OVERLAND and UNDERGROUND University of California Berkeley OVERLAND AND UNDERGROUND THE AUTHOR OVERLAND AND UNDERGROUND D POEMS OF THE WEST AND ITS MINES By D. G. THOMAS Privately Printed ROCK SPRINGS, WYOMING 1912 COPYRIGHT 1912 by D. G. THOMAS Rock Springs, Wyoming Printed and Bound by THE FAITHORN COMPANY CHICAGO IV TO MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER I DEDICATE THIS BOOK These poems, the children of my brain, were born, as you know, between shifts. I am aware that they lack in many of the essentials which go or ought to go into a work of this character; but I have done my best to make them acceptable to you and to those of my friends who will read them on that account. THE AUTHOR FOREWORD /TMiE Coleridge definition of poetry, "The best words X, in the best order," may be adequately judged by a literary standard, but the "Song of the Soul" would much more regard the substance than the form. "Overland and Underground" is the epitome of a life begun in poverty at nine years of age as a trap- door boy in a coal mine, and after a thorough course in the school of Hardknocks with Perserverance as monitor and Experience as the teacher, completed as Superintendent of great mines of the mighty West. Despite the hardships suffered, the cares of life have never been able to interrupt the harmony that has always existed between the great Celtic heart of the author and Nature in all her moods and forms. His human-nature poems show that in his rise from bottom to top, he has not forgotten those who have not climbed so fast, nor lost sympathy for them and their hard cheerless lot. Mr. Thomas has spent most of his life in the coal mines, and his poems relating thereto are reflections of his own experiences. His work in the West took him to the mountains of Wyoming where he learned to love Nature in a new form, and his poems of the hills express this affection. VI These poems are written by a miner to the miners and for those familiar with the dark, black holes, their people, their surroundings and their tragedies, they have the same message of human sympathy and brotherhood found in the songs of Robert Burns. To have seen this collection grow from one to many, to have enjoyed the personal friendship of the author and his faithful loving wife and daughter, to have seen him overcome tremendous odds and win in the fierce conflict with natural inclination and vicious environ- ment, has been a great privilege and my extreme pleasure. JOSEPH HENRY SAYER. vii ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE Portrait of the Author 3 Fontenelle 33 It's Fishing Time 54 Washakie 65 A Mountain Stream 66 He Was the Friend of Gentle Peace 69 viii CONTENTS PAGE The Sunbeam and the Dew 13 Reagan's Cabin 16 Robert Burns 19 We'll Go To Lancasheer 23 Home Again From Lancasheer 28 Fontenelle 33 James Bridger 36 Down in a Coal Mine 38 The Month of May 43 The Mine Explosion 44 Night 53 It's Fishing Time 54 Song of the Air in the Mine 55 Joe Black's Trip 58 On Woman's Rights 62 Washakie 65 The Prospector 77 The Man that Fails 79 Rock Springs 82 Dennis Waters 96 Simple Joe 98 To My Daughter 104 IX CONTENTS Continued PAGE In Memory of David M. Elias 105 The Whole Story 109 To James Needham 109 To a Superior Person Singing 109 The Mountain Ash Choir 110 Welsh Service 111 The Workman's Vision 112 Goodbye, Bill 115 Progress 116 When I Was a Lad 117 Sweetheart, I Love You So 119 Pretty Annie Jones 121 The Miner's Lullaby 123 Don't Block the Wheels of Joy 125 OVERLAND AND UNDERGROUND THE SUNBEAM AND THE DEW TVTIGHT shook her garments, and a shower **^ Of dewy gems fell on each flower, Sparkling beneath the moon-lit skies As love does in a maiden's eyes. She said on leaving the pearly dew: "In the morning I shall call for you, If you a faithful vigil keep Nor for a moment go to sleep." They play and in a chorus sing Love to the flowers to which they cling, And now and then they slyly peep To see if any have gone to sleep. A Breeze came from his home somewhere And sees the dew-drops glistening there, So he among them gently creeps And rocks, and rocks till each one sleeps. 13 SUNBEAM AND THE DEW They jsmile as children do in dreams Lulled by the Breeze and rippling streams Blowing and flowing in accents deep Soothing the dew drops in their sleep. At last the dawn with noiseless tread Comes creeping from his eastern bed, Descending from the mountain's steep And finds the dew-drops fast asleep. The song birds make the woodlands ring With welcome to the new born king Who grandly o'er the mountain creeps, But the dew unmindful, ever sleeps. The grand old monarch of the day Fills the earth with his glad array, While night with many a hurried leap Runs off and leaves the dew asleep. 14 THE SUNBEAM AND THE DEW He sees the flowers bedecked with gems From tinted leaves to slender stems, And hears Night in the distance weep, Her jewels lost, because asleep. Over the flowers a moment he stops To gather the shining pearly drops Lying there in the blossom's keep Peacefully dreaming, fast asleep. And one by one each precious gem He places on his diadem, Where they on waking from their dreams Were changed from dew to bright sunbeams. 15 REAGAN'S CABIN 'T^HE Thunder mountains proudly tower * High above the tallest pines, Frowning at the men that scar them, Boring in their sides deep mines; And the icy blast of winter Fill their crevasses with snow, Which the summer sun releases To the streams of Idaho. There the lordly Salmon river Rushes madly to the main, Adding streamlet after streamlet To its ever swirling train; And a trail leads on from Warren By Sim Willie's fruitful ranch, Till it comes to Reagan's cabin Nestling close beside a branch. Who was Reagan? None will answer, Save he was of Celtic race, Loving freedom as a lover Loves his sweetheart's form and face, Fought for it in many battles, In the trenches wet and red, Till the flag above him triumphed And his foemen's cause was dead. 16 REAGAN'S CABIN Then he sought that quiet shelter Far away from scenes of strife, Building there his lonely cabin, Living there his lonely life; Freedom's breeze around him playing, Freedom's waters by him flow, That for which his great heart panted He had found in Idaho. Delving deep into the gravel While the water ceaseless rolled Through the rude, rough patterned sluices Formed to catch the grains of gold; Season after season found him Bravely fronting Fate's array, Left him wearier and nearer To that bourne of endless day. Once his feathered friends departed In the autumn's russet storm. Leaving him alone and lonely With bowed head and feeble form; Came a trapper down the river To the cabin's open door, Where he found grim death had entered And that Reagan was no more. 17 REAGAN'S CABIN Folding o'er the silent bosom Those thin hands so hard and worn, Then the wasted, lifeless body To its resting place was borne. * * * * There within a woodland shelter Where the mountain daisies grow, Reagan sleeps away the seasons In the wilds of Idaho. 18 ROBERT BURNS Recited on Burns' Anniversary at Evanston, Wyo. WE meet tonight to honor him, Old Scotia's fav'rite son, Whose name and fame will never dim As long as waters run; As long as sun and moon look down Upon this world so fair Each year we'll proudly gather round To praise the bard of Ayr. In fancy we can see the cot Wherein his life began, The misery of his hard lot From childhood unto man, And wonder how a soul so great With gifts beyond compare Could rise from such a lowly state Upon the banks of Ayr. 19 ROBERT BURNS Misfortune waited at his birth His future to control, But though his frame she held to earth She could not hold his soul; And soaring upward like the lark Unfettered by despair, His songs sent sunshine through the dark Upon the banks of Ayr. We see him mingle with the poor Down-trodden of his race, Who, like himself, are held secure In poverty's embrace; With cheerful song he strives to free Them from all pressing care By singing man's equality Upon the banks of Ayr. He taught his fellowmen to feel Like brothers of the soil, To hate the man whose iron heel Pressed on the brow of toil; The man who labored long and hard With forehead hot and bare, Was more to him than king's regard, Upon the banks of Ayr. 20 ROBERT BURNS The maiden crowned with beauty's charm, And filled with strange unrest, Finds solace walking arm in arm With him who loves her best; She feels his heart in rapture beat, Its passion to declare, And over her an incense sweet Comes from the banks of Ayr. We see these trusting lovers stand Each side a purling stream, Fast holding to each others hand Secure in love's young dream; His heart, his life he fondly gives That she might with him share The love that in his bosom lives Upon the banks of Ayr. He weeps as if his tender heart Would break with pain and woe, When he and Highland Mary part To meet no more below; Fell death has closed her gentle eyes And left him to despair, And we can hear his groans and sighs Upon the banks of Ayr. 21 ROBERT BURNS How wonderful was his brief span, So full of fire divine! While poverty clung to the man Fame made his home her shrine; His songs found lodgment in the heart Of sorrow and of care, And raised it to a nobler part Upon the banks of Ayr. Then let us all with fond acclaim Become a merry throng By honoring our poet's name With dancing and with song; While sadness from our presence turns To hide itself elsewhere, We'll have a jolly night with Burns Upon the banks of Ayr. 22 WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER wife an' sit ye doun a bit, Ye must be worn I know, Wi' trudging like a patient slave To keep the house just so, An* let the childer do the work That ye are wont to do, Ye've labored long enough for them, Let them now work for you; Coom draw yer chair close up to mine An' be content a while, That I may see once more your face Beam wi' the oud sweet smile, For I've been thinkin' lately How nice 'twould be, my dear, For both on us to take a trip Back to oud Lancasheer. T Now stop a bit afore ye speak, An' hear my story through: I got a letter yesterday From one that's dear to you; It said as how yer mother Wor so lonely, old and gray, An* how she longed to see us two Afore she passed away; 23 WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER I did na' tell of it last night I feared 'twould grieve ye sore, That's why I waited till today So I could think it o'er, An' I've been thinkin' ever sin' That it would give us cheer To take a pleasant journey back To good oud Lancasheer. Somehow I could na' sleep last night, My eye-lids would na' close, I rolled an' tossed about in bed, But could na' find repose; My thoughts like childer out o' school Kept flittin' to an' fro, But always stopped among the scenes We knew so long ago; When night had vanished an' the dawn Came wi' its golden light I then wor wide awake as now, An' had been all the night; But happiness wor in my heart, My mind wor bright and clear When I resolved that coom what may We'd go to Lancasheer. 24 WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER There's Ned an' Tom, our only sons, They know just what to do, An' Mary wi' the kind blue eyes, That looks so much like you The three are urgin' us to go, They've talked it o'er wi' me, An' now are gettin' things in shape For us to cross the sea; So get yersel all ready, lass, Don't tarry nor delay, An' bid the neebors fond goodbye, For we will start today; An' sin' I've fully made my mind, I have na' e'en a fear But that we'll cross in safety An' again see Lancasheer. 25 WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER When we arrive at Bolton, The place where we wor wed, I know we'll be right welcoom By the landlord o' Nags Head, For he was very good to us Upon our weddin' day, An* so I'm sure he'll be the same When we go back that way; We'll stop wi' him a day or two, To meet oud friends in town, An' then we'll go to Alchemoor An' to the Rose an' Crown, Where we will rest oursels a bit An' have a sup o' beer In memory o' days we passed In good oud Lancasheer. Coom now an' fix thysel' a bit, Put on thy very best, The people over there shall know How Yankee folk are dressed, We'll show them we have money Saved against a rainy day, An' better off in worldly things Than 'fore we went away; 26 WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER Coom, hurry now the time is short An' let us make a start, The sparkle in yer kind blue eye Tells me what's in yer heart, Thy mother will be happy When she sees us both appear Upon her little door-step there In good oud Lancasheer. how my heart is longin' For a sight o' that oud place Where I was born an' where I first Beheld yer kindly face; The comrades that I use to have In those good days of yore, 1 wonder if they'r still alive An' live in Alchemoor? Of course I know we'er gettin' on, Our hair is turnin' gray, But what on that? Our hearts are young An' full of joy today, An' we will be more happy When England's shore appear, An' greet us in the name o' all We love in Lancasheer. 27 HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER , lads, I'm glad we'er back again, Yer mother here an' me Have had a very anxious trip Returnin' o'er the sea; We thought on you and Mary An' all we left at home, That's why we could na' coom too fast Across the ocean' foam; We'd only been in England Not above a day or two, When somethin' kept a nudgin' An' a pullin' us to you; Yer mother could na' sleep o' nights An' I wor feelin' queer Because ye wor so far away An' us in Lancasheer. The ship as we went over in, The biggest we had seen, Wor loaded with nice things to eat An' every thing was clean, But still we could na' eat it, Nor taste on it nor smell Wi'out unloadin' all we had Inside on us as well. 28 HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER 'Twas after we'd seen England's shore Spread out afore our sight That we began to feel that we Possessed an appetite; Yer mother ate a little As the good ship ventured near, But I decided I would wait An' eat in Lancasheer. The rugged cliffs that border On oud England's verdant land, Appeared to kindly welcoom all Returnin' to her strand; The voices of the people An' the bustin' noise an' din They made upon the monster deck Just as the ship sailed in, Wor cheerful-like an' pleasant After days upon the foam, But none on it could take the place Of what we left at home, No, none of it was home-like, 'Twas all so strange an' queer, I almost wished we'd not begun The trip to Lancasheer. 29 HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER At Bolton things are not the same As we had known afore, The landlord of the oud Nag's Head Is gone forever more; Another man is in his stead, A man we did na' know, That's why we only tarried there A half an hour or so; The little town of Alchemoor Has changed its pretty name For one as I don't like at all, An' this I think a shame; The Rose an' Crown is runnin' yet We drank some on its beer, But somehow it did not taste right Not like oud Lancasheer. 30 HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER We found yer Grandma aged much, An' not o'er strong an' spry, But happy at the sight on us An' quite resigned to die; We watched her gently fade away, Her eyes grow strangely dim, When God's sweet angel came an' took Her saintly soul wi' him; We laid her in a quite nook Beneath a scented rose That she had planted there hersel' While shapin' for life's close; An' there among her kith an' kin She'll sleep from year to year Until the trumpet calls the dead To life in Lancasheer. Some of the friends o' early days Had wandered far away To distant lands, as we had done, An' there they chose to stay; But few wor left to meet us, An' when we saw these few, We noticed they wor sadly changed An' not the friends we knew; 31 HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER Others are in the silent graves, Where all on us must go, When death forbids the stream o' life To longer ebb an' flow; An' when I gazed upon the mounds That held oud friends so dear, I felt that we had seen enough Of good oud Lancasheer. Yes, yes, I'm feelin' better now Than I have felt for years, At seein' all on you so well, Yer mother's happy tears, An' every thing about the place Fills me wi' such a joy As nothing in this world could change, Or banish or destroy; I love this land where ye wor born, That kindly shelters me, An' I'll admit I also love That oud land o'er the sea; But it is not my home no more, An' I am happy here, But proud that I have seen again Our dear oud Lancasheer. 32 FONTENELLE Where can one see a grander scene In all of Nature's vast domain? FONTENELLE A MOUNTAIN STREAM sun has left a golden rim Of glory shining in his stead; Meanwhile the ocean welcomes him Into her broad, green-mantled bed; The moon, attended by her maids The faithful stars that love her well Will soon look down into thy glades, Thou ever rippling Fontenelle. Where can one see a grander scene In all of nature's vast domain? No picture spread upon a screen Could so well please the eye and brain; And contemplation leads the mind Along time's path as through a dell Beyond the ken of human kind To thy beginning, Fontenelle. The mind of man with all its lore, With all its depth and breadth of thought, Becomes confused while brooding o'er The years you saw and counted not And counted not? Perhaps I'm wrong; The record may still with you dwell, May yet be read by bards whose song Will tune with mine, sweet Fontenelle. 33 FONTENELLE Since Bonneville stood upon thy shore Thy history we plainly scan, But what was it in years before Thou were beheld by mortal man? But then enough is seen and known To charm the senses with a spell; You gladden us with thy rich tone Thou ever flowing Fontenelle. Here shaggy herds were wont to graze Upon each green, delightful bank, And bending down to drink would gaze And see their image while they drank; Unconscious of the lurking foe Until they heard his savage yell When there was mingled with thy flow Their warm life blood, sweet Fontenelle. Today where once the bison tramped Along this valley, rich and green; Where savages and trappers camped And clashed in warfare's frightful mien, Are cattle browsing round at will And homes where peaceful fam'lies dwell, Dependent on this limpid rill Thy silv'ry waters, Fontenelle. 34 FONTENELLE Oh! winding stream! Oh! laughing rill! I see the willows bending low, As if to listen to the trill Thy waters make as on they go; The snow-capped peaks that gave thee birth Can ne'er a sweeter story tell, Can ne'er bestow upon the earth A richer gift than Fontenelle. 35 JAMES BRIDGER 18041881 Mountaineer, Trapper, Hunter, Guide A BEDOUIN of the wild, wild West was he; -** Her secrets, Nature never from him held ; His eye far-set, the eagle's could out-see; In courage strong, in woodcraft unexcelled. His years were spent in solitude and strife, In wilderness, in regions new and quaint; The busy marts, the city's bustling life, To him were prisons barred by harsh restraint. The first white man to gaze on Great Salt Lake, That wonder lying in the mountain's lap; The Yellowstone, where waters fall and break In awful grandeur through the rock- worn gap. The wind-carved rocks still pedestal the peaks, Still keep their hooded summits in the sky; The vagrant cloud in passing often seeks To shield them from the gaze of mortal eye. The great Tetons, the sisters of the range, Encrowned alike in diadems of snow; Remain the same, though they have seen a change Come over hill and valley far below. 36 JAMES'BRIDGER The shaggy herds have vanished from their haunts, The redman, once their owner, pines and fades; All must succumb unto the whiteman's wants The greedy hand of commerce which pervades He lived the nomad's life, the Indian's ways, His comradeship he loved, his manners aped; He dwelt with him until his closing days, Then to the noisy city he escaped. The path he made, became in after years The highway for an Empire westward bent; Nor dreamed it once, amid its hopes and fears, Of him who gave to it a continent. 37 DOWN IN A COAL MINE A REMINISCENCE gentle muse, let us descend Into the caverns, deep and wet; Perhaps we'll find a cherished friend At work there yet. For mem'ry to my vision brings A picture that will not depart; Meanwhile she plays upon the strings That hold my heart. So, backward o'er life's road I go To other days and youthful years, Where first I tasted of its woe And bitter tears; And I behold a little child That scarce ten summers yet had seen, By stern necessity beguiled To labor mean. His eye, as bright as is the dew Upon the rose leaf in the morn, His soul as sinless as the blue The heaven's adorn; His voice, like childhood's happy voice Is pleasing in its tender tone, And he is ready to rejoice At kindness shown. 38 DOWN IN A COAL MINE His home is dear to his young heart, Wherein he never felt alarm; Embellished by a mother's art And matchless charm; And here he learned to love the light And air God freely gives to all, But now grim hunger, gaunt and white, Begins to call. I hear the whistle's loud, hoarse blast Call labor ere it yet is day, And sleep that holds its eye-lids fast Flies swift away; The birds are singing in the trees; Are pouring out their tuneful lays, Which mingle with the morning breeze Like songs of praise. The little child is kissed and wakes; Two loving arms around him press, And from his lowly cot she takes And helps him dress; A scanty meal, then hand in hand He goes with father to the pit; Too young to know or understand The cause of it. DOWN IN A COAL MINE He stands upon the waiting cage Prepared to disappear from sight; The devil noting well his age Laughs with delight; Aye laughs because 'tis here he stands With tools that tempt a little child, With which when taken in his hands He is defiled. Such little ones with sinless souls, Amid the darkness, smoke and din, Soon learn in those black, grimy holes The ways of sin; The words he hears are not all clean, Would not a charming presence grace; But then, perhaps, they match the scene Of such a place. He smells the smoky, fetid air, And breathing it his senses swim, While something like unto despair Comes over him; But he must work, though sick and sore, Must help to keep the wolf at bay, The butcher and the company store Must have their pay. 40 DOWN IN A COAL MINE O, Poverty! the grief and pain; The misery and carking care Attendant on thy lowly train Are hard to bear; And were it not for Hope's bright ray That yet within us dimly glows, We'd fall upon life's stormy way Overcome with woes. Again the whistle's noisy blast Is heard to echo o'er the hill; The long, long weary day is past, The world is still; And homeward in the dying day The toil-worn father and the son Are seen to slowly wend their way, Their labors done. He sees his home, and as he nears, A face his weariness beguiles; A figure in the door appears An angel smiles; For there his loving mother stands With outstretched arms to greet her boy Who shows his tender, blistered hands And weeps for joy. 41 DOWN IN A COAL MINE O, Mother! when I saw thy form Laid low in icy death's embrace, I yet could see a hallowed charm In thy sweet face; The memory of by -gone years Rushed o'er me like a flood of woe, Revealing all the joys and tears Of long ago. My much loved sire in manhood's prime Succumbed to hardships underground, And you, who loved me all the time Likewise have found A resting place from care and strife; And now you both sleep in the shade Where poverty, the ban of life Can ne'er invade. 42 THE MONTH OF MAY r I ^HE sweet-eyed May, scent-laden, -^ Trips gaily into view; Her tender feet, from wading Are moist with April's dew. The silent hill and valley Where sleeping verdure lies, Behold their tenants rally And open wide their eyes. The trees put out their banners On every slender stem; From which come glad hosannas Of birds that sing in them. Her magic spell unbroken By e'en an icy chill Remains to safely open The buds that frost would kill When trees and flowers blossom Late in her afternoon, She'll gather them and toss them Upon the lap of June. 43 THE MINE EXPLOSION Founded on an incident of the coal mine explosion at Hanna, Wyo., June 30, 1903. "W'E lovers of the earth and sky, *" The air and warm sunshine; Give heed while I relate a tale About a deep coal mine; How death upon a cloud of flame Rode madly through the pit, And in his ire consumed with, fire The men that toiPd in it. Two brothers died below that day, Two brothers fond and dear, Who came from England's distant shores To live and labor here; Their wives two handsome new made brides Came with them o'er the foam To aid and bless with love's caress The founding of a home. 44 THE MINE EXPLOSION They settled in a mountain camp Where nature long had frowned. So desolate the hills and plains So barren was the ground That not a tree nor e'en a flower Could find a place to grow; For shifting sand rolled o'er the land Like winter's new-born snow. These brothers were inured to work From childhood in a mine, Where ever present dangers lurk To frustrate man's design; Where hardship left upon the brow Its ugly mark of care, Where all was blight and gloom and night To those that labored there. Their names well never mind their names We called them Bob and Joe; As such we knew them in the mine, As such we'll ever know. When numbers are engulfed in death By sheets of livid flame, We note the sum of those o'ercome And not so much the name. 45 THE MINE EXPLOSION Poor Mary from her childhood hour Had known the keenest strife, And happiness had only come To her as Bob's sweet wife. When he was close, her dark brown eyes Beamed forth her loving pride, But when away, the neighbors say She feared lest woe betide. She'd talk to them about the mine, About the deadly damp, That ever waits to touch the flame On some poor collier's lamp, Then burning madly rush along The channels underground, Until its breath had stilled in death All living souls it found. And talking thus the tears would flow Like rain adown each cheek, Convulsive sobs would shake her frame Till she could scarcely speak. The neighbors noting well her grief Declared with tearful sigh If death should rob her life of Bob She, too, would surely die. 46 THE MINE EXPLOSION But Joe's wife was a different lass, Light hearted all day long; No sadness seemed to cloud her sky Nor mar sweet Nellie's song; She'd laugh at Mary's gloomy moods, Then say with playful wit: "It's time enough to cross the bridge When we have come to it." Love plays queer pranks with women's hearts, So masterful his skill, That smiles and tears and hopes and fears He causes at his will; Poor Mary's tears her love bespoke, For Bob they'd ever flow; While Nellie's song the whole day long Spoke equally for Joe. men iii i ..... . ! ill! '.i; ].',:: ho .: THE MINE EXPLOSION And would not Mary's eyes be wet, Her tears of gladness flow, And would not Nellie's joyful song Give happiness to Joe? A bath, and after that a meal The collier's main repast Would drive away the cares of day Like chaff before a blast. One morning in the month of June The sky was bright and clear, The whistle sent its dismal sound To workmen far and near; The miners heeding duty's call Bade loved ones fond goodbye, But not a sign came from the mine To tell them death was nigh. The gasmen in their morning round Had been from place to place; Had marked with chalk the day and date Upon each working face; Then out they went to meet the men Who waited there in line To hear them say the word, ere they Went down into the mine. 48 THE MINE EXPLOSION The colliers one by one approached, Approached, but dared not pass The spot where stood those cautious men Who watched the deadly gas, And asked: "How is my place today?" A watchman then replied, "'Tis safe and sound, no gas was found, All, all is safe inside." And thus assured that all was well, They entered that black hole, And every man at once began To blast and load his coal. The engines groaned and shrieked and hissed, The trips arose and fell, The busy hum of rope and drum Said all was safe and well. The wives, engaged in wonted tasks, Pursued them with a will; The little children laughed and played Most happily, until A shock as of an earthquake came With fearful, loud portent; Then from the mine came forth a sign Which told them what it meant. 49 THE MINE EXPLOSION A terror such as fear provokes Held them in its embrace; A ghastly pallor spread its tinge On every person's face. They saw the angry smoke and flame Leap upward from the slope, And in its glare they felt despair Rush in, and kill their hope. Oh! God! it is an awful sight; Grim ruin everywhere! Since this much we can plainly see, What must it be down there? What has become of those brave men At work deep underground, Who stood in line here at the mine, When all was safe and sound. At last the spell that held them all Relaxed its fearful hold, The frenzied women madly rushed To where the red flames rolled, And peering in that dark abyss They yet could see it flare, As though it sought each open spot To see if life were there. 50 THE MINE EXPLOSION In horror and in wild dismay They gathered round that hole, Imploring God to spare his rod And save the colliers' soul Poor Mary, foremost at the scene Weeped bitterly and long; But Nellie's face we could not trace Among the widowed throng. While Mary lingered near the mine, The picture of despair, Sweet Nellie, broken-hearted, stayed At home, quite helpless there; She knew no face, she heard no voice; But plaintively and low She tried to coo a love song to Bring back her dear, dead Joe. Week after week brave volunteers Undaunted by dismay, ToiFd ceaselessly to find the men Who died below that day, But wreck and ruin filled the mine; Obstructions high and wide Like demons lay to bar the way And keep the dead inside. 51 THE MINE EXPLOSION The evening Bob and Joe were found A figure strangely white, Like lily fair was lying there On her lowly cot that night. The stars were vying with the moon In lighting heaven's dome, When through the door an angel bore Her gentle spirit home. The new made graves are filled at last Bob sleeps in one alone, The wild winds sigh as they pass by With many a low sad moan; And Mary wandered far away, Just where I do not know; But neighbors tell how poor sweet Nell Sleeps in the grave with Joe. 52 NIGHT r I A HE mountain's shadow goes to greet -** The calm, approaching night; And in the valley where they meet They lovingly unite. Her silent footsteps softly creep Along the path of Day; And if the road be rough and steep The stars light up the way. The fretful child, worn with his play Is kissed, and lo! he dreams All weariness and pain away Among the starry beams. And he, the toiler for the home, On whom so much depends Knows, when he sees her gently come, 'Tis as one of his friends. O Night! the friend of weariness Giver of rest and joy! The cares of day that on us press, You, while you reign, destroy. 53 IT'S FISHING TIME TT'S fishing time, the mountain stream * Is calling loud; The pebbles in the ripples gleam In misty shroud; Do you not hear the water hum? Its merry chime Tells us to hurry up and come Its fishing time. It's fishing time; go for your rod Your line and reel, By simply turning o'er the sod You'll catch and feel The juicy worms the best of bait That twist and climb As if they'd like to shun their fate It's fishing time. It's fishing time; away with care, Let it remain To nurse the semblance of despair And fancied pain; The mountains have no naughty germs Committing crime, So hurry up and dig the worms, It's fishing time. 54 IT'S FISHING TIME SONG OF THE AIR IN THE MINE T WAS sitting in the entry, * Humming low a fancied song, While my fevered brow was cooling, In the air that rushed along, Through the dreary, darkened chambers Where the deadly lurking damp Lingers harmlessly till started By the flame on someone's lamp. The pick, pick, pick of the miners I heard in the chambers afar, Like the noise of cracking muskets When soldiers are at war; Now and then a sound like cannon Roared out with a lurid glare, When a blast, red-tongued, exploded And rolled on the vibrant air. Onward the current moved onward, Swiftly and coldly it flew Into the farthest recesses Still keeping constant and true; Hurrying past me it murmured In language quite careless and free: "O, man, thy life shall be forfeit If thou for a moment stop me. 55 SONG OF THE AIR IN THE MINE "Make room for my wings, O mortal, Make room for my wings to fly With breath for the panting toilers Or they will perish and die; Stand not in my way for an instant Obstruct not my hard-worn path, Or the gas that I should make harmless Will flame in its awful wrath. "When the world was in disorder, Ere the days and nights began Changing cycles with each other, Long before the birth of man, I was constantly in motion Making ready all the earth For the coming and the welcome Of humanity's proud birth. "Then I lived to be man's servant On the land and on the wave, Doing wonders at his bidding, Working like a faithful slave; Driving clouds across the heavens When he needed cooling rain; When dispelling them that sunshine Might smile on the earth again. 56 SONG OF THE AIR IN THE MINE "Now they take me in the darkness Where the Devil's imps abound; There to kill the gas that gathers Like a stealthy foe around, Waiting to disclose its presence When a flaming lamp is near To ignite it, then to hasten On its wild and mad career. "Keep my passageway wide open, Make me sing as on I go, Then the gas that I encounter Meets an unrelenting foe; I alone can make it harmless, Make it shudder, break and flee, And in safety keep the miners, That depend for life on me." 57 JOE BLACK'S TRIP first stop was at Portland, Where the everlasting rain Rolls from the clouds like torrents Rushing headlong down a plain, An' when the clouds was empty They'd go sailing out once more To fill up with the ocean Then return again an' pour; I thought of my own mountains These dry an' rollin' plains An' wondered what they'd look like Soaked up in them there rains, An' I said give me Wyomin' With its icy air and snow An' the jingle of the sleigh-bells Which these people do not know. 58 JOE BLACK'S TRIP Then we went to Californy To try and shed the rain But all the time them pesky clouds Kept follerin' the train, And poured on us their contents Whene'er they got a show, And soaked us soul an' body, Which was durn sight wus nor snow. The city of the Angels That we'd read so much about, Has lots of pretty flowers Inside the fence and out; But I wouldn't give a petal From our native, old wild rose For all the fancy botany That in that country grows. Where'er we went we had to go Beneath a umber-rel, 'Cause when it wasn't rainin' It was simply hot as well, I can't find words to say it But while we sojourned there My mountain home kept callin' us To come and breathe its air, 59 JOE BLACK'S TRIP To come an' see the cattle An' the fodder green an' rich, An' drink the icy water That was runnin' in the ditch; An' I tell ye, boys, a longin' Filled my old eyes with a mist, An' something kept a pullin' That we couldn't well resist. Of course I seen the oranges An' lemons on the trees, But how in all tarnation Can a fellow live on these? A little fruit in season Is well enough, no doubt But there's nothin' like good beef-steak To make a man pan out; An' here upon the home ranch Are the things that fairly suit To make a man contented An' a great deal more to boot; Its not too hot in summer, In winter not too cold, An' grub that keeps us healthy As we lovin'ly grow old. 60 JOE BLACK'S TRIP No, I wouldn't give Wyomin' Nur a mountain nur a plain, Fur all of Californy, Her sunshine an' her rain; Her banks of pretty flowers, Nur them whoppin' big grape vines, 'Cause ye can't work when its rainin' An' its too hot when it shines; I'd rather be on Piney Where the cattle grow an' thrive, Where we can sleigh in winter An' in the summer drive, An' visit with the neighbors In a manner free from strife, Than to live in any other place An' worry out my life. 61 ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS An answer to an attack on woman's suffrage, made by D. B. R. A H ! Laddie, I have read your chatter, *^ Wherein you rant and rave and clatter 'Gainst Women's Rights, which does not scatter Nor hide in fear. I deem your screed less mind than matter And not sincere. I've seen the women of my state Go to the polls, calm and sedate, And cast a vote to elevate The human race, Without the slightest fear or hate And with good grace. Glance backward on life's stormy page, And note the change from age to age Wherein each period does assuage The poor man's lot; See if it justifies your rage, Your unkind thought. 62 ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS Progression in the human race Goes forward with a steady pace; The new ideals the old displace And help us on; So we should meet them face to face While yet 'tis dawn. Man's freedom came, I'd have you note, When he began to think and vote, In times not very far remote From this our age; Ere then he floundered like a boat In ocean's rage. Since we have seen ourselves advance, And suffrage does our toil enhance, Why do you hurl your shining lance At targets human; Why not allow a fighting chance To our fair women? The Movement which you vainly scorn, Has oft the brunt of battle borne, And though its flag is badly torn It's there to stay Till Gabriel blows his golden horn On Judgment day. 63 ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS And why should women be denied The Rights with which you are supplied? Are you so lordly in your pride As not to share With her who suffers at your side Your sumptuous fare? Let her, my lad, have every right Which man does for himself invite; Be freed from pettiness and spite And sad dejection; And in addition, man, go fight For her protection. 64 WASHAKIE WASHAKIE Affectionately Dedicated to Dr. Joseph H. Sayer ofCozad, Nebraska. The story, this of Washakie, Related years ago to me By old men of the Shoshone. r I ^WAS in the merry month of June -* When Nature, like a maiden dressed To meet her lover, looks her best; Attired in robes that sweetly tune With sunny days and moonlit nights And air that braces and delights That Washakie camped by a rill Which tumbles down the mountain's side Into the valley, deep and wide, Then hurries onward, onward till Far from the land of Shoshone It flows a river to the sea. 65 WASHAKIE If you have seen the mountain streams Roll down the canyons foaming white, Released by summer's sunny gleams From banks of snow, that glisten bright Upon the highest of the peaks That are the first to greet the sun, And last to feel on their cold cheeks His warm, red kiss when day is done Or seen the islands of the air Drift slowly till they hide and whelm With fleecy shrouds the peaks that share The glory of their azure realm; YouVe seen a picture where God's hand Makes beautiful our native land. Then add to these, the pines that sigh Whene'er a zephyr passes by; The aspen trees that gaily fling Their silver banners out in spring, And flowers that in rare beauty blow Beside the disappearing snow, While overhead and near and far Our feathered friends, God's minstrels, are. Enchantment makes her dwelling place Where Nature's gardener aspires To deftly on the landscape trace Her master's wishes and desires. 66 If you have seen a mountain stream Roll down the canyons foaming white. WASHAKIE 'Tis not howe'er such scenes sublime That to the savage eye appeals; His instincts point him to the clime Where the Great Spirit kindly deals With his necessities, and there He journeys, certain of his share. In such a place the camp was made, The horses turned adrift to graze Their fill upon the grassy glade; The squaws assumed their wonted ways While faithful scouts with eagle eyes Surveyed the landscape and the skies For signs that should to them disclose The presence of their lurking foes. But nowhere was the tell-tale mould Indented by the stealthy tread Of hostile foot, and overhead No curling smoke to heaven rolled. Security's seductive spell Upon the cautious warriors fell, And squatting on the cushioned ground They smoked, and passed the pipe around In silence, save that with each smoke A grunt the solemn stillness broke. 67 WASHAKIE And when the feast of smoke was o'er, The pipe of peace no longer burned, Some sought the streamlet's pebbled shore, And some into the forest turned, While some, beneath a spreading tree, Remained to talk with Washakie About his manly, war-like son Who in their battles had displayed The warrior's ready art and trade, Had fought their enemies, and won. The chief was but a savage child Of Nature, and as yet untamed In whitemen's eyes, and undefiled By his environments, but famed For traits the passing whiteman lacked; For honesty all that it meant For wisdom and for tender tact In tribal joys and discontent; Loving the truth; and from his lips No substitute for it e'er came; The lying tongue that halts and slips Whenever virtue breathes her name He hated, and the man of lies Could find no favor in his eyes. 68 WASHAKIE He was the friend of gentle peace, Ever ready to take her hand Whene'er she urged that war should cease Its devastation of the land; But crafty foes beset the path And often did they make her flee; Then they encountered in his wrath The mighty arm of Washakie. The annals of the tribal page Record his prowess in the fray, His feats of strength, his awful rage That none of them could curb or stay Until his enemies had fled Or at his feet were lying dead. 69 WASHAKIE But now the chief, like some good king Of whom a grateful people sing, Was seated where the cooling breeze Sang sweetest in the waving trees, Beloved and honored, as a knight Whose cause was ever just and right. His favored son, Nan-nag-gie strayed Afar into the forest glade With comrades of his age and size Who saw within those deep-set eyes Ambition's worthy passion gleam Like sunshine on the rippling stream; And often had they heard him say That in some happy future day He'd lead them as his sire had done Against the Blackfeet and the Sioux And, if needs be against the two Proud, boastful tribes, if joined as one. 70 WASHAKIE But hark! alarm has seized the camp; Upon the hill is seen the foe Flitting like shadows to and fro In war's attire; the heavy tramp Of horses mingles with the yell Of savagery that fills the dell. They come, they come! From left to right They ride around the little band Of warriors that are close at hand; Descending like a flash of light Into a sky that's black as night. But Washakie with voice and arm Is quick to quiet the alarm; And calling loudly from the glade The warriors hasten to his aid, And rushing out to meet the foe They strike him first the hardest blow. The fight soon ends; the foeman's rout Is followed by the victor's shout. 71 WASHAKIE Nan-nag-gie with the utmost speed Came forward, but alas too late To try his skill, or show his hate For those whom he could see recede Over the hill from which they came For glory, but retired with shame. The chief, his eyes aflame with wrath, Then said: "See, I have killed this Sioux But where, brave warrior, where were you When enemies beset our path? Now that you see the foes withdraw You clatter forward like a squaw." The youth a moment bowed his head As if ashamed at what was said; Then looking squarely at his sire With passion gleaming in his eyes He cried: "My name will yet arise As smoke does from a new made fire, And ere the sun descends, will be As great as yours, brave Washakie." 72 WASHAKIE With that he started like the wind, His pony dashing up and on The hill o'er which the foe had gone, Till he was lost to those behind. The warriors gazed in mute surprise Until the mad youth passed from sight, And seeing in their chieftain's eyes The sparkle of a softer light, Each to his horse and mounting, rode Over the hill the way he went, The outline of his figure showed His recklessness and rash intent; And lest he overtake the foe Or rush into their ambuscade, They hurried fast as horse could go To be in time with ready aid. Faster and faster, on he flew, Faster and faster they pursue, But all in vain, they saw him fall, Pierced by arrows and by spear, His soul passed out beyond recall As kindly help was drawing near. 73 WASHAKIE The sun was setting, and the night Was darkening the mountain side When they returned with him who died While life was new and hope was bright. They laid him in his father's tent Who beckoned them to leave it so, As o'er the lifeless form he bent Convulsed by death's untimely blow; The watchers passing in the night, Must not appear before his sight, Must not intrude upon the grief That overwhelms their mighty chief. "My noble boy! my brave, dead son! Hope of my tribe, hope of your sire! Could you forgive my hasty ire, Could I atone the evil done, How gladly would I die for thee, Would meet the arrows of the foe, The same that pierced and laid thee low, But woe is me, yea, woe is me." Lamented brave chief, Washakie. 74 WASHAKIE "I taught you how to bend the bow, To speed the arrow straight and true, To love your tribe as they loved you, And lead them on against the foe; They would have gladly followed thee Had they thy reckless intent known Of fighting with the foe alone; Woe is me, woe is me." Wailed the brave chief, Washakie. "Flesh of my flesh, soul of my soul, Your life was just as much of mine As is the branch unto the pine O'er which the mighty tempests roll; The branch is broken from the tree Which mourns for its dismembered limb That cannot be restored to him; For woe is me, yea, woe is me." Sadly wailed brave Washakie. "The eyes are closed that flashed with fire. The gaping wounds, that felt the dart Go through the palpitating heart, Gave death to thee, and to your sire Have caused his fondest hopes to flee; The tongue is still that once could bribe The homage of our mighty tribe; Woe is me, woe is me." Still mourned the brave chief, Washakie. 75 WASHAKIE All the night with bended head The sad chief waited with his dead, Mourning the lonely hours away, Until the sky was tinged with gray; The warriors, guarding well his tent, Heard him through the night lament, But none were bold enough to dare Encroach upon his presence there, Nor speak while gliding to and fro Lest they disturb him in his woe. But when the sun had risen high, He ventured forth like one in age, And gazed intently at the sky As though it would his pangs assuage; His feeble voice bespoke the grief That like an arrow tore apart All semblance of their mighty chief, And left him with a broken heart; His eyes bedimmed with sorrow's blight, No longer blazed with fervid glow; His hair so black but yesternight, At morn is like the new-born snow. 76 THE PROSPECTOR sun swings low, but its bright glow Illumes with a mellow light The mountain peaks with golden streaks, Ere he sinks and hides from sight. Here all alone in a world my own, I live far away from strife, Lured by the gold these mountains hold And for which I stake my life. I do not sigh, as years pass by Like clouds that near me roll; But fondly grope in the ray of hope That lights up my lonely soul; My star still gleams, in all my dreams, O'er the spot I deem most fair, And I know, I know by its fervent glow That the gold, my gold is there. When hunger gnaws to make me pause And my tightened belt won't hold; Relief comes sure in the magic lure And the certainty of gold, Gold gold that lies with covered eyes In the grip of Creation's might, And will only wake when I crush and break The folds that hold it tight. 77 THE PROSPECTOR With saddened look, my youth forsook The scenes of my earthly stage; Likewise my prime passed on in time, And left me the cares of age; I plod along with hope still strong That the next blast will unfold To my anxious eyes, the wealth that lies My gold, my gold, my gold. 78 THE MAN THAT FAILS T GIVE a toast to him that strives * For better things in life, By sailing out on seas of doubt From shores of want and strife; And should his ship go down before The fury of the gale, I honor him as much or more Than one who does not fail. Here's to the man of dauntless mien, With courage to do and dare The flight sublime from want and crime And poverty's cold stare; Though from the valley of unrest The plucky fellow hails, I like him if he does his best E'en though his effort fails. The heart that beats with discontent In some poor fellow's breast Is not to blame because its aim Is freedom from unrest; And if it struggles from the gloom That hides it in its veil, Let us be kind and give it room So that it may not fail. 79 THE MAN THAT FAILS Real courage wins our fond applause No matter where 'tis found, The voice of praise attend its ways Above and under ground; Just so unselfish deeds impel The doer to prevail; The hearty effort pleases well E'en though the actor fail. But what of him, the idle knave, Who sits and vents his hate For those who strive to keep alive Ambition's worthy trait, And frowns when these would cut the thong That holds them in life's vale; And when he sees things going wrong, Laughs loud because they fail. The bravest are the men who go Where others dare not try, Who look for life where death is rife In mines, where strong men die Beneath the overhanging rock, Or gases that prevail; Unmindful of the awful shock They go and sometimes fail. 80 THE MAN THAT FAILS The man that leads a mighty host In warfare's bloody game, Is not more brave than those who save Their brothers, without fame; And those who venture in the dark On danger's unseen trail, Deserve much more fair Glory's mark Although they often fail. So here's to heroes underground, The living and the dead, Whose only aim in life's hard game Was but to forge ahead; And though they never reached the goal Toward which they fondly sailed, Still I admire each plucky soul That tried to win but failed. 81 ROCK SPRINGS WRITTEN AT EVANSTON "DEHOLD a city in the highlands "*-^ Of Wyoming's bare and dry lands. A child of industry; her birth Was lowly like the poor of earth, And as she grew in strength and pride Her wants were lovingly supplied By labor's hand. She now obeys Its mandate, and the debt repays. Not for sky-scrapers, iron-framed And rock-cemented, is she famed; No grand cathedrals raise their spires To catch the songs of angel choirs; Nor does sweet Agriculture's worth Find lodgment in her unkind earth; But scattered o'er her barren soil Are humble homes of men of toil, As dear to them and just as fair As homes more favored other where. She's nothing but a wild-west town From former wildness sobered down To modern manners; yet a trace Of old life marks her hardy face. 82 ROCK SPRINGS Here's Bitter Creek; an empty thing Save when the melting snow in spring Rolls madly down the mountain's side And fills its channel deep and wide. At times it nearly overflows With dirty water, as it goes Beyond the home of Noah Walters Where it for a moment falters To proudly view Jock Noble's castle Before it starts to fight and wrestle With old bottles, cans, and sundries Certain men throw in on Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays and on all days When they're drinking which is always; On it goes its filthy charges Dash against old Uncle George's House on stilts, from which it dodges Past the stable of Frank Hodges', By Woll Dickson's humble dwelling; Chopping, grinding, booming, swelling, Curling, whirling, onward ever Till it flows into Green River. 83 ROCK SPRINGS O, Classic Creek! rich in tradition Of tragedy and superstition; Your yearly, reckless inundation Provides the means of sanitation; Besides, the Lord knows very well When you have purged yourself of smell And other things that much displease You've freed the town of foul disease. How many men have you beheld, Who in outlawry bold excelled, Fall victim to another's aim Without disclosing once, his name? With you the bad man feared and hated By all the world originated, Flourished, fell and passed away When law assumed her righteous sway. The mountains in the distance rise In barren grandeur to the skies; The nearer foot-hills old and gray Like billows seem to bend and sway Whenever storms sweep o'er the plain With neither snow nor kindly rain. But on their wings instead they bear Huge clouds of sand which fill the air, The houses, nooks, and every space That can afford a lodging place. 84 ROCK SPRINGS Sometimes it blows until the land Seems one vast world of moving sand The playthings of the wind that roars And piles it up around the doors, Like snow-drifts on a wintry day When blizzards rage and shriek dismay. "It doesn't always blow this way," The cute old pioneer will say When asked about this sandy curse: "Sometimes," he says, "It blows much worse." But you have many sunny days That fill your sky with mellow haze And charm the senses with a spell Your people know and love so well And O! the nights, the nights in June Made matchless by a gracious moon, Flooding the land until it seems Mid-day without its glinting beams; A cloudless sky, an atmosphere Through which the lovely stars appear Nearer, clearer, and more fair And larger here than anywhere. * 85 ROCK SPRINGS The centuries of wind and sand Have carved as with a magic hand Upon the rocks, unique designs Artistic in their queer outlines. Wind-swept and old, yet they will stand Like monuments upon the land; And there they'll be when Time has told That all the waiting years have rolled Into eternity's vast deep Where centuries and ages sleep. Beneath the rocks, far, far below Two thousand human beings go Each day, each busy working day With lamps to light them on the way To their black chambers, where the coal Awaits the heavy blast to roll In broken fragments from the vein Which loathes to part with e'en a grain. But these brave men, white-skinned, and strong Of faith that right will conquer wrong 86 ROCK SPRINGS Have heard necessity's low call And heeding it are one and all Keen for the task the day demands In labor at their horny hands. Not heavy-hearted men; I know For I worked with them years ago; No, no. The task which must be done By each, is cheerfully begun And finished with a song that tends To ease the labor as it ends. Ye brothers of the underground, God-like, erect, and brave and bold; I greet you with a joy profound, In memory of days of old, When life with us was bright and new And I was counted one with you. And think ye I will e'er forget The old days that are living yet? No, no, brave hearts, it cannot be While Time's torch brightly burns for me. 87 ROCK SPRINGS I've heard a collier's simple song Ring sweetly through the darkened space, Bearing a message, clear and strong, Of courage to his toiling race. The melody, the sentiment, Each to the other color lent, Which, with a mellow voice, combined To cheer and comfort all his kind. 'Twas when the charge had been exploded, The coal was ready to be loaded, And he was waiting for a car To fill and then send out afar To markets, where they must have coal To make the wheels of commerce roll. The song when he began to sing Seemed such a simple little thing, Yet had the power to make one feel A satisfying comfort steal Into the heart a conscious pride In those who labored at his side; It made one think and then resolve That when misfortune did involve A brother in its tightening coil He'd help him with his fruits of toil; And when it ended soft and low I felt a kindly spirit glow Within the chambers of my breast And free my soul of its unrest. 88 ROCK SPRINGS SONG When we think that life's frail bubble May at any moment burst, Ending all our earthly trouble With the hopes and joys we've nursed; We should not forget the neighbor Whose best days are past and gone; Who has not the strength to labor, Nor the courage to press on. Courage, boys, and do not falter On the road that leads ahead; There's a joy at duty's altar Waiting, when our course is sped; Onward helping one another Till we pass life's last sharp stone, Heedful of the needing brother Whose sad fate may be our own. Cheer up, lads, there'll come a morrow With a gift of joy for you, Severing the cord of sorrow Which has long been held in view; Keep the lamp of hope still burning In the window of the soul, So that when from trouble turning We may plainly see the goal. 89 ROCK SPRINGS Day after day in this old town, The trips run swiftly up and down, Bringing the coal from pitchy night Into the broad and open light; Taking the empty cars again Into the darkness where the men Struggle and strain and fume and sweat For every dollar that they get. For them there is no "easy street," Nor any way, whereby to beat The collier's rugged, hard wrought game, Save by good work and steady aim. The money paid to them all goes Into a channel, where it flows A golden stream of wealth and joy Which no one could or would destroy. The merchant, business-like and bold, Goes fishing in the stream for gold, Nodding and smiling at kindly fate, Holding his bargains up for bait, That women passing by, might look, And nibble at the luring hook; The butcher, clean and wide awake Catches his share by means of steak. And then, the ever smiling grocer With always "Yes, sir," never "No, sir," Standing among his choicest wares Busily takes his wonted shares. 90 ROCK SPRINGS The motion picture show inclines To part the children from their dimes. The savings bank takes in some gear And pays you four per cent per year, But when the same by it is lent It charges eight to ten per cent. The tin-horn closeted somewhere Is busy raking in his share; The young, the old, against his game Go rather strong, but quit it lame. There stands the ever shining star Behind the richly mirrored bar; White-aproned, clean and all attention, Prepared for anything you mention; He with his new-coined jokes beguiles His customers with fetching smiles; He gets his share they get their fill What once was their's goes in his till; What once was his, goes pass it o'er Next morn they've none, but he has more. 91 ROCK SPRINGS Many have prospered in a way That means forgiveness on that day When he who rules the Judge and King Will welcome them, while angels sing. Others prospered because their creed Embraced the realm of sordid greed, And while obeying its demands Gathered the wealth with dirty hands; Secured in this they now would win Forgiveness for committed sin, With saintly looks, and saintly speech As vehicles on which to reach The promised land, where angels throng To chant God's praise in heavenly song. Some have prospered, not in wealth, But in the glow of rosy health Pursue the tenor of their way In happiness from day to day. And these are happier than those Whose greedy arts at once disclose A selfishness that does not shame When decency proclaims her name. 92 ROCK SPRINGS I like the money I like the jingle Of golden eagles, double, single, Any way, just so it tinkle And make my eyes with pleasure twinkle. I like to earn it, feel it, spend it, That's why I can't afford to lend it. Real fun is gained in proper spending Not in grasping, hoarding, lending, But in parting with the treasure For a bargain labeled ''Pleasure/' Still I admit that discontent Comes o'er me when I've not a cent To purchase for my appetite The things in which it would delight; But gold while charming to the eyes Will not buy seats in Paradise; Will not buy sleep, nor rosy health: Such joys don't always come with wealth. But never mind I like Rock Springs, The industry that sweats and sings; The coiling rope, the merry hum It makes in winding round the drum; The men, the women, young and old Who make and spend the hard-earned gold; The mines, the hills, the wind, the sand, And more than all the good, glad hand Extended by the friends of yore When I am in their midst once more. 93 ROCK SPRINGS She'll be a happy, good old town So long as trips run up and down The deep, black slopes in grim array, Bringing the coal from night to day; Keeping the men at work below That market fires may redly glow In forge and furnace, near and far, Wherever labor's children are. What can destroy the fair renown That hovers o'er this busy town, Which pictures in its hissing steam Prosperity's delightful dream? Should hatred flaunt its grim ensign Above each busy working mine, And silence reign instead of noise We'd see the end of all her joys, Her wealth, her pride, her lofty station, Would soon relapse to desolation. The trouble in a town commences Whene'er the people lose their senses, And started once the Lord knows when Peace will return to it again. 94 ROCK SPRINGS Let reason occupy her throne And give to every man his own, And nothing more and nothing less; And children will arise and bless The name of those at whose command Arose the mart for labor's hand. We fondly hope that God will guide, And keep her people satisfied, And happy in a destiny That leaves them prosperous and free. 95 DENNIS WATERS \X7HEN some one shall write the story Of Wyoming's humble birth; Of her past and present glory Which is known throughout the earth ;- Of her sons and lovely daughters Who acclaim her of the best, Let the name of Dennis Waters Be enrolled among the rest. Not because of deeds of valor Wrought upon the gory field, Where grim death with ghastly pallor Penetrates the brightest shield; For my hero is no soldier, But with sunshine and with mirth, He bears lightly on each shoulder All the troubles of this earth. 96 DENNIS WATERS Life is full of sunshine, plenty To dispel man's ev'ry gloom; Yet there isn't one in twenty Who can take and give it room; But with Dennis it's his treasure, Tis in fact his banking roll, With it he distributes pleasure Satisfying to the soul. God bless Dennis, may he ever Smile the clouds of grief away; May his happy, glad endeavor Meet with recompense each day; Bless old Ireland for giving Such a gentle spirit birth, Who has found the art of living In the avenues of mirth. 97 SIMPLE JOE TVTAY, nay, you must not chide the lad ^^ Nor twit his poverty of mind; The truth is, he is not as bad As those who are to him unkind; If you should pat his head, and speak To him as you would to a friend You'd see the pallor on each cheek With pleasureable color blend. True he is simple like a child He plays all day with childish things; His lonely hours are thus beguiled With that to which his fancy clings; For he is neither boy nor man Though grown in size to man's estate - And has not power to even scan The vagaries of unkind fate. Sometimes he'll wander all alone To places far out of his way, Where, in an atmosphere his own, He passes aimlessly the day Among the flowers, or chasing bees That sip the honey they contain; Seeming as though he looked on these As enemies in his domain. 98 SIMPLE JOE He never speaks, nor does he heed The voice that beckons him away, Unless it be the voice of need Which summons him to meals each day; And at such time it's understood, That he is near to someone's bin Having collected coal and wood, Waiting, ready to bring it in. Somehow he seems to know right well He ought to work for what he gets, In this does he more than excel The lordly idler, who besets Society, and does not toil Nor do a thing, whereby to earn E'en the respect of those who moil With lamps that ever dimly burn. Harmless? Why, sir, he wouldn't harm A living thing God placed on earth; To him all creatures have a charm Which makes them seem of double worth; Besides, he's welcome everywhere, In any house he wants to go; However scanty be the fare There's always some for simple Joe. 99 SIMPLE JOE He wasn't this way from his birth, No, no. Once he was just as bright As any lad upon this earth, Appreciating with delight The comradeship of kindred souls Who labored in the mines each day; And in those gas-infested holes He was at home, as much as they. I'll ne'er forget the day they brought Him out, and laid him on the bed; They told me that he had been caught 'Neath falling slate, that mashed his head; His voice returned but once since then, And that was just three years ago, When an awful shock brought back again Words to the lips of Simple Joe. Send him away from here, you say? Why, man alive, do you not know That when he gained his voice that day It was to save the men below? You didn't? Well, then list to me, The story I'll tell in a breath, You'll then learn why it is that we Will keep poor Joe until his death. 100 SIMPLE JOE 'Twas summer time when this occurred, I was the engineer, and so The very first to hear the word That made us all love Simple Joe; Aye made us all; for until then Our women e'en made it a rule As well as little boys, and men, To think of Joe as but a fool. The morning whistle blew its blast, The miners went to work below, With hopes the warm sunshine would last To cheer them in the evening's glow; The engine groaned as out it tossed The used-up steam from its exhaust. Like clock-work all was going well. Responsive to the signal bell The trips were rushing to and fro Out and in to the depths below; And workmen came to me to say We'd make a record hoist that day. 101 SIMPLE JOE My eye was centered on the bell Which plainly said that all was well, When, glancing toward the open door I saw a face as ghastly white As snow upon a moonlit night, Seeming as though it did implore Attention from someone who'd know That trouble prompted Simple Joe. Into the engine house he came. His face ghost-like, it seemed with fear, And without calling me by name, He shouted loudly, "Engineer! Engineer! The Whistle! Blow! Quickly warn the men below! See the fan-shaft all aflame!" He did not utter one word more, And gasping fell upon the floor A helpless mass. At first I turned To where the fan-shaft fiercely burned, And saw the smoke and embers roll And twist and curl beyond control; Then back I went the quickest way And made the whistle shriek dismay; Then to the telephone I ran And bade the drivers tell each man To hasten out before the smoke Into the main air current broke. 102 SIMPLE JOE When Simple Joe beheld the men In safety from the mine appear, He smiled, but never spoke again Though urged by every miner here; Our supper o'er, that very night We held a meeting in the hall, Where in the fullness of delight The men and women, one and all With heart-felt gratitude declared Upon our oaths, come weal or woe, No matter how we later fared, We'd share our lot with Simple Joe, 103 TO MY DAUGHTER On the death of her friend, age 11 years. "W'OUR very best friend is gone, my dear, * Is gone on a summer's vacation; Is gone from the strife and troubles of life To a pleasant er habitation. She has closed her books and said goodbye To loved ones so kind and devoted; But you must not weep nor disturb her sleep, For Vina, my dear, is promoted. The flowers will bloom and fade and die, The years come and go in rotation, But still to the end your very best friend Will remain on her pleasant vacation. 104 IN MEMORY OF DAVID M. ELIAS STATE INSPECTOR OF MINES Killed in the second of two explosions that occurred in No. 1 Mine at Hanna, Wyo., March 28, 1908, while leading a rescue party to recover the bodies of those killed in the first disaster. TV/TV friend is dead. Life's curtain fell -"-* While he was busy on the stage, Performing parts that he knew well Would much of sorrow's pangs assuage. Killed in a mine. Obeying the voice Of mercy and the widow's prayer, Responding to duty, not from choice Did he become a martyr there. We grew together to man's estate, Till fifty years had passed us by; Hopefully plodding along, when fate Decreed that one of us should die; He was the one it had to be I to remain unto the end Until the summons comes to me To go and join my life-long friend. 105 IN MEMORY OF DAVID M. ELIAS Did friendship end when death's cold hand Upon his noble brow was laid Bursting the warm and tender band That years of comradeship have made? Or, does the golden thread extend Across the chasm of despair; I still holding to my end He still holding his end there. Imbued with honor's sterling worth From precepts taught to him in youth; He knew no nobleness of birth Save what is born of royal truth; Loving his home, his fellowmen, His God, and this, his native soil, And if he hated, it was when Some creature sneered at those who toil. I saw him climb through envious strife, Through jealousies and endless blame, Until he reached a plane in life Higher than that from which he came; This collier's son whose childhood years Were darkened by misfortune's shade, Ne'er once forgot his toiling peers Though many newer friends he made. 106 IN MEMORY OF DAVID M. ELIAS The man who dies and does not leave An enemy among mankind, While living, does not much achieve And dying, leaves not much behind. Man must be strong if he be good, He must be good if he be just, And, if in life for these he stood, Someone, in death, defames his dust. When death, with sudden, cruel stroke, Struck at the lives of those he knew, The voice of duty softly spoke And urged and told him what to do; Responsive ever to her call, He hastily prepared to go, Hoping that death had not struck all Who worked that day in the mine below. Into the depth of that horrid slope, Which thrice in fury's grasp had flamed, He calmly went, in fervent hope To rescue those death had not claimed; Strong men, the bravest of the brave, Tested and tried in other years, But with one thought and that to save Attended him as volunteers. 107 IN MEMORY OF DAVID M. ELIAS His task was just begun; below He knew death lurked with visage grim, Ready to strike with one quick blow Himself and those who dared with him; But unafraid, he ventured on On 'mid perils everywhere, Looking for life but life had gone With flames that burned in fury there. How it happened none can tell! Why it happened none will know! With him a host of brave men fell Under the force of that hard blow; The widow's prayers will not avail, The orphans weep and vainly yearn, For like a ship lost in a gale, He's gone and never will return. Oh! what would we do if hope's bright ray Should vanish from the human breast, Leaving the trusting soul a prey To the agony of doubt's unrest? But no! it gleams like a brilliant star Set in the arch of heaven's dome, Pointing to where our loved ones are And leading to our final home. 108 THE WHOLE STORY Nolan shot! Dead you say! Killed last night in Baxter's house? Well men should never get too gay, Nor monkey with another's spouse." TO JAMES NEEDHAM TJE does not drink nor smoke nor chew, -** In that respect he's unlike you; But on the other hand, friend Jim, You do not lie and steal like him. TO A SUPERIOR PERSON SINGING SHE turns up her nose when she sings, The dear little musical elf; It cannot be others' she smells, So the odor must come from herself. 109 THE MOUNTAIN ASH CHOIR leader waved his magic wand, And lo, there rolled as from his hand A flood of sweet, melodic notes From bird-like throats. The melody unhindered stole Into the chambers of the soul, And glowed until to it was given A glimpse of heaven. O singers from my mother's land Now I can plainly understand Why those who leave thy hills and dales Still yearn for Wales. Go on, Glyndur, with voice and heart Exemplify your matchless art; The echoes of your tuneful choir Will raise men higher. