, 
 You do not dream the mighty flame 
 
 Within this heart of mnie; 
 For you I'd smite the shield of Death, 
 
 Nor shrink to meet the fray ; " — 
 To which the maiden softly said: 
 
 "Tom Campbell tuned that lay." 
 
A POETIC PROPOSAL. 
 
 " O love," he groaned, " I pray you speak, 
 
 That I may know my fate, 
 And even now your magic voice 
 
 Could open heaven's gate; 
 O yield your heart, seraphic one, 
 
 I, bending, now implore;" — 
 To which the maiden sweetly said: 
 
 " That strain was sung by ISIoore." 
 
 " You wicked witch," he fairly hissed, 
 " I'd wed a shriveled shrew, 
 Before I'd be compelled to live 
 
 With such an imp as you; 
 Besides, you're such a homely hag, 
 Dore ne'er sketched a worse;" — 
 To which the maiden fondly said: 
 "Why, Pet, that's Dante's verse." 
 
LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 h^.^ 
 
 O hasten, my darling, while sunlight is streaming. 
 And tarry till moonlight, in glory, is beaming, 
 For welcome, unmeasured, is waiting to meet 3'ou, 
 And kisses, unnumbered, are longing to greet you. 
 Ah, truly, the skies have brightened above me. 
 Since hearing your vows and knowing you love me; 
 And even the birds, transported with j^leasure. 
 Seem ever repeating: Come hither, my treasure. 
 
HASTEN. 193 
 
 4 
 
 I'll garland you gladly, with chaplet, so holy, 
 
 Of roses, so ruby, and lilies, so lowly; 
 
 I'll whisper you softly, a story inspiring, 
 
 Of loving forever, with ardor untiring. 
 
 As leaflet and bud awake in the shower. 
 
 My heart and my soul acknowledge your power; 
 
 As smiling of spring, each morning, grows brighter, 
 
 My spirit, my darling, in loving, grows lighter. 
 
 Enchanted, we'll wander in fairyland bowers, 
 Where angels are bending o'er ravishing flowers; 
 Enraptured, we'll hearken to music enthralling. 
 Where loudly the songster its sweetheart is calling. 
 O give me but love, unchangeably glowing, 
 And fountains of trust, unceasingly flowing. 
 And heaven, itself, with rapture, will quiver, 
 While safely, together, we're crossing life's river. 
 
'94 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 The sheen of the morn, 
 
 On the valley and mountain, 
 The gems of the field, 
 
 And the gifts of the mine, 
 The glance of the rill". 
 
 And the gleam of the fountain, 
 All tell, with their splendor. 
 
 Of Power Divine. 
 
POWER DIVINE. 
 
 '95 
 
 The voice of the bird, 
 
 In a rapture of s^ladness, 
 The sigh of the wind, 
 
 Thro' the whispering pine, 
 The hush of the eve, 
 
 With its shadow of sadness, 
 All tell, with their magic, 
 
 Of Power Divine. 
 
 The tints of the wood. 
 
 And their delicate blending. 
 The skirts of the cloud. 
 
 And their mystical sign. 
 The Queen of the Night, 
 
 And her armies attending, 
 All tell, with their beauty. 
 
 Of Power Divine. 
 
196 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 The blades of the storm, 
 
 That the tempest is flashing, 
 The worlds that revolve 
 
 In the hand of Design, 
 The wrath of the deep. 
 
 When the billows are dashing, 
 All tell, with their grandeur, 
 
 Of Power Divine. 
 
 O Light of all light. 
 
 And the Source of all being, 
 The land and the sea 
 
 And the heavens are Thine, 
 And over them all, 
 
 And in wisdom decreeing, 
 Thou rulest forever, 
 
 With Power Divine. 
 
LIFE'S SERVICE. 
 
 197 
 
 -^ 
 
 r^™ ^ J 
 
 In the morn of life, 
 V/hen the sun is shining bright, 
 When the iieart is heating light, 
 When the eyes are lit with glee, 
 When we sail the silv'ry sea, 
 We should look upon The One, 
 Who was slain on Calvary. 
 
198 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 In the noon of life, 
 When the sun is throned on high, 
 When tiie days go swiftly by, 
 When the heart is bowed with care, 
 When we bend beneath despair. 
 We should call upon The One, 
 Who will all our burdens bear. 
 
 In the eve of life. 
 When the sun is sinking low. 
 When the arms aweary grow, 
 When for strength we vainly call. 
 When the friends around us fall, 
 We should lean upon The One, 
 Who has loving- aid for all. 
 
LIFE'S AFTERNOON. 
 
 [99 
 
 
 Just twenty years ago, my love, 
 
 Just twenty years to-day, 
 As fairy blooms awoke, my love, 
 
 At nudge of roguish Ma^^, 
 We gladly joined our hands, my love. 
 
 And vowed to go as one. 
 Along the winding path, mv love, 
 
 That ends where life is done. 
 
200 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 When compassed round by cares, my dear, 
 
 Your faith has been the wand, 
 That cleft, for me, the way, my dear, 
 
 Thro' seas of dark despond; 
 And when the clouds grew dark, my dear, 
 
 And hid my sky from view, 
 I yet have found the light, my dear. 
 
 When safe at home, with you. 
 
 When Doubt has thrown her spell, my love. 
 
 You've smiled away my fears; 
 When Grief has wailed her dirge, my love, 
 
 You've kissed away my tears; 
 And when my soul was bound, my love, 
 
 With chains of gaunt Despair, 
 You've quickly loosed my bonds, my love, 
 
 With words of hope and prayer. 
 
LIFE'S AFTERNOON. 
 
 It may perchance be true, dear one, 
 
 As many sadly say, 
 That Time has touched your face, dear one, 
 
 And tinged your hair with gray; 
 And yet, to me, it seems, dear one, 
 
 That you are fairer now, 
 Than on that bkishing morn, dear one, 
 
 We made that holy vow. 
 
