Courted her ten long winters, Saw her to singin'-school; When she went down one spell to town, I cried like a durned ol' fool; Got mad at the boys for callin' When I sparked her Sunday night: But she said she knew A thing or two,-- An' I reckoned yer mother wuz right.
I courted till I wuz aging, And she wuz past her prime,-- I'd have died, I guess, if she hadn't said yes When I popped f'r the hundredth time. Said she'd never have took me If I hadn't stuck so tight; Opined that we Could never agree,-- And I reckon yer mother wuz right!
WHERE my true love abideth I make my way to-night; Lo! waiting, she Espieth me, And calleth in delight: "I see his steed anear Come trotting with my dear,-- Oh, idle not, good steed, but trot, Trot thou my lover here!"
Aloose I cast the bridle, And ply the whip and spur; And gayly I Speed this reply, While faring on to her: "Oh, true love, fear thou not! I seek our trysting spot; And double feed be yours, my steed, If you more swiftly trot."
I vault from out the saddle, And make my good steed fast; Then to my breast My love is pressed,-- At last, true heart, at last! The garden drowsing lies, The stars fold down their eyes,-- In this dear spot, my steed, neigh not, Nor stamp in restless wise!
O passing sweet communion Of young hearts, warm and true! To thee belongs The old, old songs Love finds forever new. We sing those songs, and then Cometh the moment when It's, "Good steed, trot from this dear spot,-- Trot, trot me home again!"
WHEN I was young and callow, which was many years ago, Within me the afflatus went surging to and fro; And so I wrote a tragedy that fairly reeked with gore, With every act concluding with the dead piled on the floor,-- A mighty effort, by the gods! and after I had read The manuscript to Daly, that dramatic censor said: "The plot is most exciting, and I like the dialogue; You should take the thing to Providence, and try it on a dog."
McCambridge organized a troupe, including many a name Unknown alike to guileless me, to riches, and to fame. A pompous man whose name was Rae was Nestor of this troupe,-- Amphibious, he was quite at home outside or in the soup! The way McCambridge billed him! Why, such dreams in red and green Had ne'er before upon the boards of Yankeedom been seen; And my proud name was heralded,--oh that I'd gone incog. When we took that play to Providence to try it on a dog!