'Tis little I care how folk deride,-- I'm backed by the West, at least; And we are free to say that we can't abide The tastes that obtain down East; And we're mighty proud to have it said That here in the versatile West Most any color, so long as it's red, Is the color that suits us best.
MY harp is on the willow-tree, Else would I sing, O love, to thee A song of long ago,-- Perchance the song that Miriam sung Ere yet Judæa's heart was wrung By centuries of woe.
The shadow of those centuries lies Deep in thy dark and mournful eyes; But, hush! and close them now, And in the dreams that thou shalt dream The light of other days shall seem To glorify thy brow.
I ate my crust in tears to-day, As, scourged, I went upon my way, And yet my darling smiled,-- Ay, beating at my breast, he laughed; My anguish curdled not the draught, 'Twas sweet with love, my child.
Our harp is on the willow-tree: I have no song to sing to thee, As shadows round us roll; But, hush! and sleep, and thou shalt hear Jehovah's voice that speaks to cheer Judæa's fainting soul.
YOUNG Lochinvar came in from the west, With fringe on his trousers and fur on his vest; The width of his hat brim could nowhere be beat, His No. 10 brogans were chock full of feet, His girdle was horrent with pistols and things, And he nourished a handful of aces on kings.
The fair Mariana sate watching a star, When who should turn up but the young Lochinvar! Her pulchritude gave him a pectoral glow, And he reined up his hoss with stentorian "Whoa!" Then turned on the maiden a rapturous grin, And modestly asked if he mightn't step in.
With presence of mind that was marvellous quite, The fair Mariana replied that he might; So in through the portal rode young Lochinvar, Pre-empted the claim, and cleaned out the bar. Though the justice allowed he wa'n't wholly to blame, He taxed him ten dollars and costs, just the same.
MY dolly is a dreadful care,-- Her name is Miss Amandy; I dress her up and curl her hair, And feed her taffy candy. Yet, heedless of the pleading voice Of her devoted mother, She will not wed her mother's choice, But says she'll wed another.
I'd have her wed the china vase,-- There is no Dresden rarer; You might go searching every place And never find a fairer. He is a gentle, pinkish youth,-- Of that there's no denying; Yet when I speak of him, forsooth! Amandy falls to crying.