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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 h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.sed 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, Surpa.s.ses 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 pa.s.sed.

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 h.e.l.l 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s.

And thots of serpents make me quake From head to ca.s.s."

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 pa.s.sed 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!