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diff --git a/37510.txt b/37510.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7717875 --- /dev/null +++ b/37510.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4294 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, By Trench and Trail in Song and Story, by +Angus MacKay, Illustrated by William R. McKay + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: By Trench and Trail in Song and Story + + +Author: Angus MacKay + + + +Release Date: September 22, 2011 [eBook #37510] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY TRENCH AND TRAIL IN SONG AND +STORY*** + + +E-text prepared by Linda Cantoni, Bryan Ness, Emmy, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images +generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 37510-h.htm or 37510-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37510/37510-h/37510-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37510/37510-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See + http://www.archive.org/details/bytrenchtrailins00mackuoft + + + + + +[Illustration] + + +BY TRENCH AND TRAIL IN SONG AND STORY + +by + +ANGUS MACKAY (Oscar Dhu) + +Author of +"Donald Morrison--The Canadian Outlaw" +"A Tale of the Pioneers" +"Poems of a Politician" +"Pioneer Sketches" +Etc., Etc. + +Illustrated + + + + + + + +Mackay Printing & Publishing Co. +Seattle and Vancouver +1918 + +Copyright 1918 by +Angus MacKay + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +A number of the songs in this collection have been heard by campfire and +trail from the camps of British Columbia to the lumber camps of Maine. +Several of the songs have been fired at the Huns "somewhere in France," +no doubt with deadly effect. And also at the Turks on the long long hike +to Bagdad and beyond. + +And it is not impossible that some of my countrymen are now warbling +snatches of my humble verse to the accompaniment of bagpipes on the +streets of the New Jerusalem! Many of the verses have appeared from time +to time in leading publications from Vancouver, B. C., to the New +England States and Eastern Canada; while others appear in print here for +the first time. + +From all parts of the land I have received letters at various times +asking for extra copies of some particular song in my humble collection, +which I was not in a position to supply at the time. + +I therefore decided to publish some of the songs for which a demand had +been expressed, and in so doing offer to the reading public in +extenuation of my offense the plea that in a manner this humble volume +is being published by request. + +I offer no apology for my "dialect" songs as they have already received +the approval of music lovers whose judgment is beyond criticism. + +For the errors which must inevitably creep into the work of a +non-college-bred lumberjack, I crave the indulgence of all highbrows who +may resent my inability to comb the classics for copy to please them. +All the merit I can claim is the ability to rhyme a limerick or sing a +"come-all-ye" in a manner perhaps not unpleasing to my friends. + +The lumberjacks will understand me, I am sure, and will appreciate my +humble efforts to entertain them. + +As for the genial highbrow, should he deem me an interloper in the realm +of letters and imagine that my wild, uncultured notes are destroying the +harmony of his supersensitive soul, I shall "lope" back to the tall +timber again and seek sympathy and appreciation among the lumberjacks of +the forest primeval, where, amid the wild surroundings and the crooning +of the trees, there is health for mind and body borne on every passing +breeze. Yes, there's something strangely healing in the magic of the +myrrh, in the odor of the cedar and the fragrance of the fir. + +There the hardy lumberjack is the undisputed lord of the lowlands and +chief of the highlands, and at the present time no soldier in the +trenches or sailor on the rolling deep has a more arduous task to +perform or a more important duty to discharge than he. + +Toil on, ye Titans of the tall timbers; steadfast soldiers of the saw, +and able allies of the axe. Carry on till the stately trees which +constitute the glory of the West are converted into ships and planes in +countless thousands, to win the great war for freedom and to make the +world safe for democracy--and lumberjacks! + + THE AUTHOR. + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + Frontispiece + + "Where the tall, majestic pine tree branches wave" 124 + + "Christmas in Quebec" 14 + + "Gagne's Cavalry" 52 + + "Sergeant-Major Larry" 76 + + "I am now one lumberjack" 110 + + "Another Findlay like your own" 141 + + _Illustrations by + Lieutenant William R. McKay + with 161st U.S.A. in France_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + DESTINY 11 + There's a grand, grand view unfolding. + + THE SONS OF OUR MOTHERS 12 + In the Ramah's of our day. + + CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC 15 + I got notice sometam lately. + + THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE 22 + It is such a fad at present. + + THE SULTAN AT POTSDAM 27 + Mohammed, Dammed gift of God, + + JOHN LABONNE'S DREAM 41 + All las' night I was me dreaming, + + THE DERELICT 44 + I will write a short sketch of a + free-hearted wretch. + + GAGNE'S CAVALRY 49 + Ma Rosie write to me somet'ing, + + THE GRIPPE 54 + To see us now deceivers. + + TRUDEL'S TRAVELS 58 + Said Joe, I mus' go w'ere de snow + she don' blow, + + THE END OF THE TRAIL 71 + I was summoned in the gloaming, + + HOMESICK 75 + I am tire' now for roam Rosemarie, + + THE GALLANT 58TH 77 + O come all ye loyal volunteers, + + THE FENIAN RAID 82 + From de country of de Eagle, + + A LEAP YEAR PARTY 87 + The night before last Hallowe'en, + + THE HOLLERNZOLLERN'S PRAYER 91 + Dear Gott, der weight of "right divine," + + ALASKA BOUNDARY LINE 95 + Now that little Venezuela, + + THE GUARD OF LAFAYETTE 99 + Ma Rosie say to me today, + + THE LUMBERJACK 103 + We have songs on many topics, + + THE BOOK AGENT 107 + The sun rose in beauty, + + JEAN LABONNE 111 + I am now one lumberjack, + + CANADIANS, GUARD YOUR OWN 113 + "On feet of clay," false prophets say, + + GUARD THE GAELIC 116 + Is it not our bounden right? + + THE AMERICAN EAGLE 120 + Lofty is thy habitation, + + DONALD McLEOD 123 + The sun hath set and leaves the day, + + OVER THE TOP 127 + A lusty lad from Lewis, + + THE ALKALI LAND 130 + I left my old home and my friends in + the East, + + A CHRISTMAS DREAM 135 + One Christmas night I sallied forth, + + + + +DESTINY + + + There's a grand, grand view unfolding + And it pictures our future goal: + There's a strong, strong army moulding + Our land into one great whole; + There's a world-wide movement holding + Firm the lines of our destiny: + And 'twill never cease + Till the earth finds peace + In the arms of Democracy! + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE SONS OF OUR MOTHERS + + + In the Ramah's of our day + Mothers grieve their hearts away, + Mourning comfortless as Rachel did of yore; + Hoping day by day to learn + Of their absent boy's return + And to hear his well-known footsteps at the door. + The lilies are blooming in far-away France-- + Bloom O bloom! + The cannons are roaring retreat and advance-- + Boom, O boom! + The hell of their fire is falling like rain, + And our soldiers before it are falling like grain, + While the voices of loved ones are calling in vain-- + Home, sweet home! + + Dear Canadians who fell, + Fighting nobly fighting well, + May the angels guard thy rest in lonely graves; + We'll remember "ridge" and "hill" + And rejoice in knowing, still, + That the dear old flag you died for rules the waves. + The wild birds are lilting their lay on the breeze, + Soft and low: + As they croon to their nestlings asway in the trees, + To and fro-- + The young of the robin will flit down the glen + And return in the spring to the dwellings of men, + But the sons of our mothers return not again-- + No, ah no! + + And the absent from the fold? + What of those, the gay, the bold? + Fighting bravely, dying nobly, to the fore. + Shall we not avenge the slain? + Shall our mothers weep in vain? + Calling, calling for the boys who come no more. + Dear soldier boys dead in the trenches of war, + Work well done! + Your service for country there's nothing can mar, + Fame well won! + They fought for the right in a cause that will win-- + They died in a fight that they did not begin-- + And you'll pay the last groat when we enter Berlin. + Hun, oh Hun! + +[Illustration: Christmas in Quebec.] + + + + +CHRISTMAS IN QUEBEC. + + + This sketch is truer of the Quebec of last century + than that of today. I am glad to hear that whisky + blanc does not "cut the figure" in French festivities + now that it did twenty years ago; and no one will + rejoice more than Oscar Dhu to see the demon rum + utterly destroyed in Canada ere many moons. + + Yes, I sincerely hope that the day will soon dawn when + the baneful influence of both De Kuyper and de Kaiser + will be forever banished from my dear native province, + queenly Quebec! + + I got notice some tam lately + Wrote in Yankee dialec', + Ask me Joe how I spen' Chris'mas + On de 10 range of Kebec; + + But ba gosh I don' wrote nottings + Till de New Year pass along. + Chris'mas tam I dance an' fiddle, + Eat an' drink an' sing some song! + + Yes ma frien' dis ol' man's happy, + Jus' lak' leetle lamb in May! + Ev'ry year I grow lak young one, + W'en it come to Chris'mas day! + + Hip ho-orah! I feel lak dancin', + Play for Joe an' kip good tam, + I'm mos' happy man in Weedon, + On his shanty jus' de sam'. + + Come Zavier and clear de room off, + An' one dance to you I'll show, + Dat I learn on Lampton Corners + More as t'irty year ago. + + It's call cris-cross two-step, quick step, + Up an' down de center, too; + Right an' lef' and swing you' pardner, + Till de tack fly out her shoe! + + Come I'll show you how to do it, + Tak' de one you love de bes', + Den you swing it ro'nd lak swirlwind + Or dat slyclone in de Wes'. + + Whoop up gee' jus wash ma dances + An' hole Paul will kip good tam, + On dis side de Lac St. Francis + I can skung dem all de sam'. + + T'ro' dat stool on top de corner, + Push dat cradle from de room, + Joe hee's got dis floor for shak' down + An' he'll swip it lak de broom. + + Jomp up Jacque! and strak dat ceilin' + Till de dus' fall on you' head-- + Come Lucinda! stop dat squealin' + Or we'll sen' you off to bed. + + Dis is Chris'mas an' one good one-- + Chris'mas come but once a year; + Ope dat stove an' t'row some hood on, + An' we'll have one, two, t'ree cheer! + + Rig a gig a gig jus' wash ma moccasin + An' hole Paul you kip good tam! + Pass dat jug aro'nd de grog-is-in, + An we'll have w'at Scotch call "dram." + + Pass it ro'nd de room ma Rosie + An' be sure you fill de glass; + Ma Joe sen' me twenty dollair + Jus' las' wick from Lowhell, Mass. + + Ev'ry year he sen' me monay + And he sen' some ol' clothes too-- + But dem duty charge me custom + Jus' de same lak it was new! + + Shoo! dat dance has mak' me tire-- + Rosie pass de pipe of clay-- + Plenty more rat here in Weedon, + We're Pete Tanguay give it 'way. + + Here's tobac dat's raise in Compton, + Tak' it too an' pass it ro'nd-- + Plentay more way do'n at Lampton-- + Jus' for twenty cent one po'nd. + + Smoke ma frien' an' take it heasy, + Till de fiddler res' his bow-- + Smudge dis room till it grow hazy, + Den we'll have one nodder go! + + Rig-a-gig-gig jus' wash ma feet go, + Put some movemen' in dat tune; + If a man is want for beat Joe-- + Mus' get up before its noon! + + Oh ba gosh! de hole man's happy! + Wish you all feel sam' lak me. + Canada's de place spen' Chris'mas + Up at Weedon 'mong de tree! + + I feel bad for Wilfrid Laurier, + An' for all de beeg Frenchman, + Who can nevair know henjoymen' + In dis worl' de sam's I can. + + Troub' is all he gets for breakfas', + An' for dinnair too I guess-- + Charlie Tupper's eat for supper-- + An' hee's awful hard diges'! + + Den de nightmare kick lak blazes, + W'en a leetle sleep dey foun'-- + I can sleep me in dis shanty + Twice as fas' an' twice as soun'. + + I don' henvey any rich man, + He can tak' ma house an' lan', + But he can't tak' ma henjoymen' + Lak de res' w'en hee's deman'. + + Hee's live in one gran' beeg cassil-- + All light up wit' 'letric lamp-- + I am Joseph in dis shanty, + An' my shanty's in de swamp; + + But ba gosh I'm far more happies + Den beeg man in house of stone-- + Byemby he'll be lak Joseph-- + Six feet land is all he'll own! + + Come here Pierre ma troat's grow wheezy, + Pass de glassware roun' for change-- + Wash ma Rosie, a'nt she daisy? + She's de bes' cook on de range. + + Ev'ry year w'en it come Chris'mas, + Rosie geeve me lots to heat-- + Pie an' stoughnut--cake an' cookie-- + Bun an' two t'ree kin' of meat. + + Ev'ryt'ing she's good for cook it,-- + An' de pork she's good for fry, + She can flip dat bockwheat pancake + Lak de twinkle of you' eye! + + Yes ba gosh! ma wife hee's good wan, + Nevair scold me w'en I'm sick: + An' she raise it twenty young wan + Nevair learn dat "Yankee trick"! + + Plenty vote to swing de 'lection-- + Twenty-two or twenty-three; + But I'm ask for no Protection + For my Infant Industry! + + Dat's de cry I like, "all ready"! + Sopper's on de tab' at las'-- + Girl an' boy fall in ma hearty-- + Hungry fom de midnight Mass. + + Come Joseph an' bring Louiser,-- + Don' be squeeze her all night long-- + Joe, I know is lak hee's fadder-- + Jus' de sam' w'en I was young! + + Now I'll pass de jug for luck, me, + Drink de he'lt' of frien' an' foe-- + Plenty more at Dudswell Junction, + Ma frien' Gauthier tole me so. + + Dis is firs' class liquidation, + Jus' one glass will pay de tax; + Two or tree will lif' de mortgage-- + All de worl' is mine wit' six! + + What's de use for feel downhearted? + Plenty life in barley juice; + Dat's w'at mak' dis ol' man happy-- + But some tam it raise de duce. + + Eat an' drink an' feel contentmen', + 'Till de holiday pass by; + Den ol' Joe mus' tackle snow + An' chop de hood an' hew de tie. + + I got credit from de storekeep-- + Bean an' pork an' pea an' flour, + An' I promise pay in cordhood-- + An' its tak' me many hour. + + Scoonkin coat I got from Tanguay, + For to tak' me warm to church, + An' he tole me pay heem sometam', + W'en I haul de spruce an' birch. + + Plenty work for Joe