The Wanderer's Song

We have left far behind us the dwellings of men, We have traversed the forest, the lake and the fen, From island to island like sea birds we roam, The waves are our path, and the world is our home.

Juvallera, Juvallera, Juvallera, lera, lera!

Juvallera, Juvallera, Juvallera, lera, lera!

On the lone rugged rocks a rich table we spread, The balsam and hemlock afford us a bed; While the gleam of our camp fire illumines the sky, And the murmuring pines sing a soft lullaby.

Juvallera, etc.

When the orient hues of the dawning of day Emblazon the clouds and smile back from the bay, We spring from our couch like the stag from his lair, And drink in new life with the free morning air.

Juvallera, etc.

Then we launch our light bark on the silvery lake, That dimples and breaks into smiles in our wake; While we sweeten our toil with a tale or a song, Or rest while the winds waft us bravely along.

Juvallera, etc.

At night when the deer to the thicket has fled, And the scream of the night hawk is heard overhead, We startle with laughter the wilderness dim, Or the forests resound with our evening hymn.

Juvallera, etc.

Then Hurrah for the north, with its woods and its hills; Hurrah for its rocks, and its lakes and its rills!

And long may its forests be lovely as now, Untouched by the axe, and unscathed by the plow!

Juvallera, etc.

1870.

The Cowdung Fly

Of all the flies that ever I see The Cowdung Fly is the fly for me In cloud or shine, in wet or dry You can't find the beat of the Cowdung Fly!

So early in the morning or when the sun is sinking, So early in the morning or any time of day.

The salmon fly shines in purple and gold Brighter than Solomon shone of old But give me the finest that money can buy And I'll give it you back for the Cowdung Fly!

So early, &c.

A cute little chap is the silver trout When the wind is still and the sun shines out!

No maiden so coy and no widow so sly But he'll jump like a shot at the Cowdung Fly!

So early, &c.

A tough old cuss is the big black ba.s.s It's a mighty hard job to bring him to gra.s.s But it makes no odds how hard he may try He can't resist the Cowdung Fly!

So early, &c.

There's many a fly of old renown Green Drake, Red Spinner and little March Brown, Coachman, Professor, but Oh my eye!

They ain't a patch on the Cowdung Fly!

So early, &c.

There are Hackles black and Hackles white Good by day and good by night Hackles brown and Hackles red But the Cowdung Fly is away ahead!

So early, &c.

There's the little black gnat when the sun shines bright And the big white moth for the cool twilight But of all the bugs in earth and sky I'll bet my boots on the Cowdung Fly!

So early, &c.

Then anglers all you can't go wrong If you've plenty of Cowdung Flies along You never will want for fish to fry If your book's well stocked with the Cowdung Fly!

Song of the Ba.s.s

Over the waters, merrily dancing, Softly glides our light canoe, While the phantom mirror glancing, Shines alternate white and blue.

_Chorus._

Never can tell when the ba.s.s is a-coming, Never can tell when he's going to bite; First thing you know your reel will be humming, Strike him quickly and hold him tight.

Past the maples, red and yellow, Crimson oak and purple ash- Gosh! you've hooked a monstrous fellow!

Golly! don't you hear him splash?

Hold him lightly, reel him slowly If you wish your fish to save; Nothing's gained by hurry-Holy Moses! what a jump he gave.

Lower your rod; now take the slack up- Thank your stars you've got him yet!

Now he sticks his th.o.r.n.y back up- Now you've got him in the net!

In the basket, wrapped in fern, he'll Lie in state in scaly grace; In the pan, when we return, he'll Find a warmer resting place.

Let him fry in crumbs and b.u.t.ter- Hear the appetizing fizz!

No weak words that I could utter Can describe how good he is.

Serve him with a slice of bacon, Quickly to the banquet come, And unless I'm much mistaken Your remark will be "yum, yum!"

Never can tell when the Ba.s.s is a-comin'

Words: Drs. Ellis & Spencer. Music: Adapted.

_Allegro piscatore: con brio._

Maskinongewagaming[7]