 But if your beauty fades, my love, 
 
 At chilling touch of care, 
 And if the autumn frost, my love, 
 
 Now steals upon your hair. 
 The lilies in your heart, my love. 
 
 Yet bud and burst and blow. 
 As sweetly as they did, my love. 
 
 A score of years ago. 
 
202 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Yet well, full well, we know, dear wife, 
 
 Our Morn has wed the Noon, 
 And that we left them both, dear wife, 
 
 Not far from land of June; 
 And Eve will shortly come, dear wife. 
 
 With step as soft as light. 
 And gently lead us home, dear wife, 
 
 To realms beyond the Night, 
 
AN ASP. 
 
 203 
 
 Behold, at eve, I found an asp, 
 Which then I took with kindly grasp, 
 And boie it hence with loving clasp, 
 But loose again with burning heart, 
 And brain that throbs with fevered start, 
 And eyes that pulse with fiery smart. 
 
 Behold, that asp, so stark and chill, 
 Once lonely lay on barren hill. 
 Where tempest voice was sharp and shrill, 
 While lurking doom about it prowled, 
 And frenzied wrath above it howled, 
 And glaring death anear it scowled. 
 
204 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Behold, with strange and youthful zest, 
 I fondly gave that serpent rest. 
 Upon my warm and trustful breast, 
 And then, by care, in princely store, 
 I wooed it back to life once more. 
 And kept it safe till night was o'er. 
 
 Behold, again, as morning sang. 
 And rosy light to heaven sprang. 
 That hooded asp, with deadly fang. 
 Gave silent stroke, with purpose fell. 
 To fill my veins with molten hell. 
 And chain my soul with dying spell. 
 
 Behold, that asp — Ingratitude — 
 That worst of all the devil's brood — 
 With cunning wile and malice shrewd. 
 Contrives to strike the venomed blow, 
 To lay the form of friendship low. 
 And blast the life where flowers grow. 
 
ONCE MORE. 
 
 205 
 
 VFmi -■■''*" "'" " 
 
 I saw, to-day, 
 Some little ones play, 
 Who sung an old song as I passed, 
 And woke, for me. 
 By wand, of their glee, 
 A vision too sacred to last. 
 * * * 
 At eve, once more, 
 Again, as of yore, 
 My stocking I hung on the wall, 
 For well I knew 
 That Santa, so true, 
 Ere morning, with goodies, would call. 
 
2o6 
 
 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 ~- ,v rj^_i'^ \ 
 
 I heard, once more, 
 A threatening roar, 
 
 As Tempests, by Furies, 
 
 were led, 
 Yet gave no care. 
 For mother was there 
 
 To lovingly tuck me in bed. 
 
 With shouts, once more, 
 On glistening floor, 
 
 I galloped, astride of a broom, 
 And slid down stairs, 
 And jostled the chairs, 
 
 And frolicked in mother's 
 
 best room. 
 
ONCE MORE. 
 
 207 
 
 At school, once more, 
 I chiseled the door, 
 13y aid of Bill Barlow, so 
 keen, 
 
 Then bounded out, 
 With echoine^ shout, 
 To sjoort on the beautiful green. 
 
 With sled, once more, 
 
 As often before, 
 Tho' sharp was the wintery air, 
 
 I climbed the hill. 
 
 With hearty good will. 
 For happiness waited me there. 
 
2o8 Ll'JilCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And then, once more, 
 
 My trousers 1 tore, 
 When bending a sapling to ride. 
 
 But still no word, 
 
 Of sorrow, was heard. 
 Good clothing ne'er being my pride. 
 
 I sought, once more, 
 
 A hallowed shore. 
 And joyfully sprang in a stream, 
 
 Whose glad embrace, 
 
 And silvery face. 
 Bewitched like a beautiful dream. 
 
 But now, once more, 
 Those visions are o'er. 
 
 Whose magic illumined the sky; 
 And spring is dead. 
 And summer has fled. 
 
 And autumn -winds plaintively sigh. 
 
ONCE MORE. 
 
 209 
 
 O Dreams, so sweet, 
 
 The weary ye greet. 
 And woo them to Memory's bow'rs; 
 
 And robe thy views 
 
 In heaveidv hnes. 
 And border hfe's river with flow'rs. 
 
HOBO'S LAMENT. 
 
 211 
 
 sorry Hobo 
 Is simply a wreck, from top to the toe; 
 And wearily now, is pounding the road, 
 With speed of a mule, when yanking a load; 
 Yes, hitting the trail, with usual zeal, 
 To get to the East, to rustle a meal; 
 
 And O, my O, this sorry Hobo 
 Is simply a wreck, from top to the toe. 
 
212 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And O, my O, this silly Hobo 
 Is foor number one, of fools that you know; 
 For surely he thought, when so he was told, 
 That here, at the front, were slathers of gold; 
 And so he cut loose, along with the rest. 
 And rode in the filth, away to the West; 
 
 And O, my O, this silly Hobo 
 Is fool number one, of fools that you know. 
 
 And O, my O, this luny Hobo 
 Then wanted to make a wonderful show; 
 So, waded in mud, and scolded and fussed. 
 And basted the mules, and shouted and cussed, 
 And rastled with bread, that surely was sad, 
 And tussled with meat, that truly was bad; 
 
 And O, my O, this luny Hobo 
 Then wanted to make a wonderful show. 
 
HOBO'S LAMENT. 213 
 
 And O, my O, this crazy Hobo 
 Soon went to the bad, as graders will go; 
 For when, by good luck, he chanced to be paid, 
 He reckoned that then, his fortune was made; 
 And so, to the dens, he hurried away. 
 And gambled by night, and guzzled by day; 
 
 And O, my O, this crazy Hobo 
 Soon went to the bad, as graders will go. 
 
 And O, my O, this bummy Hobo 
 Soon had for a bed, but beautiful snow; 
 For when, to the dives, his money had gone, 
 Like Wandering Jew, he had to move on; 
 And Poverty's foot then gave him a kick, 
 And many a tough repeated the trick ; 
 
 And O, my O, this bummy Hobo 
 Soon had for a bed, but beautiful snow. 
 
