Sweet poker-haunted Kansas In vain allures the eye; The Nevada rough has charms enough Yet its blandishments I fly.
Shall Arizona woo me Where the meek Apache bides? Or New Mexico where natives grow With arrow-proof insides?
Nay, 'tis where the grizzlies wander And the lonely diggers roam, And the grim Chinese from the squatter flees That I'll make my humble home.
I'll chase the wild tarantula And the fierce cayote I'll dare, And the locust grim, I'll battle him In his native wildwood lair.
Or I'll seek the gulch deserted And dream of the wild Red man, And I'll build a cot on a corner lot And get rich as soon as I can.
A HOME ON THE RANGE
Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam, Where the deer and the antelope play, Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Where the air is so pure, the zephyrs so free, The breezes so balmy and light, That I would not exchange my home on the range For all of the cities so bright.
The red man was pressed from this part of the West, He's likely no more to return To the banks of Red River where seldom if ever Their flickering camp-fires burn.
How often at night when the heavens are bright With the light from the glittering stars, Have I stood here amazed and asked as I gazed If their glory exceeds that of ours.
Oh, I love these wild flowers in this dear land of ours, The curlew I love to hear scream, And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks That graze on the mountain-tops green.
Oh, give me a land where the bright diamond sand Flows leisurely down the stream; Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along Like a maid in a heavenly dream.
Then I would not exchange my home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Home on the Range (Mus. Not.)
Oh, give me a home where the buf-fa-lo roam, Where the deer and the an-te-lope play;... Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word And the skies are not cloud-y all day. Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word And the skies are not cloud-y all day.
TEXAS RANGERS
Come, all you Texas rangers, wherever you may be, I'll tell you of some troubles that happened unto me. My name is nothing extra, so it I will not tell,-- And here's to all you rangers, I am sure I wish you well.
It was at the age of sixteen that I joined the jolly band, We marched from San Antonio down to the Rio Grande. Our captain he informed us, perhaps he thought it right, "Before we reach the station, boys, you'll surely have to fight."
And when the bugle sounded our captain gave command, "To arms, to arms," he shouted, "and by your horses stand." I saw the smoke ascending, it seemed to reach the sky; The first thought that struck me, my time had come to die.
I saw the Indians coming, I heard them give the yell; My feelings at that moment, no tongue can ever tell. I saw the glittering lances, their arrows round me flew, And all my strength it left me and all my courage too.
We fought full nine hours before the strife was o'er, The like of dead and wounded I never saw before. And when the sun was rising and the Indians they had fled, We loaded up our rifles and counted up our dead.
And all of us were wounded, our noble captain slain, And the sun was shining sadly across the bloody plain. Sixteen as brave rangers as ever roamed the West Were buried by their comrades with arrows in their breast.
'Twas then I thought of mother, who to me in tears did say, "To you they are all strangers, with me you had better stay." I thought that she was childish, the best she did not know; My mind was fixed on ranging and I was bound to go.
Perhaps you have a mother, likewise a sister too, And maybe you have a sweetheart to weep and mourn for you; If that be your situation, although you'd like to roam, I'd advise you by experience, you had better stay at home.
I have seen the fruits of rambling, I know its hardships well; I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, rode down the streets of hell; I have been in the great Southwest where the wild Apaches roam, And I tell you from experience you had better stay at home.
And now my song is ended; I guess I have sung enough; The life of a ranger I am sure is very tough. And here's to all you ladies, I am sure I wish you well, I am bound to go a-ranging, so ladies, fare you well.
THE MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT
I am a Mormon bishop and I will tell you what I know. I joined the confraternity some forty years ago. I then had youth upon my brow and eloquence my tongue, But I had the sad misfortune then to meet with Brigham Young.
He said, "Young man, come join our band and bid hard work farewell, You are too smart to waste your time in toil by hill and dell; There is a ripening harvest and our hooks shall find the fool And in the distant nations we shall train them in our school."
I listened to his preaching and I learned all the role, And the truth of Mormon doctrines burned deep within my soul. I married sixteen women and I spread my new belief, I was sent to preach the gospel to the pauper and the thief.
'Twas in the glorious days when Brigham was our only Lord and King, And his wild cry of defiance from the Wasatch tops did ring, 'Twas when that bold Bill Hickman and that Porter Rockwell led, And in the blood atonements the pits received the dead.
They took in Dr. Robertson and left him in his gore, And the Aiken brothers sleep in peace on Nephi's distant shore. We marched to Mountain Meadows and on that glorious field With rifle and with hatchet we made man and woman yield.
'Twas there we were victorious with our legions fierce and brave. We left the butchered victims on the ground without a grave. We slew the load of emigrants on Sublet's lonely road And plundered many a trader of his then most precious load.
Alas for all the powers that were in the by-gone time. What we did as deeds of glory are condemned as bloody crime. No more the blood atonements keep the doubting one in fear, While the faithful were rewarded with a wedding once a year.
As the nation's chieftain president says our days of rule are o'er And his marshals with their warrants are on watch at every door, Old John he now goes skulking on the by-roads of our land, Or unknown he keeps in hiding with the faithful of our band.
Old Brigham now is stretched beneath the cold and silent clay, And the chieftains now are fallen that were mighty in their day; Of the six and twenty women that I wedded long ago There are two now left to cheer me in these awful hours of woe. The rest are scattered where the Gentile's flag's unfurled And two score of my daughters are now numbered with the world.
Oh, my poor old bones are aching and my head is turning gray; Oh, the scenes were black and awful that I've witnessed in my day. Let my spirit seek the mansion where old Brigham's gone to dwell, For there's no place for Mormons but the lowest pits of hell.
DAN TAYLOR
Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss, A frisky son of a gun, He loves to court the maidens And he savies how it's done.
He used to be a cowboy And they say he wasn't slow, He could ride the bucking bronco And swing the long lasso.
He could catch a maverick by the head Or heel him on the fly, He could pick up his front ones Whenever he chose to try.
He used to ride most anything; Now he seldom will. He says they cut some caper in the air Of which he's got his fill.
He is done and quit the business, Settled down to quiet life, And he's hunting for some maiden Who will be his little wife,--
One who will wash and patch his britches And feed the setting hen, Milk old Blue and Brindy, And tend to baby Ben.
Then he'll build a cozy cottage And furnish it complete, He'll decorate the walls inside With pictures new and sweet.
He will leave off riding broncos And be a different man; He will do his best to please his wife In every way he can.
Then together in double harness They will trot along down the line, Until death shall call them over To a bright and sunny clime.
May your joys be then completed And your sorrows have amend, Is the fondest wish of the writer,-- Your true and faithful friend.
WHEN WORK IS DONE THIS FALL
A group of jolly cowboys, discussing plans at ease, Says one, "I'll tell you something, boys, if you will listen, please. I am an old cow-puncher and here I'm dressed in rags, And I used to be a tough one and take on great big jags.
"But I've got a home, boys, a good one, you all know, Although I have not seen it since long, long ago. I'm going back to Dixie once more to see them all; Yes, I'm going to see my mother when the work's all done this fall.
"After the round-ups are over and after the shipping is done, I am going right straight home, boys, ere all my money is gone. I have changed my ways, boys, no more will I fall; And I am going home, boys, when work is done this fall.