in winter-- + Brak de road an' haul de hood, + But hole Joe hee's nevair worry-- + Not so long hees he'lt' is good. + + Dis is holiday at presen', + I won't cut me one dem stick + 'Till I have ma Chris'mas hoorah, + An' it always las' a wick! + + Den I'll say good bye to ol' year + An' w'en New Year come on deck, + I'll tole Yankee how ol' Joseph + Spen' his Chris'mas on Kebec. + + Rig-a-gig-a-gig, jus' wash me moccasin, + An' ol' Paul will kip good tam; + Pass de jug aro'n' de grog is in + An' we'll have w'at Scotch call "dram." + + + + +"THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE." + + + The seeming hostile spirit towards the United States + pervading some of the sketches in this volume is more + apparent than real, as they were introduced in the + spirit of fun to accentuate the oddities of certain + characters, and not to disparage our neighbor; for + notwithstanding petty quarrels and misunderstandings + we always loved our great big, bluff brother to the + South. + + We always maintained that closer relationship with our + kindred people was our manifest destiny and that + nothing could happen that would keep us permanently + apart. According to this song, written many years ago, + we have been "interwooing" and "intermarrying" for a + long time. We have been flocking to their cities and + they have been flocking to our farms, and naturally + the ties between us have been growing stronger with + the years. + + Consequently when the present great war engulfed the + world in a holocaust of blood, kindred cried to + kindred and the resulting alliance was both natural + and logical. + + Time alone can prove the value of the services + rendered the Allied cause in this great war by British + Americans and Americanadians residing in the United + States. + + The Germans and pro-Germans of this country thot in + their overweening pride with overbearing Kultur to + obtain a greater "pull" with Uncle Sam than we + possessed. By the most cunning propaganda ever known + they endeavored to widen the breach between brother + Jonathan and John Bull, but failed miserably. While + they "hoched" for the "fatherland" till the cows came + home, we "coached" for the "motherland" till the + children came home! + + Kultur may be a powerful persuader but the call of the + blood is more powerful still, and when the old lion + roared his appeal the sound went round the world, and + the whelps, true to their breed, gathered from all + corners of the earth, not into alien jungles, but + home! The fur is now flying and blood is flowing, and + when the combatants shall have emerged from the great + conflict the two powerful branches of the + English-speaking peoples will be bound together in + ties of friendship stronger than ever before, and by + thunder they will not be under! + + +THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE + +or + +HOW CANADA AND THE U. S. MAY BECOME ONE. + + It is such a fad at present + For each poet effervescent, + To assail the "cross" or "crescent" + And the "Cleveland message" grim; + That we pondered for a minute + Thinking we would not be "in it" + If we did not aid some Linnet + With a little of our din. + + Now we're not at'all unwilling + To receive a course of "drilling" + If successful in dispelling + Just a little of the mist + Which is hanging thickly over + Our detractor, brother Grover, + And that rank sedition mover, + Called the jingo journalist. + + There are men among you moving + Who're ostensibly peace loving, + While their conduct's always proving + The reverse to be their toast; + They eternally are blowing + Like a game cock, bent on showing + By his loud defiant crowing + That he's there to rule the roost! + + Tho' you send a warlike "message" + Do not punctuate its passage + Crying "cut 'em into sassage, + Now beware, you crippled cuss": + All such ravings out of season + Should be classified as treason, + Guard your tongues and use your reason + In considering the "fuss." + + If again your mind should rove + Around the field of Carnage Grover, + We would have you think it over + In the light of common sense; + Ponder well the pain and labor + It would cause to quell your neighbor; + And be sure you hide your saber + 'Ere you venture through our fence. + + Why rely on jingo blowing + If you're bent upon subduing + Brave Canadians who've been growing + Since they met Montgomery? + Drop your systematic hounding, + And your epithets loud sounding + For we've pipers here abounding + Who could blow you out to sea! + + If you saw bold piper Ronald + Of the warlike Clan Macdonald, + And the way in which he pommelled + O'er a hundred of your ranks; + You would soon be after wishing + You had always kept a-fishing + Right at home, instead of swishing + Warlines over Britain's banks! + + And it seems to us so very + Queer that Highlanders who quarry + Monumental stones at Barre, + Did not scare away your frowns: + Had they started with their hammers + Down among your city bummers, + It would take you many summers + To repopulate your towns. + + Yea, at prospects of a battle + From old Bangor to Seattle + Each Canadian would skedaddle + To defend his home and kin; + And from Picton to Vancouver + We would welcome each one over; + Thus united, brother Grover, + Would you have a chance to win? + + Then relinquish Yankee dodges, + We would warn you to be cautious; + Silence rabid Cabot Lodges + And your jingo journalists. + Friendship's thread already slender + Needs a sapient defender-- + As the lion's tail is tender + From so many ruthless twists! + + We have often heard it stated + When by jingoists berated, + That the people here were fated + To be "taken in by Sam." + But believe us, brother Grover, + Coming ages will discover + That you cannot get us over + In that manner by a d----! + + There's another way that's better + Than coercion and the fetter, + And we'll tell you in this letter + How to circumvent the end: + Cultivate a better feeling + For your neighbor in your dealing-- + As you'll never see us kneeling + For the favors you can lend. + + Let events their course pursuing + Glide along as they've been doing-- + Let our people interwooing-- + Intermarry--buy and sell; + Let your friendly salutation, + Be extended to this nation, + Let the law of gravitation + Do the rest and all is well! + + You have often sold a daughter + To some dude across the water, + While the title high(?) which bought her + You so seemingly ignore; + Why not send us a cotillion + Of those girls who own a million + For our hardy northern gillian + On the old Canadian shore? + + You may think this would not do, but + We can tell you that your "blue blood" + Isn't "in it" with the true blood + Of our bracing Northern clime-- + Better far to take their chances + With Xavier at Lac St. Francis + Than to purchase the advances + Of coin hunters of our time! + + + + +THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT + +Enter SECOND SONS + + + Mohammed Dammed, gift of God! + The Sultan's second son, + Enjoys a pilgrimage abroad + With Eitel Fritz the Hun. + + These second sons, of sons of guns, + Are sure some friendly foes; + But to what length their friendship runs + Jehovah only knows. + + Just now the Sultan, also, dines + At Williams' kultured kourt, + And downs the Kaiser's doctored wines + While Kaiser downs his porte. + + One day young Dammed said to Fritz: + "Who started this fool row? + Whoever did was void of wits, + As you must know by now." + + Said Eitel, "Though I'm from Missour, + Some say it was my Dad; + But as they're going to Bag-dad sure, + He'll wish he never had." + + Said Dammed, "If they bag your Dad + They'll bag my Daddy sure, + And make him wish he never had + Come here to seek a cure. + + "Your father promised mine to win + From Cork to Timbuctoo; + If we would throw our Turkey in + Your bloody Pots-dam brew! + + "Besides, he promised on demand + Star-eyed Parisian pearls! + Great hunks of Greece, Manhattan and + A thousand chorus girls! + + "He also swore by every beard + The prophets ever tore, + That great Mahomet had appeared + Before his chamber door. + + "And hurled his mantle--so revered-- + The blooming transom o'er; + And hence my foolish father feared + The awful robe he wore!" + + Fritz gazed upon the rolling Rhine + With bleary, beery eyes, + And as he sips his foaming stein, + To Dammed thus replies: + + "Thy father was a howling mutt + Thus to believe my sire; + For 'scraps of paper' never cut + Much ice with any liar. + + "That he has promised you too much + Cannot be well denied; + For many things will 'beat the Dutch,' + I find since Hannah died. + + "My dad and 'first born' started out, + To eat the world in gobs, + But now they're down to spuds and krout, + And what the army robs. + + "I have no patience with the bunch + That failed to win from France, + The crown prince plainly lacks the punch-- + Why not give me a chance! + + "A million soldiers good and true + Went down to death for him, + And chances still of 'breaking thru,' + Are daily growing slim. + + "I love him not, nor yet his clique, + Who deem themselves so smart: + I'd like to serve them all a kick + Where their Prince Alberts part. + + "To whip the French, they'll have to sail + Thru blood to gay Paree-- + Here's hoping Poilus will not fail + To make crown prince of me! + + "For O, I'd love to have a peep + Into that promised land!" + Thus saying Eitel fell asleep-- + And snored to beat the band! + + And while Eitel was dreaming, + Of something or other, + The son of the Sultan + Wrote home to his mother. + + "On Linden when the sun was low," + The Sultan's second wrote. + These mild impressions of the foe, + That has his father's goat: + + "Dear ma, according to my pledge, + I write these lines to thee, + While sitting on the ragged edge + In dear old Germany. + + "I'm at the court of last resort, + Our royal Ali Bill's: + And found my father at the port + Forgetting all his ills. + + "Compared with livers over here + Dad's health is fairly good, + And sure, that boy was full of cheer, + On 'burning deck' that stood. + + "Great doctor Kaiser, best of men! + To cure dad's mal-a-dy; + Injects his Kultur now and then + In dad's anatomy. + + "This Kultur is a German germ + That germinates a juice, + Which in its turn creates a worm + That generates the duce! + + "I'm not well up on wormy laws, + Nor how this Kultur's spread, + I only know its use will cause + A swelling of the head! + + "I think we'll not prolong our stay, + There are no harems here; + The women have no time for play, + The men no time for cheer. + + "They's raising crops, but none to sell, + As few would want their goods: + The men are busy raising hell-- + The women raising spuds! + + "The spuds are raising women's sons-- + The sons all fight for Bill, + And thus it runs that all the Huns + Are simply raising hell! + + "I heard a 'concert of the Powers' + One stormy night of late, + And there, of course, the joy was ours + To hear the 'Hymn of Hate.' + + "It seems to be the only song + That all the boches know, + And slips with ease from every tongue + Where 'Uber alles' grow. + + "They sang the 'Hymn' with awful vim, + And turning round our way, + They looked at me and smiled at 'him,' + As much as if to say, + + "'There's not a Turk can beat that work, + 'Twas made in Germany!'-- + 'That may be so, but by my dirk, + I think the Turk will try!' + + "Yea classed with watchdogs of the Rhine, + And dastard deeds they've done, + Our dad, I swear, doth really shine + A saintly paragon! + + "He felt ashamed that any race, + Of earth or Hell below, + Could so outshine him to his face-- + In hatred of a foe! + + * * * * * + + "I pity the Armenian + When dad gets back to work again; + For he has tortures now in store + Eclipsing all he knew before!" + + +Enter the Clown Prince. + + "The next upon the program was + The Kaiser's eldest son, + Who sang to thunders of apeplause + 'Der land vare ve ver-dun'! + + "And as his tears on Brussels flow, + His voice pathetic grew, + While singing solemnly and low + 'I see my Waterloo! + + "'I'm sick and sore and sorry and + I'm licked and lonely, too: + Vile odders see der Vaterland + I see mine "Vaterloo"! Boo-hoo!' + + "Dear mother it was sad I claim + To hear him blubber so; + The blooming boob is not to blame + For what he doesn't know. + + "From infancy they taught the kid + To bank on 'right's divine'; + And that no matter what he did + The Lord was with his 'Line.' + + "And so, when shot and shell and trench, + And 'Me und Gott' und Co. + Had failed to crush the hated French, + It queered his status quo! + + "But Kaiser Bill was on the job, + And said 'it's getting late;' + We'll dry the tear and swab the sob + And sing the 'Hymn of Hate.' + + And so they sang the 'hymn' again + To stimulate the prince: + And encored with that sad refrain + 'The days of auld lang since.' + + "Then Kaiser rising with a spring + Said, Gentlemen a-hem-- + Our friend, the Sultan, now will sing + The 'New Jerusalem'"! + + "'And after that, excuse the joke, + He'll sing that song of caste, + The "Turkey in the Straw, that broke + The Camel's back at last."' + + "The Kaiser's kounsel knocked the spots + Off father's self command, + For he had such unholy thots, + Anent the Holy Land. + + "But he was game as old McBeth, + Resolved to do or die; + The odor of his very breath + Was 'comin' thru the rye': + + "'My breath is hot enough to stew, + My blood is hot within + From being chased like Moses thru + The "Wilderness of Sin." + + "'They're chasing me across the sand-- + Don't mention Waterloo!