214 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And O, my O, this busted Hobo 
 Now hustles to make this journey of woe; 
 For here, in the West, where grading is done, 
 There isn't a husk for Prodigal Son; 
 And sadly he says, nor should you forget, 
 That, under his belt, there's stomach to let; 
 
 And O, my O, this busted Hobo 
 Now hustles to make this journey of woe. 
 
O THOU, SUPREME. 
 
 215 
 
 MORNING SONG. 
 
 O Thou, Supreme, 
 
 Thou Mighty One, 
 
 With heavens for thy throne. 
 Be with us all, till life is done. 
 
 Then claim us as Thine own, 
 
 EVENING SONG. 
 
 O Thou, Supreme, 
 
 where seraphs throng, 
 
 Enthroned above the night, 
 Give ear and hear our jDarting song. 
 
 And lead us all to ligfht. 
 
THE CIHLDREN'S HOUR. 
 
 317 
 
 in/v^QRy or [ortefeopw. 
 
 In the study, quaint and cozy, 
 
 With its walls, by pictures hidden, 
 With its shelves, by volumes laden, 
 With its grate, by mantel sheltered. 
 With its desk, by papers covered, 
 vSat the poet, lone and silent, 
 As the light with darkness dallied, 
 In the trysts where shadows gathered. 
 When, upon the winding stairway , 
 
 With their cheeks, aglow with gladness, 
 With their eyes, ablaze with gladness, 
 With their voices, hushed to silence, 
 With their footsteps, stilled to silence, 
 
2l8 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Came the children, tripping lightly, 
 Came the children, stealing softly, 
 Lightly as the rosy morning, 
 Softly as the dusky ev'ning, 
 Thro' the open doorway gliding, 
 Gliding in as daylight loitered, 
 To the wide -armed chair, so restful, 
 Where, unmoving, deeply thinking. 
 Sat the poet as if sleeping. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 
 
 Then, with glee, they pounced upon him, 
 And with shouts and peals of laughter. 
 As upon his knees, they clambered. 
 And about his neck they clustered. 
 Proudly called themselves his captors. 
 
 But the dear, the roguish darlings 
 Quickly found that fate was fickle. 
 For, instead of boasting captors. 
 They, ere long, were pleading pris'ners, 
 Held by giant arms so closely. 
 That ihey vainly strove for freedom. 
 
 Tired, at last, with useless striving. 
 Striving vainly with their fetters. 
 They declared, in accents humble. 
 That, to gain, again, their freedom, 
 They would gladly give a ransom, 
 
220 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 E'en a ransom from the treasure, 
 Given by their loving Father. 
 
 Then the proud and stalwart victor, 
 Tho' full loth to loose the pris'ners, 
 Yet more loth to lose the ransom. 
 Yielded to their princely offer; 
 But declared that captives, ever, 
 By the rules of lawless warfare, 
 
 Such as they, the rogues, were waging. 
 Were required to pay the ransom, 
 Ere they gained again their freedom; 
 And that he would, therefore, never 
 Loose and free them from their fetters. 
 Till they paid to him the treasure 
 The}' had offered for their freedom. 
 
 Then, at once, they gave him freely, 
 From the wealth of priceless treasure, 
 
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 221 
 
 Given by their loving Father, 
 Kisses, kisses, many kisses, 
 
 Man}-, sweetest, purest kisses, 
 For of such was all the treasure, 
 Given by their loving Father. 
 
 Then the proud and stalwart victor, 
 Well content to gain the ransom. 
 Loosed and freed them from the fetters. 
 That withheld, from them, their freedom. 
 
 But while yet the children lingered 
 Round the throne of their misfortune. 
 Conscience, clad in whitest raiment. 
 White as robes the lofty mountains. 
 White as robes the holy angels, 
 Came, as comes the lovely morning 
 With its torch of love outholding. 
 
222 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT, 
 
 Came, as comes the peaceful ev'ning 
 With its wand of peace oiitreaching, 
 
 And the victor thus admouished, 
 Gently, kindly, thus admonished: 
 
 Do not rob the darling children. 
 
 But return, to them, the ransom 
 
 You have taken from the treasure, 
 
 Given by their loving Father; 
 
 Victor, do not rob the children. 
 
 Then, much moved, he heard the whispers 
 Of the voice of white - robed Conscience, 
 And, rejoicing, gave the darlings 
 Kisses, kisses, many kisses. 
 
 Many, sweetest, purest kisses, 
 And returned, in full, the ransom 
 He had taken from the treasure, 
 Given by their loving Father. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 223 
 
 Then away the children bounded, 
 
 Like the stag, when horns are ringing, 
 Liivc the liound, when prey is springing, 
 Like the steed, when spurs are stinging, 
 Thus the darhngs, huighing, shouting, 
 Bounded down the winding stairway, 
 Bearing with them all the treasure, 
 Civen by their loving Father. 
 
 All alone the poet waited. 
 
 In his study sat and waited, 
 
 Waited as the day grew fainter. 
 Waited as the shades grew deeper. 
 Waited as the night grew darker. 
 
 Vet his eyes were filled with sunlight. 
 
 For his heart was filled with love -light. 
 
324 
 
 LriUCS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 V. V 
 
 
 Is deemed by us all, 
 
 a study inviting; 
 For, in it, we read 
 
 the story of kisses. 
 And, from it, we glean our holiest blisses. 
 
LOVE'S MOODS. 
 
 225 
 
 The study of Love., has made 
 
 the vvoild better, 
 ^'Vnd there is not one who is 
 
 not its debtor; 
 Ay, even the babe — that 
 
 cheruli — rejoices, 
 i)ccause, in its heart, there 
 
 whisper Love's voices. 
 
 / love and /';« loved., are lessons inspiring, 
 Which each of us cons, unwearied, untiring; 
 For learning / love, imparts a new pleasure, 
 And learning /';« loved, gives joy beyond measure. 
 
 The task we learn first, is Love, in the present, 
 And this is because to love, is so pleasant; 
 But shortly we find that loving is fleeting. 
 For often it flies, scarce heeding our greeting. 
 
226 LJ-RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 As learning / love^ is often most vexing, 
 So learning will love., is often perplexing; 
 For Cupid, that elf, that wooer, so skilful. 
 Is often -times coy, and wayward and wilful. 
 
 And all of his aims, from mortals, are hidden. 
 Nor deigns he to do what mortals have bidden; 
 And ne'er do we learn that Love will steal round us, 
 Ere Cupid has caught and conquered and bound us. 
 
 The study of Love., is truly unending. 
 
 With numberless parts, distinct, and yet blending, 
 
 Presenting a view — one ever dissolving — 
 
 Of gladness and grief, together, revolving. 
 
 Yet lessons of Love., are ever enthralling. 
 No matter the' tears, of sorrow, are falling; 
 But toil as we may, we master them never, 
 Till reaching that home where gladness reigns ever. 
 
WOXDERFUL RIVER OF JORDAN. 227 
 
 Wonderful river of Jordan, 
 Calm is thy hallowed breast, 
 
 Whither the worn and the weary, 
 Go unto infinite rest. 
 
 Wonderful river of Jordan, 
 
 Hope of the many who mourn, 
 
 Never has wail of a sorrow. 
 Waked thy mysterious bourn. 
 
328 
 
 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Wonderful river of Jordan, 
 
 Bar to mortality's night, 
 Glory of Eden is shining, 
 
 Flooding thy bosom with light. 
 
 Wonderful river of Jordan, 
 Marge of the valley of time. 
 
 Lilies bend over thy border, 
 Kist by the heavenly clime. 
 
 Wonderful river of Jordan, 
 
 Stream where life's journey is o'er, 
 Silently bearing the lowly. 
 
 Flow to the beautiful shore. 
 
REST, PEACE, AND JO}'. 
 
 229 
 
 
 
 There is rest, true rest, 
 At the setting of the sun; 
 
 There is rest, true rest. 
 When the toiUng all is done; 
 
 There is rest, true rest, 
 Safe within the pearly gates. 
 Where the mansion, (ner yonder, 
 For the weary, ever waits, 
 
230 L7'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 There is peace, sweet peace, 
 At the dawning of the day; 
 
 There is peace, sweet peace, 
 When the shadows fade away; 
 
 There is peace, sweet peace, 
 In the Temple of the Soul, 
 In that Holy of the Holies, 
 Where hosannas ever roll. 
 
 There is joy, glad joy, 
 When mortality is run; 
 
 There is joy, glad joy. 
 When eternity is won; 
 
 There is joy, glad joy. 
 When the great, angelic throng 
 Gives a greeting and a welcome 
 In a rhapsody of song. 
 
KEEJ' US CLOSE TO THEE. 
 
 ^31 
 
 O, Lord, we all, with joy, unite, 
 To ask, in faith, that wisdom's light, 
 May guide our feet in paths of right, 
 And keep us close to Thee. 
 
 O, Lord, the lambs that chance to stray, 
 Of prowling wolves are soon the prey; 
 So guard us all by night and day, 
 And keep us close to Thee. 
 
232 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 O, Lord, thou One whose love we sing, 
 And whose dear Gift gave gladness wing, 
 Within our lives make beauty spring. 
 And keep us close to Thee. 
 
 O, Lord, when all our work is done, 
 And wearied hands sweet rest have won, 
 Take Thou us all, rejecting none, 
 And keep us close to Thee. 
 
HALLOWED SO.VG. 
 
 233 
 
 Holding aloft the banner of right, 
 Keeping its folds forever in sight, 
 Falter we not, tho' dangers are near. 
 Murmur we not, tho' heavens are drear, 
 
 Gathering faith from promise of God, 
 Having no fear of chastening rod. 
 Bravely we march to shadows of night, 
 Gladly we march to dawning of light. 
 
=34 
 
 Ll^RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Claiming the help of Infinite One, 
 Firmly resolved no duty to shun, 
 Gladness we bring to many who mourn, 
 Courage we bring to weary and worn. 
 
 Finn in the fait h^ lue journey aloitg^ 
 Waking the notes of hallowed song ^ 
 Singing of hope^ when trials begin. 
 Singing of joy, when battles we win. 
 
GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 235 
 
 Tho' glad hearts are beating, 
 
 And the joy -notes ring, 
 Old Time now is fleeting. 
 
 With a well -poised wing; 
 And soon we will sever, 
 
 With a warm "good night," 
 And thoughts that will ever. 
 
 Make the eyes grow bright; 
 And, friends, tho' as strangers. 
 
 On the paths you tread. 
 
236 
 
 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 I hope that no dangers 
 
 May be crouched o'erhead; 
 And when, on the morrow, 
 
 H0I3' night - fall nears, 
 I trust that no sorrow 
 
 Will arouse your fears; 
 And pray that your rivers, 
 
 When your course you've run, 
 May tell, by their quivers, 
 
 Of a fair - set sun. 
 
THE COW BO r PREACHER. 
 
 237 
 
 ma\ talk about the man\ 
 
 In the race to gain the skies, 
 And may even name the sinners, 
 
 You declare to win the prize. 
 But if zeal, in matters holy. 
 
 Can, for sin, at all, atone. 
 Bear in mind that bronco -riders 
 
 Won't be last to reach the throne. 
 
238 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 As you know, I left the college, 
 
 In the spring of 'eighty-one,. 
 With the wish to preach the Gospel, 
 
 Out beneath the setting sun; 
 So, I wandered to the westward, 
 
 Where the tide of empii'e rolls. 
 Seeking place to serve the Master, 
 
 At the work of saving souls. 
 
 Well, by hap, the wheel of fortune. 
 
 Steered me out upon the plain. 
 Where, it seemed, the mighty Reaper, 
 
 Scarce would think to look for grain; 
 For the crop was thin and scanty. 
 
 Yet would grow so very tall. 
 That, when Satan raised a tempest, 
 
 It was sure to lodge or fall. 
 
THE COW B or PREACHER. 
 
 •39 
 
 But, altho' the earth seemed arid, 
 
 And, in spots, was nearlv bare, 
 And, altho' the harvest vSower, 
 
 Scattered wheat but here and there, 
 Still, the stalks, if few in number. 
 
 Often gave a goodly yield. 
 Even tho' the storms of error. 
 
 Swept, at times, across the field. 
 
 »l*e- T#j: Tf(;(« 
 
240 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 For the seed would never wither, 
 
 Mattered not how poor the land, 
 As the lowly germs were planted, 
 
 By a mother's magic hand ; 
 And would therefore spring to beauty, 
 
 In despite of drouths and rust. 
 And return a golden fruitage, 
 
 For the garner of the Just. 
 
 And, of course, upon that prairie, 
 
 On that wide and waveless sea. 
 Where the skies, in moving splendor. 
 
 Span such vast eternit}^, 
 Man would grow in will and power, 
 
 Man would gain in soul and brawn, 
 And the one, at heart, a coward. 
 
 Found it best to gallop on. 
 
THE COW BO r PREACHER. 241 
 
 Well, just why, I'll never tell you, 
 
 But I liked those buccaneers, 
 Who so madly rode that ocean. 
 
 In the wake of Texan steers; 
 So, I sharply veered my rudder. 
 
 Fully bent to change my tack. 
 And was soon as wild a cowboy, 
 
 As bestrode a bronco's back. 
 
 But, one day, the others reckoned — 
 
 Just as tho' the}' didn't care — 
 That my gift was surely preaching. 
 
 Seeing how T couldn't swear; 
 And, one eve, as fairy visions, 
 
 From the past, came trooping in. 
 They declared it was my duty, 
 
 There, with them, to wrestle sin. 
 
243 LFRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Quickly, then, the touch of Conscience, 
 
 Roused me from my slothful sleep. 
 While a spirit voice repeated 
 
 Holy vows I'd failed to keep; 
 When, at once, with strange emotion, 
 
 Moved, somehow, by wizard spell, 
 I arose and told the story. 
 
 Each had heard his mother tell. 
 
 Cared I not, that hour, for glory, 
 
 Spoke I not of carping creed. 
 Nor, to words of worldly wisdom, 
 
 Gave I then a moment's heed; 
 But I simply led my hearers, 
 
 'Mid the mob, beneath the tree. 
 Where the One, of love and mercy, 
 
 Died, for them, on Calvary. 
 
THE COWBOY PREACHER. 
 
 243 
 
 I ( '/,/' I' 
 
 Ere my simple tale was finished, 
 
 Many eyes were filled with tears, 
 And upon no lip was resting. 
 
 E'en the trace of cynic sneers; 
 Later still, when praise was offered, 
 
 Many sung that song of yore: 
 Come, ye sinners, poor and needy, 
 
 Weak and wounded, sick and sore. 
 
244 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 Now, it chanced that one, queer fellow. 
 
 Left the crowd as I begun, 
 Stating that he choosed to vanish. 
 
 Till that pious chap was done; 
 Whereupon the rest concluded. 
 
 It was best to teach him, then. 
 That, when others talked religion. 
 
 He should say, at least, "Amen." 
 
 So, when service all had ended. 
 
 Plunged they him, by law of might, 
 In a pool of muddy water, 
 
 Claiming thus they served him right; 
 And as forth he blindly scrambled, 
 
 Of all sights about the worst. 
 Gave they him a second sousing, 
 
 So he'd know he'd been immersed. 
 
THE COWBOr PREACHER. 
 
 245 
 
 Therefore, when vou count the many 
 
 In the race to gain the skies, 
 And are pointing out the sinners, 
 
 You decUn-e to win the prize, 
 Bear in mind, if zeal is worthy, 
 
 And, for sin, may e'er atone, 
 Then the rider of tlie bronco. 
 
 Won't be hist to reach the throne. 
 
246 
 
 LTRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 When wave is silvern, and the clonds are few, 
 And keel is oaken, and the spars are new, 
 If Love go with ns o'er the boundless blue. 
 We'll gain Eternity. 
 
 When sky is sullen, and the winds are cold, 
 And flock is straying, and the wolves are bokl, 
 If lambs we gather, for the Lord's great fold, 
 We'll gain Eternity. 
 
ETERNITY. 
 
 HI 
 
 When sea is surging, and the sails are torn, 
 And hulk is straining, and the ropes are worn, 
 If cares, of others, in our hearts, are borne, 
 We'll gain Eternity. 
 
 When strength is fallen, and the years are run, 
 And work is ended, and the strifes are done, 
 If sins we've battled, and the fights we've won, 
 We'll gain Eternity. 
 
248 
 
 L vines OF THE L Ah' I AT, 
 
 The pioneer, on Western plain, 
 
 Requires more nerve and daring. 
 Than they who step to martial strain, 
 
 Or Valor's plumes are wearing; 
 For he may claim but walls of sod, 
 
 Tho' storms be wildly raving, 
 And Want full often plies the rod, 
 
 As Fate he's sternly braving; 
 
THE SOD HOUSE COMING. 249 
 
 And you, of love, when hours you while, 
 As cars go westward humming. 
 
 Fling out a kiss, and wing a smile. 
 When you see the sod house coming. 
 
 The pioneer, on boundless plain, 
 
 Has stirred the wilds to duty. 
 For deserts now, bear golden grain, 
 
 And witch the eye with beauty; 
 And there, within the humble homes, 
 
 Diviner notes are ringing, 
 Than wake the aisles of statel}^ domes, 
 
 When choirs are proudly singing; 
 And you, of pride, when hours you while, 
 
 As cars go westward humming, 
 Bend low your heads, nor dare revile. 
 
 When you see tlie sod house coming. 
 
250 
 
 Ll'RICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 The pioneer, on treeless plain, 
 
 Should live in song and story. 
 And far across the rolling main. 
 
 Should speed his name of glory; 
 For never yet to peaceful strife, 
 
 Went forth n'lore valiant foeman. 
 Nor ever yet, on field of life, 
 
 Has strived more sturdy yeoman ; 
 And you, of fame, when hours you while. 
 
 As cars go westward humming, 
 Slow down your train, and lift your tile. 
 
 When you see the sod house coming. 
 
PARTING. 
 
 251 
 
 Whene'er we meet at restful eve, 
 
 As hands unseen the shadows weave, 
 
 We speed the wings of fading light, 
 
 Then smiling say: Good night, good night: 
 
 Ah me, those words are like the mist, 
 
 That burning lips to skies have kist. 
 
 To breathe again, in wizard rain. 
 
 And woo from earth her sweetest strain. 
 
252 LYRICS OF THE LARIAT. 
 
 And when, afar, we're called to roam, 
 To soon return to friends and home, 
 Before we go, we barely sigh, 
 Tho' loth to say: Good-by, good -by; 
 Ah me, those words, like flecks of gray, 
 That slovvly sail their silv'ry wav, 
 But robe the vales, with richer glow, 
 Where rippling rills of kindness flow. 
 
 And when we're doomed by fate to part 
 From those we shrine in love's dear heart, 
 We seem to hear the mournful bell, 
 As sad we say: Farewell, farewell; 
 Ah me, those words are like the clouds. 
 That hang, on high, like ghostly shrouds, 
 While wailing winds of sorrow blow. 
 And Joy, herself, lies wrapped in snow. 
 
PARTING. 
 
 253 
 
 But when we say: Good night, good night, 
 Those fleecy words, in hridal white. 
 Or softly call: Good -by, good -by, 
 Those dusky words, in azure sky, 
 Or sadly breathe: Farewell, farewell. 
 Those sable words, with wintry spell, 
 We feel that yet our winding ways 
 Will cross, somewhere, in coming days. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Note I, Page ij. — The Cowboy. 
 
 Reckless and tireless, untamable as a prairie chicken, 
 brave as proudest knight in storied tourney, the Cowboy is 
 the dauntless hero of a new chivalry, even more strange 
 and romantic than that of the middle ages. 
 
 In speaking fo a comrade, he calls him zvaddy ; when 
 talking of one, he refers to him as puncher. 
 
 Note 2, Page 24. — Ben. 
 
 This poem, while relating an experience of the writer, 
 is intended to show that, even in the most calloused heart, 
 there is goodness which the talismanic name of Mother, at 
 times will awaken. 
 
 The terms used are: Budge — whiskey; 7iavy — re- 
 volver; steatned above his gauge — drank to excess ; phig the 
 imp — shoot him. 
 
 Note J, Page 42. — Maverick Joe. 
 
 Col. Maverick, of Texas, who owned a verv large 
 number of cattle, allowed them to stray over the plains 
 unclaimed — because of which, the cattlemen finally came 
 to calling every unbranded animal a Maverick. Naturally, 
 
NOTES. 
 
 255 
 
 when Texan stock were driven North, the term mentioned 
 went with them, until now it is actually engrafted on the 
 Statutes of some of the Western States, like meaning being 
 given it as in the place of its origin. 
 
 As the cow and calf never fail to recognize each other, 
 the latter, of course, is given the same brand as that of its 
 mother. Hence, the only way of preventing the true own- 
 ership of the calf from being known, is to separate it from 
 the cow, to do which, the latter is not infrequently killed by 
 the rustlers or Maverick ffiiet'es. 
 
 In the poem, Maverick Joe marked a lone calf with his 
 cross (+). On the next day, at the round-up, the mother, 
 branded with a square ( d ), was driven in, when followed 
 the recognition and consequences pictured out in the lines. 
 
 The terms used in the poem are: Bronco-huster — one 
 who breaks broncos; //^wr/zc/- — a cattle-driver; rangier — a 
 horse-herder; xvJ/isper — to talk loudly, one who does so, 
 being called a xvhisferer ; rustic — to steal; tenderfoot — one 
 unused to the west; budge — whiskey; rastled — wrestled; 
 round-uf — the driving in together of all the cattle from a 
 large territory, participated in by all owners, each of whom 
 then brands the stock to which he is entitled, the calf being 
 given a like brand, as that borne bv the mother. 
 
 N'ote 4, Page jz. — Then. 
 
 A ^'oung lady, sad because of a broken engagement, 
 asked that a poem be written, to be entitled, T/ioi and Now. 
 
256 NOTES. 
 
 As the chief charm of poetry is due to the fact that, within 
 it, there is ever a hiatus for the mind of the reader to fill, 
 the title of T/ien was found to be amply sufficient for the 
 entire thought desired, the Nozv being but slightly concealed 
 between the lines. 
 
 Nofe 5, Page ^4. — The Prairie-Dog. 
 
 The occasion of these lines was the following incident: 
 Riding with a friend, in Wyoming, the writer remarked 
 that a poem might be found in any subject, if the seeker 
 had onlv the necessary skill. To this, the other replied b\' 
 saying that there was no poetry in a prairie-dog, at the 
 same time pointing to one, a little distant, which was then 
 sitting proudly upright, barking and jerking its tail vigor- 
 ously. 
 
 In regard to the prairie-dog, it is to be remarked: 
 (i) That it invariably moves its tail every time it barks, the 
 tail apparently' being the lever by which its jaws are mo\ed; 
 (2) that it is seemingly one of the proudest and happiest of 
 all those accustomed to village or city life; (3) that the 
 snake and owl invariably inhabit its burrow, probably for 
 the purpose of dining upon its 3'oung; and (4) that it never 
 makes its home by a pond or stream, preferring to dig to 
 water rather than run the risk of a damp bed or being 
 flooded out. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 ^57 
 
 Note 6, Page 68. — My Dream of Love. 
 
 An old man, with whom the writer is acqiuiinted, inva- 
 riabh' calls a certain young lady, "My Dream of Love," 
 alone because of the resemblance she bears to the wife of 
 his young manhood, who, tho' gone before, yet remains his 
 dream of love. Hence this poem. 
 
 Note 7, Page jo. — The Blizzard. 
 
 The blizzard of January i2, i888 — the worst that ever 
 swept across the western plains — was made historic by the 
 three Nebraska school-ma'ams, the deeds of whom are inci- 
 dentally referred to in this poem. The story, however, of 
 the saving of the father by the boy's ringing of the bell — ■ 
 told the writer by Mr. Jay Burrows, of Lincoln, Neb., and 
 here published for the first time — is an incident certainly 
 no less noteworthy than the others alluded to, and furnishes 
 a theme which it would require the genius of a Scott to 
 fittingly portray. 
 
 It may be that exception will be taken to the line, 
 " She lield four ki)i<xs at the gniiie of prayer ^ If so, the 
 reader is asked to remember that, at poker, one holding 
 such a hand, would — upon the ratio of chances — scarcely 
 lose once in a thousand times. Hence, the line, as written, 
 is a forcible, tho' rough statement of the fact that the wife's 
 prayer was so earnest and potent, that it could not well fail 
 to accomplish its purpose. Besides, it should be borne in 
 
25S NOTES. 
 
 mind that the tale is told in the west, and therefore it can 
 not be said to be improper to couch it in the vigorous words 
 not infrequently used in many parts of that breezy section 
 of countrj'. 
 
 Again, it may be that exception will also be taken to 
 the fact that the speaker, tho' evidently an educated person, 
 is made to use slang. To such criticism, the answer is 
 given that even the newest portions of the west are peopled 
 with men, who, tho' from the schools and colleges of the 
 east, yet habitually use slang — not because they do 
 not know how to speak elegantly, but simply because, by 
 slang, they may abridge their words and add emphasis 
 without abridging their meaning or running the risk of not 
 being understood. Indeed, the one who makes even the 
 wildest of these western people appear as unlettered boors, 
 not only fails to understand the people of whom he writes, 
 but actually does injustice to that great country for which 
 he presumes to speak. 
 
 Note 8, Page g^. — Inyan Kara. 
 
 In the volcanic age, during which the great west was 
 first a sea of water and then a sea of fire, a new mountain 
 was upheaved thro' the \qx\ center of an older one, leaving 
 but the rim of the latter intact, which still grimly encircles 
 its rockv usurper. This curious formation stands in the 
 northeast corner of Wyoming, on the margin of a vast 
 plain, and is known by the Indian name of Inyan Kara, 
 
NOTES. 
 
 '59 
 
 meaning a mountain witliin a mountain. Some miles away, 
 across the flats, the Sundance mountain lifts its bald brow, 
 where of yore the youthful warrior demonstrated his cour- 
 age as well as his indifference to pain, by the bloody test of 
 the far-famed, yet horrid, Sun Dance. 
 
 Arid is the Crow name for arm, Eeka meaning prcttv. 
 The latter term, however, is usually written Ichie. Still, as 
 this method only misleads the reader, in regard to the proper 
 pronunciation, and as there is really no standard for the 
 writing of Indian names, it has been thought best to print it 
 just as it should be pronounced. 
 
 Note 9, Page lo^. — High Mass of the Muses. 
 
 For fifty years, Prof. Mendal had presided over that 
 greatest of church organs — the one at Berne, Switzerland. 
 For the purpose of attracting visitors, the authorities threw 
 open the doors of the great Cathedral, during the tourist 
 season, furnishing free entertainment to all who cared to 
 attend. 
 
 One lovely e\'ening, with the idling crowd, the writer 
 was swept into the magnificent minster, just as the shadows 
 of the Alps were falling across the valleys of that wonder- 
 land. In the great room and almost hidden within the 
 groined vaulting, a half dozen feeble tapers lent their flick- 
 ering rays, not for the purpose of giving light, but only to 
 add more of weirdness to the scene and make the darkness 
 even more sensibly apparent. Presently the familiar 
 
26o NOTES. 
 
 melody, ^^ Mtist I Depart From My Moiiii/aiiis,^^ began to 
 steal thro' the silent chamber, as if from the lips of some 
 divine Diva, the soprano being in turn succeeded by alto, 
 bass and tenor voices, each, in succession, taking up and 
 repeating the same simple strain. Then, just as the last 
 note seemed dying away, the song again came pulsing thro' 
 the shadowy darkness, the notes of all the singers being 
 blent and melted into a chorus of moving power and won- 
 drous beauty, to which a myriad of wind and stringed 
 instruments lent their softest strains, all trilling forth 
 enchanting variations of that same Tyrolean lay. Shortly, 
 a far-away peal of thunder half-startled the entranced 
 throng, the distant rumble being quicklj' followed by louder 
 and more threatening warnings of the nearing tempest. 
 Soon the air began to sigh and, ere long, to whistle thro' 
 the stately corridors of that majestic temple of the muses, 
 the storm being hurried along by the winds rushing from 
 the organ's limgs. But these sounds were soon lost in the 
 rhythmic roar of a classical tornado, which then came 
 charging on, fairly shaking the building in its mad wrath, 
 despite of which ever crept out the beautiful notes of that 
 Alpine song. Then, again, the storm began to abate, even 
 as woods of featiiered songsters come forth, and, in 
 snatches of that same simple melodj', warbled praise to the 
 hidden Apollo, who, high-perched in the organ-loft, had 
 lifted a cloud from many a heart of many a listening 
 dreamer. Then, once more, a choir, seemingly of sweet 
 voiced singers, took up that mountain melody, and, wander- 
 
NOTES. 261 
 
 ing farther and farther away, sung it over and over attain, 
 while the enraptured throng bent forward to catch the last 
 lingering cadence of the expiring rhapsody. O, it was 
 glorious! Ay, that song was even more enchanting than 
 ever a siren wafted winningly across the wave to woo a 
 Ulysses upon the mythical breakers of the Caprean rocks. 
 
 When the writer spoke to that master, in eulogv of the 
 performance, the latter modestly replied: " A/i, t/i'e itistru- 
 ?neiit is a tvry Ji)ie oneP 
 
 High mass is a religious service, entirely of music. 
 
 N'ote 10, Page 120. — The Loon Cry. 
 
 The loon — that swiftest swimmer of all the feathered 
 tribe — cries in a minor key, and seems to say, " Only a fool 
 
 I see!" 
 
 Note II, Page iji.—A Thirty Year.s' Dream. 
 
 The writer, returning to his native home after an ab- 
 sence of many years, found that the little country school- 
 house, attended by him in youth, had been torn away, and 
 a railroad constructed across the very spot where it had 
 stood. Hence, this poem, addressed to Alf. Mattix, a former 
 school-mate 
 
 Note 12, Page 75^.— The Curlew Song. 
 
 The Curlew Song, tho' moving but a single step of the 
 gamut, and that by half tones, is not unmusical, and. 
 
262 NOTES, 
 
 beside, can be easily imagined as saying the words attrib- 
 uted to it in the poem. 
 
 And, here, by the way, it might not be amiss to state 
 that this poem was written far out on the western plain, 
 the prompter being a curlew, which, untried and unvexed 
 by business cares, and uncaged and unbruised by a torturing 
 stage-coach, sailed gracefully on before, on arching wing, 
 singing its simple lay — one seemingly begotten of a happi- 
 ness far exceeding that possessed by the ordinary run of 
 human-kind. 
 
 Note 13, Page 163. — Bait. 
 
 The following incident was the occasion of this poem: 
 At a recent session of the Nebraska Legislature, the 
 number of employes on the rolls was strikingly large, 
 almost every committee having its paid clerk, such 
 appointment being made for the sole purpose, generally 
 speaking, of giving some friend of the chairman a sinecure 
 position at the expense of the State. Hon. John C. Watson 
 — one of the leaders of the minority party and who, two 
 years before, had been the presiding officer of the same 
 House — was appointed chairman of the Fish Committee, 
 this position being given him as a mere joke, there being 
 nothing whatever for this committee to do. Shortly after 
 this, Mr. Watson arose and solemnly asked that the presid- 
 ing officer allow him a clerk. Greatly astonished at such a 
 request, the Speaker sharply demanded to know what 
 
NOTES. 
 
 363 
 
 possible use the chairman of the Fish Committee had for a 
 Clerk, to which query, instantly came back the apt and 
 satirical answer: " To cut bait." 
 
 Note 14, Page i'j2. — Have I Thy Love. 
 
 These lines are a translation of the German song, 
 ^'' Hah' Ich nur Deine Liebe^'' written by Zell and Genee, for 
 the operetta, Boccaccio. This quaint poem has heretofore 
 generally been considered as untranslatable. 
 
 Note /J, Page igg. — Life's Afternoon. 
 
 This poem was written for, and read on the occasion 
 of the twentieth anniversary of the wedding of Rev. Eli 
 Fisher and wife, then residing at Beatrice, Nebraska. 
 
 Note 16, Page 211. — Hobo's Lament. 
 
 The origin of Hobo, the term now so generally applied 
 to the railroad grader, is unknown, but is generally sup- 
 posed to have come from the salutation of " Ho, bo>' ! " 
 which was shouted by one workman to another, and finally 
 shortened into the name now in common use. The Hobos 
 are enlisted, so to speak, by labor agents, in the larger 
 of the western cities and shipped, in car-loads, to 
 the points where wanted. Naturally, as may well be 
 imagined, the Hobo-car, long ere it reaches its destina- 
 
264 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 tion, is redolent with odors not of those which are said 
 to be clinging to the garments of the fair daughters 
 of Farina. The Hobo is, or soon becomes, a queer 
 type of humanity. Earning good wages, he toils con- 
 tentedly on, despite rain and mud, till the monthly pay- 
 day comes. Then he takes a lay-off for the purpose of 
 spending his wealth, at which he is a phenomenal success. 
 Indeed, as illustrative of this assertion, mention is here 
 made of the fact that, vipon one occasion, where a large 
 number of such laborers were given their pay-checks, 
 ninety per cent, of their entire earnings was held and owned 
 by the adjacent saloons, dens of infamy and gambling hells, 
 before the next sunrise. After a reasonable time spent in 
 such debauchery, they are willing again to return to work, 
 seemingly only hoping for another pay-day to arrive, to 
 bring with it a repetition of its insane orgies and fancied 
 delights. 
 
 The meaning of the terms used in this poem, are: 
 Pounding the road — walking the road; rustic a lucal — hunting 
 something to eat; hitting the trail — footing homeward; 
 slathers of gold — abundance of money; cut loose along ivith 
 the rest — went with them; hasted the nudes — pounded them; 
 rastled ivith bread — wrestled with, or worried it down; 
 hustles — walks earnestly. 
 
 Note //, Page 2jj. — The Cowboy Preacher. 
 
 The story of the two-fold ducking of the cowboy who 
 
NOTES. 265 
 
 refused to remain to hear the sermon, relates an actual in- 
 cident which took place in Wyoming. 
 
 A'ofe 18, Page 248. — The Sod House Coming. 
 
 Mr. C. E. Perkins, President of the Chicago, Burling- 
 ton & Quincy Railroad Company, recently made a tour of 
 his lines of road, accompanied by his -wife and a party of 
 friends. 
 
 Mrs. Perkins, on this occasion, kindly took with her a 
 large assortment of toys and picture books, with which to 
 gladden the little ones, whom she should chance to see on 
 her journey. Observing these presents, as they were placed 
 aboard the train, Mr. Perkins dryly remarked that the 
 engineer should go slow, whenever the latter saw a sod 
 house coming, reference being to the fact that the gifts 
 were intended only for the children of the prairies, and 
 hence opportunity should be given for their distribution. 
 
 On such pleasure jaunts, Mrs. Perkins takes with her 
 a log-book, for which a member of the party is asked to 
 contribute something pertaining to the trip; the article, in 
 this instance, was requested of the writer, this poem 
 being the response. 
 
266 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 AMiSftn Srn.JKf: (HI.