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Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads
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And he always spends his money like he found it in the road.
If ever you meet old Garner, you must meet him on the square,
For he is the biggest cow-thief that ever tramped out there.
But if you want to hear him roar and spin a lively tale,
Just ask him about the time we all went up the trail.
THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT
Come all of you, my brother scouts,
And join me in my song;
Come, let us sing together
Though the shadows fall so long.
Of all the old frontiersmen
That used to scour the plain,
There are but very few of them
That with us yet remain.
Day after day they're dropping off,
They're going one by one;
Our clan is fast decreasing,
Our race is almost run.
There were many of our number
That never wore the blue,
But, faithfully, they did their part,
As brave men, tried and true.
They never joined the army,
But had other work to do
In piloting the coming folks,
To help them safely through.
But, brothers, we are falling,
Our race is almost run;
The days of elk and buffalo
And beaver traps are gone.
Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!
It fills my heart with pain
To know these days are past and gone
To never come again.
We fought the red-skin rascals
Over valley, hill, and plain;
We fought him in the mountain top,
And fought him down again.
These fighting days are over;
The Indian yell resounds
No more along the border;
Peace sends far sweeter sounds.
But we found great joy, old comrades,
To hear, and make it die;
We won bright homes for gentle ones,
And now, our West, good-bye.
THE LONE BUFFALO HUNTER
It's of those Texas cowboys, a story I'll tell;
No name I will mention though in Texas they do dwell.
Go find them where you will, they are all so very brave,
And when in good society they seldom misbehave.
When the fall work is all over in the line-camp they'll be found,
For they have to ride those lonesome lines the long winter round;
They prove loyal to a comrade, no matter what's to do;
And when in love with a fair one they seldom prove untrue.
But springtime comes at last and finds them glad and gay;
They ride out to the round-up about the first of May;
About the first of August they start up the trail,
They have to stay with the cattle, no matter rain or hail.
But when they get to the shipping point, then they receive their tens,
Straightway to the bar-room and gently blow them in;
It's the height of their ambition, so I've been truly told,
To ride good horses and saddles and spend the silver and gold.
Those last two things I've mentioned, it is their heart's desire,
And when they leave the shipping point, their eyes are like balls of fire.
It's of those fighting cattle, they seem to have no fear,
A-riding bucking broncos oft is their heart's desire.
They will ride into the branding pen, a rope within their hands,
They will catch them by each forefoot and bring them to the sands;
It's altogether in practice with a little bit of sleight,
A-roping Texas cattle, it is their heart's delight.
But now comes the rising generation to take the cowboy's place,
Likewise the corn-fed granger, with his bold and cheeky face;
It's on those plains of Texas a lone buffalo hunter does stand
To tell the fate of the cowboy that rode at his right hand.
THE CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK
Come all you jolly cowboys that follow the bronco steer,
I'll sing to you a verse or two your spirits for to cheer;
If ever you meet old Garner, you must meet him on the square,
For he is the biggest cow-thief that ever tramped out there.
But if you want to hear him roar and spin a lively tale,
Just ask him about the time we all went up the trail.
THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT
Come all of you, my brother scouts,
And join me in my song;
Come, let us sing together
Though the shadows fall so long.
Of all the old frontiersmen
That used to scour the plain,
There are but very few of them
That with us yet remain.
Day after day they're dropping off,
They're going one by one;
Our clan is fast decreasing,
Our race is almost run.
There were many of our number
That never wore the blue,
But, faithfully, they did their part,
As brave men, tried and true.
They never joined the army,
But had other work to do
In piloting the coming folks,
To help them safely through.
But, brothers, we are falling,
Our race is almost run;
The days of elk and buffalo
And beaver traps are gone.
Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!
It fills my heart with pain
To know these days are past and gone
To never come again.
We fought the red-skin rascals
Over valley, hill, and plain;
We fought him in the mountain top,
And fought him down again.
These fighting days are over;
The Indian yell resounds
No more along the border;
Peace sends far sweeter sounds.
But we found great joy, old comrades,
To hear, and make it die;
We won bright homes for gentle ones,
And now, our West, good-bye.
THE LONE BUFFALO HUNTER
It's of those Texas cowboys, a story I'll tell;
No name I will mention though in Texas they do dwell.
Go find them where you will, they are all so very brave,
And when in good society they seldom misbehave.
When the fall work is all over in the line-camp they'll be found,
For they have to ride those lonesome lines the long winter round;
They prove loyal to a comrade, no matter what's to do;
And when in love with a fair one they seldom prove untrue.
But springtime comes at last and finds them glad and gay;
They ride out to the round-up about the first of May;
About the first of August they start up the trail,
They have to stay with the cattle, no matter rain or hail.
But when they get to the shipping point, then they receive their tens,
Straightway to the bar-room and gently blow them in;
It's the height of their ambition, so I've been truly told,
To ride good horses and saddles and spend the silver and gold.
Those last two things I've mentioned, it is their heart's desire,
And when they leave the shipping point, their eyes are like balls of fire.
It's of those fighting cattle, they seem to have no fear,
A-riding bucking broncos oft is their heart's desire.
They will ride into the branding pen, a rope within their hands,
They will catch them by each forefoot and bring them to the sands;
It's altogether in practice with a little bit of sleight,
A-roping Texas cattle, it is their heart's delight.
But now comes the rising generation to take the cowboy's place,
Likewise the corn-fed granger, with his bold and cheeky face;
It's on those plains of Texas a lone buffalo hunter does stand
To tell the fate of the cowboy that rode at his right hand.
THE CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK
Come all you jolly cowboys that follow the bronco steer,
I'll sing to you a verse or two your spirits for to cheer;
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Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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