-- + From Dan unto Beersheba and + A little further, too. + + "'The sand is hot along the trail, + Jerusalem how hot--! + And as I hear those bagpipes wail, + I murmur, Oh great Scot! + + "'Behind each chanter blows a Gael, + Loud, strong and piping hot; + And those en-chanters never fail + To make me, Turkey, trot! + + "And woe betide deluded ones + Who meet this kilted race, + And deem the grim denuded ones + But females out of place! + + "Engage them in a bayonet charge + And dupes will quickly find, + Those skirts are worn to camouflage + The dynamite behind! + + "O demons of the fighting line, + Whose limits are the earth; + The empire great in which you shine + Doth bless thy place of birth. + + "Ubiquitous, pugnacious Scot, + You've nobly done your share; + For, ever where the fighting's hot, + The Tartan flutters there! + + "Yea Turkey Trot and Tanko tune! + Those dances are the style, + We hop to their compelling rune + From Baltic to the Nile.' + + "The Kaiser didn't quite approve + The course the Sultan chose, + And deemed it time that he should move + The Turkish mouth to close. + + "'He's taken too much Scotch in tow + Their praises thus to sing: + The next we know he'll queer the show + And dance the Highland Fling!' + + "And as they led the Turk to bed, + He said the deal was raw-- + Yes raw and red, 'pipe up,' he said + With 'Turkey in the Straw!' + + "Here Sheik-Ul-Islam bang arose + And cried it wasn't fair, + To stem the golden flood that flows + From Allah's chosen heir. + + "'Mine is the will,' said Kaiser Bill, + 'That rules the world today; + No kings or khans or Gods or clans + Can these my words gainsay.' + + "And then to prove that he was king + And Ruler over all, + He ordered Hindenburg to sing! + Or rather lead the bawl. + + "Then Hindenburg mid many raus + Essayed a clever line; + The song he sang with fervor was, + 'Fair Byng-in on the Rhine.' + + "The song a sad one in its day, + Brought some to verge of tears: + But when they heard Von Hinden bray + The place was near all jeers! + + "'You're off your line,' the singers laugh, + Von Hindenburg said 'Nay, + I'm only wobbling on the staff, + My bass is weak today.' + + "'Your vocal chords are out of joint, + Your lines are running wrong, + Therefore I think I will appoint + Myself to sing a song.' + + "So saying, Kaiser Bill arose + And clearing out his throat, + Assumed that well known lordly pose! + And sang without a note. + + "The music with me still abides, + My ears with discord ring: + Dear mother you would split your sides, + To hear the Kaiser sing. + + "O, why the agony prolong? + This was the burden of his song: + + "'On der shore of Italy + Mine Spag-etta vaits for me, + I am longing so for thee + Mine dear Venus by der sea. + + "'Und anodder maiden fair, + She vos vaiting 'over there,' + + "Und I'll take mine supmarine, + Und mine super-air-machine, + Und 'Columbia der Chem of der Ocean' + Vill soon be mine own Kaiserine!'" + + Here Eitel woke and poked my ribs, + And whispered in my ear, + "The words to suit his royal nibs + Would thusly run, I fear." + + "Fair Saint Helena is the maid, + That calls thee to her side-- + She is lonely, I'm afraid, + Since her former war-lord died!" + + 'Twas at this point a warning dire + Came Hertling thru the hall, + And danced in words of lurid fire + Upon the gilded wall. + + And "Mene, Mene," once again + A tyrant's eyes behold, + The writing on the wall was plain + As in the days of old. + + And gazing on that fiery scroll + The guilty Kaiser quakes-- + May God have mercy on his soul + When Germany awakes! + + + + +JOHN LABONNE'S DREAM + +Or + +A SAD AWAKENING + +A Song of the Trenches + + + All las' night I was me dreamin', + Dreamin' where de cannon's roar, + An' my spirit, so it's seemin', + Wend its flight to home once more. + Dare I heard de church bells ringin' + An' de robin red breas' singin', + Back to me de tam was bringin' + W'en I part wit' Rosemarie. + + Rosemarie! De bells are ringin', oh how sweet de melodie! + Rosemarie! De robin's singin', an' it's always callin' me! + + It was springtam an' all nature + Seem to join de robin's song, + All de sheep an' cattle feel it, + For de winter was so long. + O, it was one joyful meetin', + Ev'ry creature give me greetin', + An' ma heart tattoo was beatin' + W'en I t'ink of Rosemarie. + + Rosemarie, ma heart is beatin', O how sweet dat pain can be! + Rosemarie, it kips repeatin', an' each beat is true to thee. + + Springtam creep along de meadow, + Springtam whisper on de hill; + W'ere de sunshine chase de shadow + Ro'nd ma home at St. Camille. + Dare it stood, ma well known dwellin', + Dat I love beyond de tellin', + And ma heart in me was swellin' + W'en I see ma Rosemarie. + + Rosemarie, my heart is swellin', and it's all for love of thee! + Rosemarie, it kips on tellin' dat you're all de worl' to me! + + Joyfully she come to meet me, + Wit' de love light in her eye; + Smilin' tru' de tears she greet me-- + Nevaire more to say good bye. + W'en I see dem tear drop fallin', + Jus' lak dew of early mornin', + Hangel voices seem lak callin', + Callin' Joe to Rosemarie! + + Rosemarie, de angels' callin', O how sweet dat soun' to me! + Rosemarie, you' tear drops fallin' coax ma heart across de sea! + + Paradise den open to me, + As she whisper, "Welcome home." + To my arms her form I drew me-- + Den, Sapre! I wake, an' boom! + Roar of gun for church-bell ringin', + Howl of Hun for robins' singin'-- + Loving arms no more are clingin': + War is hell, sweet Rosemarie! + + + Chorus + + Rosemarie, de bells are ringin', + O, how sweet dat melodie! + Rosemarie! de robins' singin' + An' it's always callin' me! + + + + +THE DERELICT + +(When Seattle Was Wide Open.) + + + I will write a short sketch + Of that free hearted wretch + Whom all fakirs delight to espy. + He is seen every day + Just below Yesler Way, + Either "full" or distressingly "dry". + + He alights from the train, + Or a boat from the main, + With intentions both honest and clear. + But the weak-minded wight, + Led astray before night, + Is filled full of doped whiskey and beer. + + How alluring and bright + Is each glittering light, + As he joyfully watches the throng; + And his spirits are gay + As a bird's are in May, + And as gayly conducive to song. + + How seductive the speech + In which sirens beseech + Him to share the delights of their spree. + Ev'ry man in the set + Is "hail fellow well met", + And each woman delightfully free! + + There's a wink from the "traps", + And a meal with the Japs, + And a shuffle of cards as they go. + There's a trip to the play, + A few "smiles" by the way, + And a box by themselves at the show. + + O how slyly they wink + As they sip at their drink, + And maliciously help him to his; + And he drinks it, alas! + 'Though the foam on the glass + Floats around with a death-dealing fizz. + + Thus the night passes by + Till the victimized "guy" + Is sufficiently "doped" to "go through"; + And the stupefied lout, + When he's finally out, + Will possess but a nickel or two. + + Wholly drunk, and half blind, + With confusion of mind, + And to rum-selling vultures a prey, + He is found at the "Mug"-- + Takes a ride to the jug, + And there slumbers his potions away. + + Coming out the next morn, + Sober, sick and forlorn, + To a world that has quickly grown cold! + A poor outcast he roams + While in sumptuous homes + Whilom friends(?) are enjoying his gold. + + Where is now the glib friend + Of his bounty to lend + The poor devil the price of a plate? + He has vanished like mist + Of the morning, sun-kissed-- + And the victim is left to his fate. + + Not a wink from a lass, + Nor a clink from a glass, + With "your health", as it's borne to the lips; + Not a sign from a trap, + Not a bite from a Jap-- + All his sunshine has suffered eclipse! + + Not a kindly "invite" + From the friends of the night, + To "step in and have something on me." + Not a drop from the fakes + Just to steady the shakes, + And to "knock" the effects of the spree. + + As he wanders the street + Not one friend does he meet, + Not a soul that will greet him today; + "Broke" and hungry--alone, + With a heartrending moan, + He must totter along to the bay. + + O, the groans which now surge + With the tones of a dirge + From that soul so late given to song, + And how scenes long since fled + Like a wail from the dead, + Rise to hasten his footsteps along. + + Yea, dim memories rush + To his mind, and a flush + Of deep shame drives all pallor away, + As he thinks of the East + And the home he has lost + By the life that leads on to the bay. + + "Robbed and wronged all around," + Is the sob of the sound, + But no mortal comes forward to save; + So with mutterings of wrath + He goes down to his death + Through the green, clammy depths of the waves. + + Hark the tones of despair + Which arise on the air + From the shades of the low moaning bay; + They will float through the years + And encircle the spheres, + And be heard at the great Judgment Day. + + Soon a poor, bloated form, + Tossed about by the storm, + Floating 'round on the crest of each wave, + With seaweed for a shroud, + Is beheld by the crowd, + And a failure is borne to his grave. + + 'Tis a jump from the train + And a trip up on [A]Main, + And a sip with a friend (?) on the way. + Just a step to the "Mug", + And a ride to the "jug"-- + Then a leap to his death in the bay. + + But the Lord from his seat + Looketh down on each street, + Where such hell-born inventions are on, + And with infinite wrath + He will sweep on their path-- + And they'll reap on that day what they've sown. + + +FOOTNOTE: + +[Footnote A: Main Street, Seattle.] + + + + +GAGNE'S CAVALRY + +or + +THE CANADIAN HABITANTS' ANSWER + +to + +THE FAMOUS "CLEVELAND MESSAGE." + + + My Rosie read to me somet'ing, + In pepper week ago. + She say, "De States he want to fight + On Canada and Joe; + An' dat de Yankee Presidon, + He write to Johnnie Bull, + An' tole him kip his nose at home, + Or it would get one pull." + + An' two three Yankee Senator, + He mak' one Yankee speech, + An' t'ink dat all de Canaya + Will tremble in his breech-- + He say to Honcle Sam, "Go up, + An' lick de hole dem crew-- + Go, tak' Quebec an' Hottawa, + An' Lac Megantic too." + + I jomp on top ma moccasin, + An' dance aroun' de floor; + I grine ma teet', I pull ma hair, + An' den I jomp some more; + I say, "hurrah for Canada!" + So loud as I can't yell, + Till Rosie say, "Ba gosh, hole man! + You're crazy I can tell." + + "Oh I'm not crazy, Rosie, + I am only patriot-- + Dat mean a man who never want + His country go to pot-- + Yes, I'm 'hole man,' but don't you fret, + I'm not yet invalid, + I'm good for fight on any war + As ten men when she's dead. + + "I can't fight? Me? Ba gosh you hask + Ma honcle Polyeaux; + He used to fight lak' tiger + On de war of Papineau; + You know I'm just the sam' lak' him, + I'll do what he can done; + An' I can fight lak' tiger, too, + Dat Yankee son-of-gun." + + Ma Rosie say: "You crack hole man, + Such tom fool speech to mak', + I t'ink you are most crazy man + Dat live on top de lac-- + Your boy is in de State, you know, + An' work in Yankee mill, + An' w'at you do he lose his job, + His bread an' greenback bill?" + + "Baa, you mak' mistak', dear Rosie, + If you t'ink we starve to dead; + If we can't get de Yankee work, + His brown bean an' his bread, + Grease pie, hot doughnut--biscuit, + Is good t'ing for mak' a dude; + But we got somet'ing better here + Den Yankee 'speptic food." + + +Chorus: + + Ma peasoup am bully, boys, + An' buckwheat is good, + You nevair get one better t'ing + To work upon de hood; + W'en it get hold de handle axe, + It mak' de chip to fly + T'ick as snowflak' in de winter, + Or mosquito on July. + + Paul will come from Manchester, + An' Xavier from Lowhell; + Joe will come from River Fall, + Immediate--pell mell; + An' every mill of Honcle Sam + Will have to close de loom, + W'en all our boys aroun' de State + Will come to fight at home. + + O by de jomp up hooricane! + If Yankee don't stop brag; + She'll fin' more star on top his head, + Den he got top his flag; + She'll fin' one tiger on his track, + Wit' blood-shot on his eye, + And ev'ry Yank dat cross de line + For fight, is sure to die. + +[Illustration: Gagne's Cavalry.] + + De Lac Megantic m'litia man + Is sure to tak de lead, + You bet your life w'en he get rouse + Someboda got to bleed! + An' w'en from Lac St. Francis + Come de Greenland Grenadier + He'll mak' all Yankee man he meet + Go home de top his bier. + + De Horseman from La Patrie too, + Will come an join de fray, + An' blow his tin horn bugle, + On de top Canada gray; + De Voltigeurs from Weedon, + An' de Lampton Light Brigade, + Will come an' show to Jameson + De way to mak a raid. + + O' we can fight dat Yankee man + As fadders fought before! + On battle of Chateaugay, + W'en five Frenchman kill a score! + De Hinglish, Scotch, an' Hirish, too, + Will join us, don't you fear-- + Dere's notting top dis earth can lick + Canadian Volunteer! + + An' for one more good leader man, + We'll send for Louis Cyr, + An' he'll tak' charge de Chesham Corps + An' Ditton Fusileer; + De Hinfantry from Emberton + Will join de Yankee hunt, + And Peter Gagne's Cavalry + Will gallop on de front! + + + + +THE GRIPPE + + + To see us now, deceivers + Would say this land of beavers + Was full of fitful fevers + And other chills. + On all the passing breezes + There's nothing heard but wheezes, + With hacking coughs and sneezes, + And other ills. + + The bear, that northern prowler, + The 'Oonalaska howler, + And every other growler + We read about, + With us have caught the churning + Whose cause is past discerning, + The demon that is turning + Us inside out. + + The monster's exultation + Is heard throughout the nation, + He stops at every station + To spread himself; + And no one can avoid him, + 'Tis useless to deride him, + Impossible to hide him + Upon a shelf. + + Whence come those sudden changes, + With all their train of twinges, + Grim foes of health that hinges + On atmosphere? + There surely is a reason + For this fantastic season, + That sets the world a sneezin' + About us here. + + This "rushing" influenza, + Just taken for a mensa, + Most certainly will cleanse a' + Your system, man. + It has the knack to stick, too-- + 'Twould surely turn "Old Nick" blue + And draw his toenails quick through + His diaphragm. + + No power can avail, man, + To drive him from the trail, man; + The patent drugs for sale man, + Can never cure. + He comes against your will, man, + And sneaks around to kill, man; + The rippling of his rill, man, + Is never pure. + + It droppeth like the rain, man, + Extracted by the pain, man, + And driveth one insane, man, + To think of it. + It robs us of our food, man, + And freezes up our blood, man-- + And sleep! Nary a nod, man, + Or wink of it. + + The old world it's been tearing-- + Now we must have a hearing; + It crossed the strait of Behring-- + Yes, bound to win. + Ah! now it overtakes me, + The shivering that shakes me + Is one that surely makes the + Whole world akin. + + Across from coast to coast, sir, + You wander like a ghost, sir; + Every one can boast(?), sir, + Of having you. + You strike at high and lowly, + The wicked and the holy, + The poor, and they who roll thee, + Fifth avenue! + + No doubt our friend bold "Fairman", + And also John his chairman, + Are pulling out their hair (?), man, + And looking wild. + If influenza has them, + My writing will not please them; + So, Oscar, pray don't tease them + Or get them riled. + + Gu'tchew! gu'tchew! gu'tchew! man; + "Good day, mar ha u diugh, man; + 'Sda chuin [B]neanaib na shruth, man, + Le-uiske beatha." + That's what I hear around me + Wherever Celtic sound be, + And also, O confound thee, + America! + +FOOTNOTE: + +[Footnote B: Water spring.] + + + + +TRUDEL'S TRAVELS + + +Joe + + Said Joe, "I mus' go w'ere de win' she don' blow + For six mont' in de year, wit' its mout' full of snow: + W'ere t'ermom' at de door don' sink down to de floor, + Yes, to 40 degree below razo, or so. + + "W'ere de breeze mak' you sneeze, an' de pump-handle freeze, + An' de snow she is go up above to you' knees, + Is no place for me Joe, so I'm t'ink I will go + Lak de Hun to de sun, wit' ma wife an' Louise. + + "I got pos' car' today from Eugene, an' he say + To sell out on de farm, an' go down rat away + To Lowhell on de mill w'ere I earn de green bill, + An' de Merri-mac sing, tra la ling, all de day." + + +Marie + + But Marie said, "Oui, I am not jus' agree + Wit' de plan dat you han' for dat gran' beeg movie; + If you start for de State jus' be sure not be late: + I will stay rat at home till you come, don' you see? + + "So skedad," she is yell, "an' go down to Lowhell, + W'ere de snow she don' blow and no ice clog de well! + I will freeze if I please, or go sout' wit' de geese, + An' live 'long wit' ma niece in 'at ol' Lennoxvell." + + +Joe + + "Yes, ma dear, I can hear, if you don' spik so clear, + An' break in lak a bomb on de drom of ma ear; + You may fly wit' you' niece an' go live wit' de geese, + If you promise to write in you' flight once a year. + + "She is give me one glance an' at once I can see + It's more safer in France den at Lampton for me; + In her face it is war an' I notice, by gar, + It's more cold in her eye den de 60 degree! + + "An' Marie, is she froit? Not to notice it yet! + For she scream till she steam an' she steam till she's wet; + An' I notice once more as she stamp on de floor: + She is build on de line of de fin' suffragette! + + "Ah! So cold lak de pump, or de frost on de stump, + An' her beautiful back is rise up in de hump; + Quick I mak' up my min' w'en I look on dat sign, + It is jus' 'bout de tam for me Joe mak' a jomp! + + "In de quarr'l of a fam' don' it sure beat de ban' + How de neighbors butt in, jus' lak one of de clan-- + If ol' Liz' an' her phiz would kip out of my biz', + It is sure not be half de divorce in de lan'. + + "Did I jomp? Well, I'm not geeve it secrets away + Dat's between man an' wife an' de pump any day, + But Marie w'en she's woun', tak's some tam to run down, + An' before she collapse she me raps in dis way:" + + +Marie + + "I am born for to toil, I am tie to de soil, + An' you t'ink it's enough if for once in a while + I can ride to Shalbrooke, wit' cheval dat you took + From de crows in de spring, jus' to show it my style! + + "Lak de queen I am feel wit' no grease on de wheel, + An' t'ree pigs in a box nottings lef' but de squeal! + Wit' his snout stick it out through de slat lake a spout-- + An' his body come too but got knot on de tail! + + "An' I know I am show lak de scare of de crow, + W'en down Wellington street to de market we go; + An' garson in bare feet--all de blaggard I meet + Mak' me squirm lak de worm from ma head to de toe. + + "O ge whizz I am proud w'en we come on de crowd, + An' damfool out of school, he is laugh it out loud; + But de glory to God w'en I t'ink of de load + An' de boneyard dat carry it over de road, + An' de squeak of de gig, and de squeal of de pig, + I don' blame it for laugh w'en he look at de rig! + + "'Ha! ha!' he is cry, 'hope to die, how you feel? + Ain't it tam to give pig in dat box some more meal? + You' horse it's too fat lak de edge of de slat; + Not 'nuff grease in de pig for to put on de wheel! + W'at you tak' it in cash for you' automosqueal?'" + "Dat's de cry dat I hear on de top of ma ear + W'en Marie, dat is me, an' her chariot appear. + An' as sure I'm rebel as you' name is Trudel + If it's not some improvement in movement nex' year." + + +Joe + + "O, I know very well, ma cheval is poor breed, + But for trav' lak de dev' he is very fine steed; + It is true he is slim, but jus' look at his limb-- + He is build lak de fly-machine--all for de speed! + + "Yes, Marie, I agree dat ma rig is look tough, + So I'll spik it to Ingram, or else to Ren Clough: + I will horder cheval of de bes' in his stall, + An' nex' trip you'll be queen of de May, sure enough." + + +Marie + + "You' sarcast' is not ask it is soun' lak de clown, + If you see you'se'f once as you look to de town + You would pull in you' horn jus' as sure you are born, + For you haven't got sense enough sure to go roun'. + + "Yes, sir, ma dear Joe, you don't seem, for to know, + On las' trip to de town you was mos' of de show: + Wit' t'ree quart whiskey blanc dat you pour down you' craw-- + O you bet you forget all 'bout 60 below! + + "In Shalbrook on each trip you complain of de grippe, + Dr. Bum is soon come wit' a "nip" on de hip: + You get sick very quick jus' before de physic, + But de cure is work sure after tak' de firs' nip. + + "Las' tam you was in you begin de ol' trick, + An' you' frien' soon atten' to tak' charge of de sick; + Soon you smug' a beeg jug to de stall of you' plug-- + But Marie' dat is me, an' cheval mak' a kick. + + "O dat 2-gallon stein of de jolly highwine, + In de provender mix, mak' a bully combine! + If it's good for a fool sure it's good for de mule, + An' dat is as true as twice four it is nine. + + "I am t'ink if you drink till you' loaded for wreck, + I will geeve de ol' nag de sam' jag on de deck; + So I pour a few peck of de stuff down his neck + An' start in to smash record for trot in Kebec. + + "Yes, I mix it de stuff, jus' de full of beeg pail-- + Will he eat it or drink it? It's puzzle to tell: + But he gobble an' gobbed an' he slobber and slobbed + Until nottings was lef' of de stuff but de smell! + + "Bam by it was sly in de eye dat was dull, + An' he sneeze an' he wheeze an' de halter he pull; + Pretty soon he is grow to ac' jus' lak ma Joe-- + Yes a man an' cheval is de sam' w'en its full! + + "Come hop on de wagon, it's ready for flight; + Load is leaving for Lampton, ol' Joseph sit tight. + Whoa, Boneyparte, whoa! An' Calamity Joe! + Kip still till you bid (hic) ol' Shalbrooke good night. + + "An' de soun' of his feet as he dance on de street, + Seem to me lak de play of de drum w'en she's beat; + An' he rattle his bones on de pavement of stones + Till it mak' me feel sure I am winning de heat! + + "Wen we pass it pell mell thru' on ol' Lennoxvell, + Peop' is t'ink dat de college is practice hees yell; + I am know it's disgrace on such educate place-- + But it mak' leetle differ to Joseph Trudel. + + "For, more loud as before he is roar on de spot, + Boneyparte is respon' an fly on lak de shot-- + Frank Bogash is stan' still on de top of Sand Hill, + An' say, 'glory to God, he can beat me for trot!' + + "An' his tail in de win' is fly up wit'out bend, + Jus' as straight lak de pole dat de trolley car send. + Yes, it stick up behin' lak de mos' of its kin', + An' I'm t'ink dat de spark is fly out at de end! + + "He is wheeze on de breeze till I'm 'fraid he will bus', + An' ma Joe, de ol' fou, is yell 'Go it, you cuss!' + Jus' as soon as he yell Boney do as he tell, + An' de city of Cookshire we leave in de dus'. + + "It's rat here I got scare, an' declare to him 'Hi! + Can't you steady you nerves an' come down from de sky?' + But I fin' it's no use, for de dev' is seem loose, + An' de more as I coax it de louder he cry! + + "On de top of de slope w'ere dey bury de Pope + I say, 'Joe, you go slow through dis precinct I hope.' + But he yell for protection--'Hoorah for 'lection, + Free trade will be hang if it get some more rope!' + + "An' I know rat away dat de dev' is to pay, + W'en he cry to de sky in dat blood curdle way + For John Henry arose, to meet frien' or de foes-- + An' said, 'Ladies an' gentlemen, where's Laurier?' + + "O, de stones on de graves is look white lak de sheep, + An' de fear of ma scare mak' de hair on me creep + W'en he lif' up his head, look aro'nd him an' said, + 'There ain't nothin' to it,' an' went back for more sleep! + + "Bam by I am get over de mos' of ma fright; + I don' look to de lef, I don' look to de right. + But kip rat straight ahead for more place of de dead-- + For ma pals stop for nottings but spirits tonight. + + "An' de rat de tat tat of his iron shoe hoof + Soun' lak hail in de gale dat is fall on de roof; + An' de stone dat is pass, an' de dus' in ma face, + Of de speed Boney mak' is one jolly good proof. + + "An' at Bury, I guess, Joe is want me to res' + An' put down at de tavern of Peter Gilless; + But I tole to him plain he was on de wrong train-- + No way station stop for de lightning hexpress! + + "Whoa! Boneyparte, whoa! W'at's de matter wit' you? + Can't you jus for one minute go little bit slow? + But he don't seem to min' any more as de win', + An' pass out through de swamp w'ere de dam-beaver grow. + + "Wen de Meadows we reach, lak de dev' he was hump, + An' ol' Chimney de Hill he was climb in t'ree jump; + All de Scotch on de road say 'de glory to God, + It mus' sure be de ghost of ol' 'Caillach de fump!' + + "At each place of de dead, I say 'Joe, prinnes garde, + You kip still on dis hill, an' don' yellen so hard.' + But ma Joseph of course, jus' as crack as de horse + Kip on yell to beat tell w'en he see de graveyard! + + "At one place as we pass, I t'ink down de Black Eye, + Sleep some dear pioneer--80 year since dey die: + Here ol' Joe yell so loud for de clans in de shroud + Some is jomp up to see w'at de dev' is pass by! + + "An' jus' leettle way down, Boney stop in his track, + An' he spy, an' he shy, an' he try to turn back; + But Joe hit him a clip on de hip wit' de whip, + An' somebodda in Scotch is yell 'Frangach a cack.' + + "But Boney don' need it de crack of de switch, + As he jomp through de stomp on de top of de ditch, + Yellin' 'Caillach a rad cross! I am los', I am los'!' + An' was chase in de race by de wil' Lingwick witch! + + "O de glory to Gordon! her look mak' me chill, + As we shoot over reevers lak wisp-o'-de-will; + An' den down to de mill, an' up over de hill, + W'ere de capitol Gould ro'nd de scales is stan' still. + + "But not so de chariot dat's passin', you bet: + Too much hurry to talk to de peop' dat we met-- + It's no stop-over right on Joe's ticket tonight-- + He is head on for Lampton an' don' you forget! + + "Yes, ol' caillach de crossing is scare Joseph blind, + An' I'm t'ink for a while it will help it--his mind-- + O you bet he was 'fraid of dat sweet highland maid + Who was squeal lak de deil on our heel jus' behind! + + "We was gallop through Galson, till Tolsta approach, + Near de line dat's dividing de French from de Scotch; + Here ol' hag of de fright, scream to Joseph 'Good night! + On de witches of Winslow I mus' not encroach!' + + "W'en Joe lose it de vision he's courage come back + An' he ask w'at she mean by de 'Frangach is crack'; + W'en I tole him he cry 'Dam Scotch haggis good bye! + De nex' tam dat I trav' I will kip from you track!' + + "'Who is said I was 'fraid of de sick or de well? + I am not a bit scare of twin devils from Dell; + Not one man of my day, but de beeg George MacRae + Can lick one of de sides of me, Joseph Trudel!' + + * * * * * + + "Dat's de way dat you rave, an' behave, an' you boast + On de night dat cheval an' his pal see de ghost: + An' de tremens was goad you so much on de road + I am wonder de load ever get to dis post. + + "O, it's joy, for a wife, in dis worl' of de strife, + To be shame of de game till it stab lak de knife; + An' de peop' are all tell 'Dat's de mate of Trudel, + Who is travel lak hell on de jo'rney of life. + + "Dat's why you are cry, an' you' heart feel it sore, + An' you ask me to roam from ma home evermore. + Jus' you geeve up one t'ing, an' de birds it will sing, + An' de sonshine will cling w'ere it's shadow before! + + "O dat man is de bes' who will cling to his nes' + W'ere he's born an' he's raise an' he's work an' he's res'; + If he don' mak' success rat at home, I confess, + Den it's slim hope for him in de Sout' or de Wes'. + + "An' dear Joe, don' you know we have got no hexcuse + For de way we offen', an' descen' to abuse? + Me you cannot deceive, for I know you are grieve + Jus' as much as Marie for de dear ones we lose. + + "An' de pain is mos' kill, an' it's nevair kip still, + Since dey bury ma Mary an' boy on de hill; + W'en you ask it I fin' dat I can't leave behin' + Lonely grave of ma darlings, Marie and boy Bill. + + "An' I'm feel it is true, half of me's bury too, + Since was lay in de clay leettle body from view! + So you do w'at you lak, I will try for to mak' + Jus' de bes' of de bargain, I promise to you. + + "But I tole to you, Joe, if you t'ink I mus' go, + It is only half womans be wit' you I know; + For de res' of me stay w'ere de leettle ones lay-- + In de summer an' flower, in winter an' snow!" + + + + +THE END OF THE TRAIL + + + I was summoned in the gloaming to the bedside of a friend + Who was passing through the shadows ever lurking at the end: + To the bedside of a comrade I had known long, long ago + Back in dear old Compton County, where the sugar maples grow. + Just a simple son of Lewis, careless, fearless, poor and proud, + As becomes a Highland Scotsman of the royal clan MacLeod. + He could sing the songs of loveland, as I've seldom heard them sung-- + Richest treasures of the Highlands flowed in music from his tongue. + What a privilege and pleasure to have heard him in his prime, + Ere his mellow notes were burdened by the cruel strains of time. + When the gentle nurse had brought me to the couch of poor old John + E'en a novice would not question that his race was nearly run. + He was lonely in the city, longing for the spruce and pine, + And his eyes grew bright with pleasure as he placed his hand in mine, + Saying: "Don't forget me, Angus, but come out to see me here, + For the nights are long and lonely, and the days devoid of cheer. + Yes, I know my days are numbered, all the signs to me are plain: + I shall never guide the movements of the skid road boys again. + There's a secret I would tell you that I've never told before, + It was locked up in my bosom fifty years ago or more: + It's of Mary, gentle Mary, whom I loved in years agone-- + Loved her then and will forever, and my Mary loved her John! + But there came another wooer, who was rich as I was poor, + And her parents looked with favor on this keeper of a store. + I was wounded, yes, and angry, that their greed should thus deny + Me the place they held for riches, so I bade them all good bye, + And I left my Mary weeping, though she begged of me to stay-- + Left her weeping--to my sorrow--and I westward took my way. + Then I drifted hither, thither, like the flotsam of the sea: + Every year a little farther from my home in Tallabharee, + Till at last I came to anchor on the shores of Puget Sound, + Where so many of my comrades in misfortune may be found." + Here his speech grew slow and halting, as he said, amid his groans, + He had feared for what might happen to his "poor old aching bones." + "Do not let them sink my body where the derelicts are thrown, + For although I'm poor in pocket, pride was bred within my bone. + When my limbs refuse their burden and I cannot further go, + And the trail is dark and tangled where the fir and cedars grow; + When the cord of life is severed and in death I'm lying low, + And there's nothing left but tallabh of the John you used to know: + Lay me down amid the shadows of the forest that I love, + With the grey green moss around me and the skies of God above; + Where no noises will disturb me save the whisper of the woods + And the night-birds' dismal hooting in the primal solitudes, + Where the crooning voice of nature chants the glory of the West, + Let the groves of God hold vigil o'er my everlasting rest. + Over there beyond the shadows I will find my Mary dear, + And we'll cruise the trails together that we missed so sadly here." + When again I looked upon him death had wrapped him in its chill, + Songs were silenced now forever and the lilting lips were still. + + + + +HOMESICK. + + + I am tire now of roam', Rosemarie, + An' long to be at home 'mong de tree, + W'ere de Robin redbreas' sing + In de branches every spring, + An' de bes' of everyt'ing, You wit' me! + + For de independen' man, Rosemarie, + Farmin' is de bettair plan, seem to me; + W'ere no boss is stan' an' swear + Till you feel lak pull you' hair-- + O! ba gosh I want ma fare rat away! + + Yes, if man has got one soul, Rosemarie, + Don' it mak' him hot lak ol' Mont Pelee! + To be order' ro'nd his work + Lak some lezzy dog-gone Turk-- + By a boss call Barney Burke, O sacre! + + O, I long to see my farm, Rosemarie; + W'ere ol' Nature full of charm wait for me-- + W'ere de angel painter deck + Ev'ry sod an' stone an' stick: + Ro'nd ma home in ol' Kebec, Rosemarie! + + Yes, I dream abo't it all, Rosemarie, + Ev'ry tam to sleep I fall, night or day: + I can see dat bock-wheat fiel' + Dat is soon be turn to meal, + An' I hear de fat pig squeal, "hot gravie"! + + O, ma heart is on de jomp, Rosemarie, + For be back among de stomp, You an' me: + Ma potato in de lot, + An' ma onion growin' hot, + An' de sweet pea in de pot, hully gee! + +[Illustration: Sergeant-Major Larry.] + + + + +SERGEANT MAJOR LARRY OF THE GALLANT 58TH + + In '96 the author served his Queen for two weeks on + the plains of Rockland, near Richmond, Que., as + orderly under the gallant Capt. Peter Gillies, now of + Bury, P. Q. One of the subordinate officers becoming + the butt of his comrades owing to unpopular tactics + the following "Come-allye" resulted. The author may + add that this "drill" ended his military career--he + hasn't been orderly since. + + + O come all ye loyal volunteers, + You're ordered for review: + Keep your eyes on Sergeant Larry + Of the famous "No. 2". + He's the model of a soldier, + And 'tis worth your while to watch + How he handles the maneuvers + In his drill among the Scotch. + + Sure his "honors" sought him early, + He was here but half a week, + When the call came: "Forward, Larry, + You're promoted for your cheek: + Take your stripes and stand for orders + And reveal to No. 2 + What a mixture of conceit and gall, + With brass and cheek, can do." + + And the "orders" are "Fall in, my men, + Look sharp, and don't be late! + Signed, Sergeant Major Larry, + Of the gallant 58." + Come, my boys, you need not grumble, + You have but to grin and yield, + For brave Kitchener's "not in it" + When bold Larry's on the field. + + When we started down from Scotstown + We were just as big as him, + But his honors won so quickly + Made the rest of us look slim. + O, he swelled in regimentals + Till he quite outgrew his tent, + But he'll get the one he asked for + When old Hogan pays his rent. + + O we are loyal volunteers, + Our red coats prove us so, + We are ready, aye, and willing now + To meet our country's foe. + Who would not be proud of Canada + And for her sake to bleed? + For success would crown our efforts + If bold Larry took the lead. + + Yes, the sword that dangles by his side's + A borrowed one, I know + But it matters not to Larry, + As it helps to make a show! + See him strut around the camp ground, + Like a peacock in the grass! + And the "staff" will send him higher + When it needs a boom in brass. + + Such was Larry bold--in peace time-- + He was brave as Lochinvar, + But he quickly changed his music + As the bugle called for war; + When the Highlanders grew wrathy, + With their hair straight up on end, + Sergeant Larry dropped at Bury, + As he wished to see a friend! + + We were left without a leader + And the riot louder swelled, + Divers Scotsmen drew their bayonets + And for blood they madly yelled. + Ev'ry car was full of soldiers, + Noisy as salvation drum, + On the day we left Camp Rockland + And the troops came shouting home. + + After Larry comes the "Colonel," + And a valiant man is he, + Tho' he never led his forces + From "Atlanta to the sea"; + Yet, if e'er the country needs him, + Every clansman will awake, + From old Hampton down to Weedon + And from Lingwick to the Lake. + + We will conquer with our music + If our fighting fails to win, + Whom bold Larry cannot vanquish + We will silence with our din; + Thus we'll proudly march to glory + And in midst of all the fray + We'll be cheered by French of Scotstown + As he whistles "Cabar Faidth." + + And McLennan with his bagpipes, + He's a brass band in himself, + We will have him with his music + To conjure the fighting elf. + There is nothing so inspiring + As a loyal tune or song, + To arouse a soldier's spirits + And to cheer the "boys" along. + + We will have them there from Scotstown, + From Ben gal and Echo Vale, + Men imbued with faith and courage, + Highland traits which never fail; + And to swell the fighting faction + We've the twins of Murray's Clan, + Who can fight their weight in wildcats-- + Not to mention mortal man! + + And we've armies to fall back on, + Whose supply will never fail, + Troops which cross the wild Atlantic + On all ships of steam or sail; + You will find them throughout Canada, + Wherever you may roam, + And the natives call them "home boys", + For they never stop at home. + + +Chorus + + Beat the drums and blow the bugle, boys, + And whoop it all you're worth, + As a token to the nations + You are rulers of the earth! + If you wish to shine as soldiers + You must all be up to date, + And uphold the reputation + Of Battalion 58. + + + + +THE FENIAN RAID WHICH NEVER WAS MADE + + During the Boer War a number of prominent gentlemen + addressing a great mass-meeting in New York advised + the Tammany Tiger to go up and clean out the Canadian + jungles, intimating that the majority of the French + Canadians were ready to cast off the "British Yoke." + + + From de country of de Yankee, + Where de heagle bird is roost, + Where de Star and Stripe is worship + All de way from coast to coast, + Comes a rumble of de danger + Dat is t'reaten us once more, + W'en de Fenian tak' hadvantage + Of our trobble wit' de Boer. + + Some crank mans in New York City + Mak' beeg speech dat soun' lak' joke, + And he tell us "what a pity + Canadaw wear British yoke!" + And dey shout out to de people + In de clap-trap of de brave: + "We will send it men and money + For to liberate de slave!" + + P'raps dey mean all right for Joseph, + But I t'ink before dey come, + Dat someboda ought to tole it, + "Charata begin at home." + And dey try to move McKinley + In de favor of Oom Paul-- + Not because dey love de Boer, + But because dey hate John Bull. + + Now if Joe he know de feeling + Of de U. S. at this tam, + All de foe of Queen Victoria + Is de foe of Honcle Sam. + It is hinsult to ma country + For dese men to yell and tell + Dat de Canuck don't is loyal + To de queen he love so well. + + Tak' de history of ma people, + From de day of Wolfe-Montcalm, + An' you'll find it patriotic + To de backbone jus' de sam'. + I am sorry for dis fighting, + As I don't dislak de Boer; + But ba gosh w'en its mean troub', boys, + Den I lak' ma country more. + + Hip hoorah! for British soldier, + Hip hoorah! for British flag! + And God bless de Canuck forces + Gone to help uphold de rag! + Down wit' all disloyal member + Of de body politik, + French or Henglish, rich or poor mans, + By de power let him trek! + (I'm not onderstan' dis las' word, + Don't hinvent it in Quebec.) + + Now I read it on de pepper + Dat J. Tarte is mak' some sneer + On de patrihotic feeling + Of de Canuck volunteer; + So I'll tole ma frien' Sir Wilfrid + For to check his runnin' mate-- + T'row heem out de sam' lak Jonah, + Or he'll sink de ship of state! + + Long ago w'en I was babby + Fenian mak' it one beeg "raid" + For to capture Canuck country-- + Hole an' young an' man an' maid. + Up dey come from state of Var-mont, + Halso from de state of Maine, + To de state of destitution + Pretty near to Stanstead Plain! + + Dere dey met two t'ree hole farmer, + Wit' some sickle in her han', + An' she hask hinvading army + W'at dey want on top her lan'. + Dey could mak' no hones' hanswer, + So de farmer tole 'em "leave," + An' before you say Jack Robin! + Dey skedaddle lak de dev'! + + Yes dis rag-tag bob-tail soldier + Start across de "line" on run, + Jus' de sam' lak' Coxey army, + W'en it march from Washington! + Nodder tam two t'ree more Fenian + Come aroun' ma home to tak' + W'en ma fadder an' ma grandpa + Was off fish upon de lak'. + + Noboda aroun' but womans + W'en de Fenian come dat day, + An' ma gran'ma wit' de pitchfork + T'rowim over fence lak hay! + No, I don't want Fenian, t'ank you, + For to lif' de British yoke, + I can wear it leetle longer + On ma farm at Centre Stoke. + + So, if stranger cross de border + For hinvasion of dis' lan', + We will meet it in good order + Wit' strong weapon in de han'. + Yes, let Finnigan de Fenian + Cross de "line" to hole Quebec, + An' lak chicken of de story + She'll get somet'ing in de neck. + + We will grab it by de collar, + And some place dat's near de seat, + An' dere rags will mak' a flutter + In de gutter of de street; + An' ba Christmas she will fin' me + Wit' ma shoulder to de "yoke," + Waiting for dat rag-tag army + Of hinvasion--watch ma smoke! + + + + +A LEAP-YEAR BALL AT LINGWICK + + + The night before last Hallowe'en + Tho' wet as any ever seen, + Must henceforth mark a date supreme + In Lingwick's social lore. + As on that eve the ladies all + Came forth to give their leap-year ball-- + And long ere ten the dancing hall + Was crowded to the door. + + Since Scottish heroes sang duans + Upon the field of Prestonpans, + So fine a gathering of the clans + Was surely never seen. + And brilliant Byron's "ladies fair" + Who danced in Belgium's balmy air + Could never with our girls compare + In beauty's realm, I ween. + + Were I a Burns I'd sing their praise + In grateful sympathetic lays, + And tell them how a bard repays + The smiles on him bestowed. + O! for a pure poetic drift, + Or bard McRitchie's splendid gift, + To give those charming girls a lift + On chummy Hymen's road. + + Since first the red man trod those lands, + In happy, reckless, roving bands, + Where now the town of Lingwick stands, + Until the present time. + No festal scene deserved such note, + Of such a scene no poet wrote, + Tho' painted with a double coat + Of stirring prose or rhyme. + + The lively Galson girls were there, + With dancing eyes and wavy hair, + And roses stamped by caller air + On every blooming cheek. + And other ladies, fair and bright, + Who live near by, were there that night, + Contributing the keen delight + Of beauty, so to speak. + + Oh bachelors, how sweet to glide + With such bright charmers by one's side! + And ev'ry heart a surging tide + Of leap-year sentiment! + You might perambulate around + Until you'd hear the trumpet sound-- + No better quarters could be found + To pitch your earthly tent. + + At 12 o'clock the ladies came + And took each blushing(?) humbled swain + Across the road, where Eddie's dame + Had placed a royal feast. + Each charmer paid (alas how rare!) + Her own and hungry fellow's fare, + And splendid food was furnished there + For o'er an hour at least. + + We must congratulate each belle + From mountain, vale and Fisher Hill, + Who paid her leap-year tax so well + Last Friday night at Gould. + Had we our wish we'd gladly call + Twice yearly for a leap-year ball, + For surely we were happy all + The while the women ruled. + + And we beseech you throw your charms + Around the lonely mountain farms, + Where bachelors are up in arms + Against your luring spell. + Fan to a flame the sluggish smoke, + Place Gibourd in a double yoke, + And give friend Finlay Ian a poke + To keep him hale and well. + + Dear girls, keep up your enterprise + And dazzle all those "bache's" eyes, + Before the present leap-year dies + And robs you of your rights. + Take pity on the lonely men + From "Midnight" to big corner "Ken," + Or later on "it might have been" + Will rob your sleep o' nights. + + The 'legibles we'll briefly scan: + There's Merchant Donald B. Buchan, + Who is a dear, good-natured man, + And not too old to mend; + And Layfield, too, by George! you bet, + A closer friend it's hard to get-- + Besiege their hearts, they're both to let, + And bliss will rule the end. + + And finally O'Norman "Hoe", + Can Cupid's dart e'er conquer you, + And penetrate your bosom through + To kindle there a flame? + Shall living mortal ever see + A bouncing baby on your knee + Whose lisping tones will add with glee + "Papa" unto your name. + + + + +HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER Or THE HOLLERIN' HOHENZOLLERIN + + + Dear Gott! der weight of "right divine" + Iss on my shoulters heavy yet; + Und worries grow for me und mine + For fear our thrones should be upset. + + Democracy disturbs my dreams + Und leaves Thy Villiam veak und vorn; + Der worldt iss upsite down, it seems, + Since Chermany was made to mourn. + + Ve deemed der throne of "Nick" secure + From Gottless hordes who scheme and scoff; + But foes of mineund Thine, impure, + Rebelled und bowled der Romanoff! + + Und also Greece went on der skids, + For Constantine, my Constantine! + Und other kinks may lose their lids + Till all are gone safe mine und Thine! + + If von by von ve lose our crown + My schemes on earth vill be upset; + Und Gott! if Ireland turns us down + Ve're in der soup alretty yet! + + Der Yankees, too, are now in France, + To aid der hateful Philistine, + Und swear they'll make der Kaiser dance + Der Turkey trot across der Rhine! + + (Aside) + Yes, I vill dance und I vill trot, + Der Shottiss und der minuet, + But, by der power of "Me und Gott" + U. Sam vill pay der piper yet! + + Gott, I've been faithful to my trust + Since Thou dids't place me on der throne; + My sword wass neffer known to rust + Vile it coult yet extract a groan. + + Wheneffer yet I drew dot sword + To make der helpless victim bleed, + I alvays called upon der Lort + To guide my arm und bless der deed! + + I sink der ships on all der seas, + My submarines are on der chob! + Despairing cries invade der breeze + Und music's in der dying sob! + + I rain der pombs from oudt der sky, + On schools and hospitals below; + Der vimmen und der chiltren die-- + For thus do ve reduce der foe! + + Lort help me mit my war to prove + To all der swine as they shoult know, + Thou are der ruler up above + Und I am ruler down below! + + I am der Moses as of oldt, + I smite der heathen hip and thigh-- + Lort send me Aaron yet to holdt + Thy fainting servant's handts on high! + + On Gideon still holdt der sun-- + Thou dids't for "Josh" in years agone; + Und let der melancholy moon + Still flood der vale of Ajalon! + + (Aside) + O Chermany! dear Chermany! + Der Lort of Hosts vill see you through! + Ve are der chosen people ve, + Und not der Scotch or cunning Jew! + + Vonce, Lort, Thou knowest ve vere chums, + Und everything did come my vay; + But now Thou'rt turning down der thumbs, + No matter how so loudt I bray! + + Remember, Chermany's Thy friendt; + Upholdt it, Lort, for our dear sake; + Der line of Hintenburg is bent-- + O help us, Gott, before it break! + + I'm trusting in Thine aid divine, + Und bray und fight mit shot and shell, + But Himmel fails to hold der line + Against Canucks dot fight like hell! + + I bray at morning, bray at night, + Und bray at noon ven it is hot; + But Gott is keeping oudt of sight-- + He answers not, He answers not! + + O! can it be, as scoffers say, + Der race iss for der von who runs? + Und dot no matter how ve bray + Der Lort is mit der biggest guns? + + If so it be, then all iss lost; + Farewell, farewell, dear Chermany! + Lloyd Chorge can figure up der cost + And charge it all to Gott und me! + + + + +HOW WE SETTLED THE ALASKAN BOUNDARY QUESTION + + These lines were penned long before the breaking out + of the present great war. Note the remarkable spirit + of prophesy which pervaded the poem, especially its + allusion to the Armenians. + + + Now that little Venezuela + Has her navy back in tow, + With the "allies" in the distance + Waiting for the promised "dough", + It may not be deemed improper + For the mind that loves to roam, + Just to focus its attention + On some matters nearer home. + + We are also growing weary + Of the "war clouds in the East", + Which bob up to entertain us + Once or twice a year at least. + And we'd bear the "bobbing" better + If it did not always bring + To the "concert of the Powers" + An unfailing chance to sing. + + They are masterful musicians + With chin music as their forte, + And a penchant strong for love songs + When they serenade the Porte! + While they sing the Sultan dances + Like a strolling Dago's bear, + Till one really feels the presence + Of roast Turkey in the air! + + Thus they exorcise the spirit + Of destruction in the Turk, + And adjure the imp to vamoose + And forego its bloody work. + Doth he vamoose? Yes, a season, + To return with "seven more," + While the Sultan's still insultin' + And his fingers still in gore. + + But we'll leave this doubtful concert + And its harem-scarem tones, + Meant to drown the voice appealing + In the dying Christian's groans; + And examine rather closer + Into troubles of our own. + To uproot the crops of mischief + Which old Satan may have sown. + + People must with friendly feelings, + And the best intentions, try + To elucidate the muddle + Termed "Alaskan boundary." + There's a rumble in that region, + And it shouldn't louder grow-- + Just a little cloud of worry + 'Mid the flurry of the snow. + + Why, oh why, should kindred people + Quarrel over hunks of ice? + If they knew each other better + They would settle in a trice. + But Miss Canada is frigid + And Columbia is cold, + So in presence of the couple + There's an iciness untold. + + Harken to the one bemoaning + Up among the northern lights, + How that 'tother is a "squatter" + And encroaching on her rights. + "It is mine by deed and title, + For as everybody knows-- + Not to mention Rudyard Kipling-- + I am 'Lady of the Snows'. + + "See my cousin, Hail Columbia, + Who has settled thereabout, + She will soon take Root and Lodge there + If I do not Turner[C] out. + When I asked her 'please to vacate', + Can you guess the jade's response? + Why, she sweetly smiled and answered, + 'After you, my dear Alphonse'!" + + Thus the question rests at present, + Till the arbitrators meet; + And we trust when said time cometh + They will gravely take their seat + Near the base of all the trouble, + On the apex of the Pole, + Where they'll exercise the virtue + At the least of keeping cool! + + Furl your "colors," then, ye fair ones, + In a truce of amity, + Till this august body settles + Where the "boundary" should be; + We've emerged from clouds of discord + And should never more go back + Whether Skagway's 'neath Old Glory + Or beneath the Union Jack! + +FOOTNOTE: + +[Footnote C: Root, Lodge and Turner, the three American arbitrators.] + + + + +DE GUARDS OF LAFAYETTE + + + Ma Rosie say to me today, + "You mus' prepare, ol' man, + For to join de Allied army + In de ranks of Honcle Sam. + De worl' is full commotion + Since explosion of de Hun, + An' de dev's to pay for Belgium + An' "position in de sun". + + I say, "all rat, ol' woman, + Let de summon come today, + An' you'll fin' ol' Joseph ready + For to arm an' march away! + I'm as good for carry knapsack + An' to shoulder up ma gun + As I was in Reil rebellion + On de far Saskatchewan." + + De home of ma adoption + Is as good a place for me + As across de line in Canadaw, + Ma native counteree. + Ma work, ma home, ma frien's, are here-- + In fac', de whol' dem set! + So w'at can I do but join wit you + In de Guards of Lafayette! + + I don't care me for nobodda + But stan' up for w'at's right, + An' if Honcle Sam he geeve de word + An' say we got to fight: + Good-bye ma work on Amoskeag, + I leave it quick you bet, + An' join de boy wit' utmos' joy + On de Guards of Lafayette! + + So don't mak' fuss abo't dis cuss, + An' don' be tak' it hard + If I, ol' Joe, go soon to show + Ma colors in de Guard. + You say I got some babby-- + I mus' stay rat by dem? Nit! + I will march beneat' ol' Glory + In de Guards of Lafayette! + + O ain't it mak' sensation + On de streets of Manchestar + W'en de order come from Honcle Sam + To march us off to war. + Nobodda'll know dat dis is Joe + From dear ol' Nicolet, + W'en off I march jus' stiff lak starch + In de Guards of Lafayette! + + Dear Woodrow, would you be so good + As send us Teddy R., + To be commander of de chief + An' leader of de Guar'? + Dis war, ma friend, is quick to end + If battle stage is set + For bol' Ted, on Armageddon + Leading Guards of Lafayette! + + O sure it's be proud day for me + I nevair saw before, + W'en Johnny Bull an' Honcle Sam + Fight sides by side once more! + It's mak' one combination + Dat's tarnation sure to win + W'en Old Glory joins de Allies + On dat rough road to Berlin! + + Mos' place I go dey ask me, "Joe, + Who start dis gol darn war? + Was it de Sultan-Kaiser, + Or de Austro Hungry Tsar?" + I hanswer, "well, it's hard to tell + Who start dis hell abroad, + But spite of Hun, de gas an' gun, + We'll finish it, ba God!" + + Den Rosie, dear, dry up de tear, + An' cheer up lak ma joy-- + You know de Hun is turn his gun + On leetle girl an' boy! + Now dat we mus' join in de fuss + And Honcle Sam say, "Get!" + Jus' wish us well an' shout lak hell + For de Guards of Lafayette! + + + + +THE LUMBERJACK + + + We have songs on many topics, + New and old, beneath the sun, + But, alas, in many cases, + Minstrelsy is overdone; + + So I'll sing a song of labor-- + Where the muse is rather slack-- + And my theme shall be of timber + And the hardy lumberjack. + + Now republican traditions + Are so grafted in our bones, + That e'en monarchs of the forest + Must be tumbled from their thrones. + + And to raze those ancient strongholds + We have armies of the axe, + Plucky pioneers of progress, + Known to all as lumberjacks. + + He may lack the wings of angels + And the sanctity of saints: + If a town's in need of painting + He may furnish all the paints. + + Yet he lapses but a moment + And again he hies him back + Close unto the heart of nature, + Does the lonesome lumberjack. + + There amid his wild surroundings + And the crooning of the trees, + He finds balm for mind and body + Borne on every passing breeze. + + There is something strangely healing + In the magic of the myrrh, + In the odor of the cedar + And the fragrance of the fir! + + Grind your axes, O my heroes, + Point your peavies, file your saws; + Let your ropes and chains and cables + Be examined now for flaws. + + Fire up the iron donkey, + Till each rivet feels the strain, + Lumberjack has had his outing + And returns to camp again! + + There is music in the axe fall + As it sounds upon the ear; + There is music in the sawing + When the dust is flying clear-- + + Aye, there's music for the lumberjack + Magnificent of sound, + In the crashing of the timber + As it thunders to the ground. + + He will never lack for music + While the owl is keeping time + With the ceaseless serenading + Of the frog within the slime. + + But the music ever sounding, + With the sweetest of appeals, + Is the ding-dong of the iron gong + That calls him to his meals! + + He's a credit to his calling, + To his country and his clan: + There is not a dude among them-- + Every lumberjack's a man. + + And you'll find him ever cheerful, + In the sunshine or the rain, + From the camps of B. Columbia + To the lumber camps of Maine. + + He may show a rough exterior, + But his heart is warm within-- + Mark him poring o'er that letter, + Just received from home and kin: + + Tears will gather hot and blinding + And he cannot hold them back, + Reading words from distant loved ones + to their absent lumberjack! + + 'Tis, perchance, a loving message + From a sweetheart far away, + Or a tender admonition + From a mother old and gray. + + O, ye lumberjacks, remember, + That wherever ye may roam, + There are anxious hearts awaiting + For an answer "back at home"! + + When the sun in golden glory + Hath descended in the west, + They indulge in song and story + Till they seek their bunks for rest: + + There to dream of scenes of childhood, + Amid mountain stream or glen, + Till old Sol in morning splendor + Calls them to their tasks again. + + Soft and soothing are the voices + As the shades of evening fall, + Stealing gently through the forest-- + Brooding calmly over all. + + By yon lake a loon is calling + And the night bird answers back, + Keeping vigil o'er the slumbers + Of the weary lumberjack. + + O, the lumberjack is loyal + And he'll surely see to it, + In the grind against the Kaiser + That each axe will "do its bit"; + + He will spruce up for the allies + Till ten thousand airplanes hum, + All to win the war for freedom + And democracy, by gum! + + +Chorus + + Grind your axes, O my heroes, + Point your peavies, file your saws, + Let your ropes and chains and cables + Be examined now for flaws: + Fire up the iron donkey + Till each rivet feels the strain, + Lumberjack will help the Allies + Win the war with ship and plane! + + + + +PADDY THE BOOK AGENT + +Air + +LARRY O'GAFF + + + The sun rose in splendor one foine summer morning + That marked me first effort at selling a book. + It's rays with soft beauty the landscape adorning + Sint thramps to seek bliss in some cool shady nook. + But no such rethrate the hot moments beguiling + Afforded relief to poor Pathrick O'Reilly, + Who canvassed that day epidermis parboiling + In air that would stifle a Florida cook. + + I ambled along wid me pack on me shoulder, + And prayed for a cloud to o'ershadow me path: + Says I to meself, if it doesn't grow cowlder + Poor Pat you'll be afther sure milting to death. + I entered a town an' the first house I came to + Looked much loike O'Grady's, I intered the same to, + And called for the misthress, though troth half ashamed to, + An' sat for a moment to catch at me breath. + + Be the council o' Cork I was not long awaiting, + The misthress appeared, looking black as a rook. + "The devil ye are wid yer impertince satin, + Yerself in me kitchen," she said wid a look. + Says I, "How is your rheumatiz, Mrs. O'Grady?" + And then quite politely I asked, "Can ye rade ye + Ould hathen, if not be me troth ye are nady; + Ye want to be afther sure buyin' a book." + + She looked quite intint at aich bould handsome fature, + And warm as it was, I could see that she shook. + "O'll tache ye a lesson," she scramed, "Ye vile crature, + Ye cross twixt an ape an' a Bowery street crook!" + She jumped at me troat thin an' would you belave me, + As quick as a wink through the dure did she have me, + And howled as I struck--will her tones ever lave me?-- + "The divil fly off wid yerself an' yer book." + + I left a square inch of me cheek at O'Grady's, + An' limped wid the rest to the house just fornint. + A winch in the dureway was paling some praties, + Who watched me approach wid a quizzical squint. + Says I wid the best of me Chesterfield graces, + "Good day me fair maid, ain't it hotter than blazes," + An' coaxingly swate I did ask, "If ye plaze, Miss, + To ordher a piece av me illigant print!" + + Thank God for his gifts! this colleen was a daisy, + Who flashed me a glance from her eyes of deep blue; + And smiling so swately said, "Pathrick, go aisy, + I see ye were born where the blarney stone grew." + "O yes, I was born in ould Ireland, God bless ye, + The compliment sure makes me long to caress ye, + And now be me troth I am timpted to press ye + To take all me books an' the book agent too!" + + We published the bans then to tell Oi'm not minding, + Our lips did the printing as ach wint to press-- + The type was O. K. and O. K. was the binding, + The sthrongest av bonds are two hearts that caress. + The saints be adored for the joys they were sending-- + The angels be bless'd on our nuptials attending-- + For nothing can aquel in loife till its ending + The gift of a mate loike the wan I possess! + +[Illustration: I am now one Lumberjack.] + + + + +JEAN LABONNE. + + + I am now one lumberjack, + Rosemarie, + An' I live in tumble shack + By some tree; + Twice a year I leave ma lair, + Wit' the fir spines in ma hair, + An' win' up at Totem Square, + Seattlee. + + +CHORUS + + O, I'm good wan all aroun', + Rosemarie; + I'm de bes' man on de Soun' + Wit' peavie. + In de sunshine or de wreck + I am always on de deck, + Jean Labonne from ol' Kebec-- + Dat is me! + + On de fourt' of each July, + Rosemarie; + An' w'en Chris'mas day come nigh, + You can see + Ev'ry lumber son of gun + On de States of Washington + Jus' lak Jean Baptiste Labonne, + On de spree! + + I am call' de "Skookum Kid," + Rosemarie; + I'm grease lightning on de skid + Yes siree; + I can "team" or "tend de hook," + I can "bark" or "fall" or "buck," + An' w'en whisky's down de cook + I'm "cookee!" + + O, you'd lak for tak' one ride, + Rosemarie; + Do'n de steep ol' mo'nta'n side + 'Long wit' me; + Dare is notting lak a jog + Do'n dat mo'nta'n on a log + Clinging to an iron dog, + Hully gee! + + But w'en Skookum leave de rail, + Rosemarie; + For an independen' trail + Thru de tree; + Den you see somebodda jomp + Lak de dev' along de dump, + An' climb up on wan beeg stump, + Dat is me! + + + + +CANADIANS GUARD YOUR OWN. + + During the Boer War at a time when the British forces + were suffering severe reverses a certain Quebec paper + stated that the British Empire was built on "feet of + clay" and predicted that it would, like its Babylonian + prototype, suffer a sudden fall. + + We trust it's a long long way to that "fall," and + thank God the dear old flag still waves. + + + "On feet of clay," false prophets say, + "On feet of clay, the Empire stands"; + Great Power which braves tempestuous waves + For Freedom's cause in many lands. + + Write not again, misguided pen, + Write not again our "woes" upon. + Compare us not with that vain sot + Whose misrule doomed old Babylon. + + Is it because you love their laws, + Is it because you love the Boer, + You thus assail with bitter wail + The flag which waves your country o'er? + + Flag of the brave, long may it wave! + Flag of the brave still rule the sea! + While Britain fights for human rights-- + For progress and for liberty. + + Reverses may be ours today; + Reverses may our arms attend: + But Britain's might--with Britain's right-- + Will surely conquer in the end. + + Unwise Semaine why thus complain? + Unwise Semaine why idly rave? + If it be "sin" for us to win + 'Tis sin to liberate the slave! + + Pray cant no more anent the Boer, + Pray cant no more, 'tis but a ruse + For venting rage against an age + Ahead of Semaine Religieuse. + + Our country needs no clashing creeds, + Our country needs no cliques nor clans. + United all to stand or fall, + Let's still be true Canadians! + + A glorious name our children claim, + A glorious heritage is theirs; + Then why should we thus disagree, + And strew their path with racial snares? + + The time is near, the edict's clear, + The time is near when racial strife + Will vanish quite before the light + That ushers in a nobler life. + + Your destined lot, deny it not, + Your destined lot is clear and plain; + Nor vicious kicks against the pricks + Can e'er retard the coming reign! + + No bigot's sway shall rule our day; + No bigot of a bygone age + Shall ever stand in this free land + To preach a gospel born of rage. + + Proclaiming peace, let rancor cease; + Proclaiming peace, let strife be slain. + Let Saxon trait and Gallic hate + Be merged in strong Canadian strain! + + + + +GUARD THE GAELIC + +An Exhortation to the Gael. + + + Is it not our bounden right + To uphold with all our might, + And with tongue and pen to fight + For our native Gaelic? + + Guard the language known to Eve, + Ere the Serpent did deceive-- + And the last one we believe, + Mellow, matchless Gaelic! + + Pity the disloyal clown + Who will dwell awhile in Town, + And returning wear a frown + If he hears the Gaelic. + + 'Tis amusing to behold + Little misses ten years old, + When they leave the country fold + How they lose the Gaelic. + + Some gay natives of the soil, + Cross "the line" a little while + And returning, deem it "style" + To deny the Gaelic. + + Lads and lassies in their teens + Wearing airs of kings and queens-- + Just a taste of Boston beans + Makes them lose their Gaelic! + + They return with finer clothes, + Speaking "Yankee" through their nose! + That's the way the Gaelic goes-- + Pop! goes the Gaelic. + + Tho' the so-called "tony set" + Teach them quickly to forget, + They will all be loyal yet + To their mother Gaelic. + + Then abjure such silly pride + Cast the ragged thing aside-- + Let your mongrel "English" slide + Rather than the Gaelic. + + What a dire calamity + And how lonesome we would be + If our honored Seannachie, + Failed to charm in Gaelic! + + Better far the "mother tongue"-- + Language in which mother sung + Long ago, when we were young-- + Ever tender Gaelic! + + Findlay's ever ready muse, + Stricken dumb, would soon refuse + People further to enthuse, + If he lost his Gaelic! + + And Buchanan, how could he + Sell his soda or his tea + On this side of "Talamh a righ," + If he lost his Gaelic? + + Also Merchant Edward Mac + Would not sell so much tomac + If his stock was found to lack + Lusty Lewis Gaelic! + + And Pennoyer, what would you + At the Gould post office do + When you'd hear from not a few + "Ca mar u ha u fean a diubh," + If you lost your Gaelic? + + Little Donald with the plaid + O'er his buirdly shoulder laid, + Would go dancing in the shade, + And his glory soon would fade + If he lost his Gaelic. + + From O'Groat's to lands' end, too, + What would brother Scotsmen do-- + All the loyal clansmen who + But a single language know, + If they lost their Gaelic? + + What would then become of those + Poems grand, in rhyme or prose, + Which in stately measure flows + From "Beinn Oran's" spotless snows! + "Chaibar Faidth"--the best that grows-- + "Fhir a baitha"--how he rows! + What, I ask, would happen those + If we lost the Gaelic? + + Then uphold the magic tongue + Which through mystic Eden rung + When Creation still was young-- + Language in which Adam sung + To his Eve, Earth's first love song; + When the morning stars were flung + Into space, where since they've clung-- + Ancient, Glorious Gaelic! + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE AMERICAN EAGLE + + + Lofty is his habitation, peerless dweller of the skies-- + Unafraid of all creation, where his rock-ribbed turrets rise; + There's a confidence unbounded hedging 'round his solitude + That should warn marauding mongrels with designs upon his brood! + + O, the outlook from his aerie is a grand one, it is true-- + Matchless beauty in the vistas which unfold before his view; + Might and right and wealth and glory that shall never know decline + Are his attributes to conquer ruthless robbers of the Rhine! + + You invaded his dominions, sowing discord on the way; + Your besotted agents plotted to o'erthrow his mighty sway: + Using all the wiles of Willie on pacifist Bob and Pat, + Till some eaglets oversilly scarcely knew where they were at. + + He was patient with your pirates since you first began to raid + And usurp his habitation to pursue your hell-born trade; + He was patient with your plotting till you piled the final straws + Which broke down his toleration--now, ye devils, mind his claws! + + He looked on in consternation, scarce believing what he saw. + When you sank his ships in anger in defiance of all law: + Killing women and their children with a fiendishness unknown + Since the first bloodthirsty monster was misplaced upon a throne. + + Now the eagle's wrath is burning, he is eager for the fray, + And the robbers who aroused him long will rue the bitter day + When he sweeps down from his aerie in the fury of his fire-- + Sudden death will clutch the vitals of the victims of his ire! + + Yea, the eagle's wings are spreading, nobly spreading to the breeze, + And their awful sweep shall bear him over land and over seas: + Men and money move in millions where those mighty pinions rest, + And God help misguided minions who have monkeyed with his nest! + + Brave, determined northern neighbor, hold the "hills" so dearly won-- + Hold the hills until the Eagle strikes with you to crush the Hun! + Courage! Allies, friends of freedom, in this war we're all akin-- + Carry on! Old Glory's with you on the red road to Berlin! + + + + +IN MEMORY of DONALD McLEOD + + Of North Hill, Lingwick, Who Died of Smallpox, at + Flagstaff, Arizona, on the 2nd day of March, 1882. + + + The sun hath set and leaves the day, as when the soul hath left + its clay, + The pale soft tints of twilight spread from east to west. + The evening breeze that fans my cheek with mellow cadence seems + to speak, + Then sighing onward through the dusk it sinks to rest. + + On nights like this my fancy strays, to loved ones lost in + other days; + Whom gold had tempted to the sunset land afar; + Brave boys whose hopes of future wealth were blasted by thy power + O Death, + Whose mandates wage on old and young a constant war. + Among the lads so kind and true, who sought the land of golden hue, + To meet amid its glittering hopes an early doom, + Was Lingwick's strongest, lealest man, the joy and pride of all his + clan, + As brave a youth as ever graced a Compton home. + + Dear comrade of my younger days, my muse is weak to sing thy praise, + But love is strong howe'er so feeble be my strain; + And though you're sleeping cold and still, on Flagstaff's distant + pine-clad hill, + Fond memory often flits to thee across the plain. + + I loved e'er childhood's days were passed: I'll love you on until + the last; + E'en when the clouds of death approach I'll think of thee; + Oh, bitter fate! Oh, woeful hour! that cut thee down in manhood's + power; + Thrice bitter if death's chains could bind eternally. + + But blessed promise, hopeful friend, that tells us death is not + the end, + That brighter prospects loom for all beyond the wave. + Oh, sing aloud the glad refrain, that friend with friend will meet + again! + For love like this can ne'er be conquered by the grave. + + What though the red men roam at will, from arid plain to cooler hill, + Regardless of the mounds that lie amid the groves: + What though our children find their graves with ghosts of long + departed braves, + The spot is one the God of nature dearly loves. + + In Arizona's distant land, where cyclones drift the heated sand, + And where the tall, majestic pine tree branches wave; + Where gaunt coyotes prowl for prey, through storm and calm, by night + and day, + There in their midst there lies a lone, neglected grave. + + Were eloquence immortal mine I'd sing of scenes the most sublime, + Of any nature ever lavished here below. + God's majesty seems here unfurled as elsewhere not in all the world,-- + An earthly paradise o'erspread by heaven's glow. + + How fitting that thy sun went down, so near the spot that wears + earth's crown,-- + The Colorado Canyon country, weird and dim; + No grander land beneath the skies in which to die, in which to rise; + And nature's God will care for all who sleep in Him. + + What though, alas, fond earthly hopes are buried in yon western + slopes, + And gentle mothers grieve for loved ones lying there: + Though maidens sigh with sad unrest, for lovers true who died out + west; + The bitter heartache soon will cease and all be fair. + + But Donald's manly voice still rings within our ears, and memory + clings + To all the charms that marked his life while still below: + And often now our fancy's flight doth wing its journey to that night, + That marks his lonely death amid the mountain snow. + + The prairie wolves of stealthy tread already seemed to scent the + dead; + Their fitful howls were borne upon the midnight air; + The western world was wrapped in gloom, from sandy waste to heaven's + dome, + When Donald closed his weary eyes and passed from care. + + The air within the mountain camp was uncongenial, cold and damp: + And springtide gales were moaning dismally outside: + No loving hand was there to press his fevered brow with fond caress, + No gentle voice to whisper comfort when he died. + + Dear Balloch Ban, thou'rt now at rest; thy sun went down far in the + West. + Alas! no more to rise, until the Judgment Day; + No truer heart e'er ceased to beat, no braver soul O Death did greet, + Thy awful presence since the earth hath owned thy sway. + + And now he sleeps beneath the sod, where grand old mountain pine trees + nod + Their lofty plumes beneath the far-off, distant dome! + Oh, stranger, should you linger near, drop on this lonely grave a + tear, + In memory of the boy that sleeps so far from home. + + + + +OVER THE TOP + + + A lusty lad from Lewis,-- + Bright gem from Britain's crown-- + Assailed by Huns with gas and guns + In "No Man's Land" was down. + + No power on earth can save him, + 'Tis madness, then, to try; + Still to the deed sprang forth with speed + A balloch ban from Skye! + + He volunteered to enter + That zone of certain death, + And unafraid went forth to aid, + While thousands held their breath. + + Thru all that hell of fire + He sped like mountain deer-- + On shell-torn ground his comrade found, + And bore him to the rear. + + Their comrades gather 'round them + To do what mortals can: + But--cruel fate!--they found them + Beyond the help of man. + + One whispers, "Da mar ha u?" + "Gla vadh," the friend replied; + Then rescuer and rescued + "Went over" side by side! + + How marred the manly beauty! + Now torn by shot and shell-- + Ye Huns have done your duty + And served your master well! + + Poor bleeding, broken bodies + To mother earth consign-- + The spirit of the laddies + Ye cannot more confine. + + Over the top together-- + Over the great gray host-- + Homing like birds of freedom, + Back to their rock-bound coast. + + Over the top together! + Out from the fighting list: + Home where the purple heather + Blooms in the Highland mist. + + Sons of mothers returning-- + Souls from the clod set free: + Back where the home guards, yearning, + Pray that their eyes might see-- + + See through the veil between them, + Though but a brief, brief glance, + Into the eyes of loved ones, + Dead on the fields of France! + + Home where the curlew's calling + Notes that are wild and free! + Home, where the mist is falling + Into a storm-tossed sea. + + Parents of brave, dead soldiers, + Dear sisters, sweethearts, wives, + Is there no balm in Gilead + For all the dear lost lives? + + Yes, there's a balm in knowing + They died for you and me: + Their precious blood bestowing, + The price of liberty! + + Dear lusty lad from Lewis: + Brave blue-eyed boy from Skye: + In this great war you show us + How bravely men can die! + + + + +THE ALKALI LAND + +or + +A-ROAMING I WOULD GO. + + + I left my old home and my friends in the East, + Ambitious to better my fortunes, forsooth; + And seek amid scenes of the strenuous West, + The gold which had gilded the dreams of my youth. + + But gold not alone, was the dochus mo chree + Which painted that faraway country so fair; + A lure more compelling was beckoning me-- + The maiden I loved since my childhood was there! + + I did what a man without money must do, + Just walked when the "brakies" were looking too sharp. + I sang when I felt in the humor, 'tis true-- + When lonesome, like David I hung up my harp! + + I envied the lot of the fellow inside, + Who traveled in comfort asleep or awake; + While I, of all comfort and slumber denied, + Was beating my way on the beam of a brake! + + Thus onward I journeyed by night and by day, + Combating the problems of food and of rest-- + Content as I traveled the wearisome way + To know I was nearing the wonderful West. + + My pilgrimage, first uneventful and slow, + Changed color as Texas' vast reaches I struck. + Arizona the arid, and New Mexico-- + Half hell and half heaven, were also my luck. + + When tortured and weak by the heat of the sand, + And swollen my tongue and the water was done, + I wondered no more as I passed through the land + At the myriad bones bleaching white in the sun. + + Yes, on as I plodded the limitless range, + In that land of hot sand and eternal clear skies, + How oft in my thirst did I long for a change + To my own native hills, where the watersprings rise! + O Compton beloved! what visions arose, + Of thy hills and dark vales and thy cold mountain streams! + And each fountain-like fuadhran[D] which bubbles and flows, + On the farm back at home in the land of my dreams! + + Some tell me the beauty of Nature, abroad, + Surpasses in grandeur the country we boast-- + They'd alter their views if they traversed the road + I wearily tramped on my way to the "Coast". + + There may be a spot in some faraway clime + Where Nature in robes of perfection is dressed; + But give me her moods and her image sublime + As seen in the wild, woolly wastes of the West! + + I slept with the red men who roam through that land-- + Gaunt remnant that tells of the white man's abuse; + And often, although I could not understand, + Was I lulled by the soft clucking language they use. + + We never took thought on occasions like these + Of the dangers which lurked as we lay on the ground-- + Though the howl of coyote was borne past on the breeze, + And the rattlesnake coiled with an ominous sound! + + Asleep 'neath the stars of that beautiful clime, + In the shadowy gloom that same mesa had cast, + Undisturbed in my slumbers, I'd dream of the time + When the long dreary miles still ahead would be passed. + + Mysterious mesas! how ghostly ye loom! + How spectral and huge o'er the alkali waste; + The secrets of ages thy vastness entomb, + Are seemingly safe in thy mystical breast! + + When shadows of even' crept over the land, + And mountains around me grew ghostly and grey, + The fringe of the foothills I anxiously scanned + For lithe, tawny forms ever prowling for prey. + + Oft during my journey I fancied that rain + Fell cool from a cloud on my thirst-swollen lips; + Yet cloudless the sky o'er that quivering plain-- + 'Twas the last ray of hope undergoing eclipse! + + At times would the lure of this mirage prevail, + Till, reason returning, I'd hasten me back; + For I knew the safe trail was to follow the rail + Gleaming hot in the sun on the Santa Fe track! + + The phantoms of fever thus beckoned in vain, + Where better and stronger than I had been lost; + Though the hell of Mohave was scorching my brain, + I crossed it in safety and struck for the Coast. + + O boundless Pacific! I deem it no loss + To flee to thy arms from the cactus and sand; + How sweet on thy deep, heaving bosom to toss + After parching so long in the alkali land! + + I boarded a schooner that slopped in the bay-- + A tub of a ship for Seattle outbound-- + And up from old Frisco we wallowed our way + To lovely Seattle, the Queen of the Sound. + + And there on a hill, in a beautiful spot, + Overlooking Lake Union's low murmuring wave, + The love of my youth, whom so long I had sought, + Alone among strangers I found--in her grave! + +FOOTNOTE: + +[Footnote D: Water spring.] + + + + +A CHRISTMAS DREAM. + + + On Christmas night I sallied forth, + To the Red Mountain in the north; + The bright abode of men of worth + 'Twixt here and heaven; + Where Finlay's stakes in mother earth + Are firmly driven. + + I ambled up the village road, + Past many an Irishman's abode, + And carried quite a heavy load-- + The most inside; + I faith sincerely thanked the code + The way was wide. + + Here conscience loudly whispered, "Dhu, + How oft hath it been told to you, + The end that way would lead you to + Should you persist-- + With soldiers of the ribbon blue + At once enlist." + + I answered conscience, "give me peace, + The time of pledges draws apace, + When we must swear to shun the glass + And all its riot; + We've but a single week of grace + So let's enjoy it." + + I followed up by Keenan's gate + Unto the "turn" where two ways meet, + Thence to the left the mountain street + Would guide me right, + Tho' for my life I could not see't, + Just in that light. + + For where two highways ran before, + I saw a dozen tracks or more; + And which to take, I wasn't sure, + By either eye; + 'Twas but a chance against a score, + And yet I'd try. + + I started on with divers tacks, + And strove to reconcile the tracks + Which darted round, like jumping jacks, + Before my gaze; + 'Twould take a dozen crowd a cacks + Their course to trace. + + Had I big John's and Eddie's charts, + To tell me where the highway parts, + Reducing by their magic arts + Nineteen to two; + I would have from my heart of hearts + Poured blessings due. + + Confusion worse confounded, gee! + On every track a horse I see, + And all alike it seems to me + As barley scones-- + I vow, Pete Gagne's cavalry-- + Proud, prancing roans! + + Their bones were rattling in the cold + Like vales of which Ezekiel told! + A few indeed did seem too old + To nibble corn; + The colt among them all was foaled + Ere "Smoke" was born. + + Ah! crippled, gaunt and wild-eyed steed, + Thy woes are great, your want is feed! + Reminds me of D. Bunker's breed + That gasps for breath; + Aye, one and all are built for speed-- + To certain death! + + I asked the leader of the band, + If he could tell, upon which hand, + The mountain turnpike pierced the land + Around those parts; + I'd shipped a sea, I told him, and + Had lost my charts. + + "The left!" he answered with a yell; + "Tis easy, sir, your course to tell; + And that will lead you down to--well, + To "Robert's road." + Then straight away on yonder hill + Is "Smoke's" abode. + + "The right hand road you must not take, + As that will lead to Moffat Lake, + Where Cookshire sportsmen saw "big snake" + Through Alden's glass. + And thots of serpents make me quake + From head to cass." + + I gave my guide a social wink, + And started on, is cha ro blink, + Till my exuberance, I think, + Broke into song: + I said "good evening" to the "Mink," + And passed along. + + The air was keen, the night was bright, + And in the north that mystic light, + (In my exaggerated sight) + Was one to please; + The whole suggested yellow, white + Or greenish cheese! + + I gained momentum down the ridge, + And jumped John Moggish's hump-backed bridge; + Then climbed the mountain, hedge by hedge, + Unto the crest. + And thought it there my privilege + To take a rest. + + I could not find the mountain store + Which Channel mentioned in his leor, + My vision's better than before, + I really think: + Aye, C---- accounts for one or more-- + And he don't drink. + + But stores aside, I wandered on + To where the school house windows shone, + Altho' there seemed to me but one-- + A dancing glare: + I thought the northern lights were on + The programme there. + + And just within, O "hully gee!" + Is that a single Christmas tree, + Or is my vision still aglee? + For lack of breath-- + A moving forest do I see + As saw Macbeth? + + And better still the forest gleams + With all a youngster most esteems: + A greater crop, as groaning beams + Did there attest + Than Tupper saw in wildest dreams + Of wheat out West. + + And bachelors (might they be fewer)! + I thought I'd see you single, sure, + But there they sit, at least a score, + On benches stuck; + Each one a wilted, lone wall flower + Awaiting pluck. + + We pray you, O assultin Turk, + So noted for unholy work, + To send his devilship your clerk + Across the seas: + To drive our single men to kirk + With marriage fees. + + Or send Armenians not yet dead + And take our bachelors instead; + Should you then hanker for their head + Just plant their hide: + And thus avoid that hellish dread + Infanticide! + +[Illustration: _Another Finlay like your own, you'll never know._] + + Behold! I've reason now to stare! + For are there not two Finlays there-- + And only one on earth I swear-- + Come off my hat! + A worthier to fill a chair + Has never sat. + + Red Mountain, thy neglect condone-- + Within that "chair" your bard enthrone: + Instead of bread, don't give a stone + As others do-- + Another Finlay like your own + You'll never know. + + Sweet singer! may your mother tongue, + Embellished by thy gift of song, + Be ever heard the clans among + While print is read-- + May future bards thy notes prolong + When thou art dead. + + Thus on and on, while cycles roll, + May Gaelic--language of the soul-- + Be heard in song from pole to pole, + From east to west, + Until the final tempests bowl + This earth to rest! + + Concluding--I would humbly ask + All hypocrites to shun the task + Of shooting from behind a mask + Their fellow men-- + And help us all to fling our flask + To Hinnom's glen! + + We've heard the loud, despairing moan + Of sinners, reaping what they've sown, + In midnight fields with thistles grown + Where devils glean. + Yet let the first to cast a stone + Himself be clean. + + No living mortal can invite + The gaze of creatures who delight + In showing spots upon the white + Which God hath gi'en. + Alas, alas, a little spite + Will find the stain. + + But who's to judge? The serpent's there, + In every breast that breathes the air, + Though some with skill and acting rare + His form conceal; + While others full to view must wear + The squirming eel! + + + + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's note: + +Double quotation marks within double quotation marks were often used in +this text. + +Pages 9-10, Table of Contents, often the first line listed in the +contents does not match the first line of the actual poem. For example +on _The Fenian Raid_, the table of contents suggests it begins "From de +countrie of de Eagle" when in actuality, it begins "From de country of +de Yankee." This anamoly was retained. + +Page 9, "LABONNS" changed to "LABONNE'S" (JOHN LABONNE'S DREAM) + +Page 9, "someting" changed to "somet'ing" (write to me somet'ing) + +Page 10, THE HOLLERNZOLLERN'S PRAYER is listed in the text as "HOLY +WILLIE'S PRAYER Or THE HOLLERIN' HOHENZOLLERIN" + +Page 10, "devine" changed to "divine" (of "right divine") + +Page 10, "MacLEOD" changed to "McLEOD" (DONALD McLEOD) + +Page 35, "Jersualem" changed to "Jerusalem" (Jerusalem how hot) + +Page 37, "Hindenberg" changed to "Hindenburg" (He ordered Hindenburg) + +Page 44, the word "thot" was retained in the text as the transcriber +couldn't ascertain whether it was a mistake or meant as dialect. + +Page 66, "an't" changed to "Can't" (Can't you jus for one) + +Page 69, "Trudell" changed to "Trudel" (of me, Joseph Trudel) + +Page 83, "d e" changed to "de" (Of de U. S. at this tam) + +Page 106, the second to the last stanza of _The Lumberjack_ was indented +differently than the rest of the poem. It was arranged to match the +rest. The orignal looked like + + O, the lumberjack is loyal + And he'll surely see to it, + In the grind against the Kaiser + That each axe will "do its bit"; + +Page 119, "lands'end" changed to "lands' end" (to lands' end, too) + +Page 124, "magestic" changed to "majestic" (tall, majestic pine tree) + +Page 125, "elewhere" changed to "elsewhere" (elsewhere not in all) + +Page 130, "ALKILI" changed to "ALKALI" (THE ALKALI LAND) + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY TRENCH AND TRAIL IN SONG AND +STORY*** + + +******* This file should be named 37510.txt or 37510.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/7/5/1/37510 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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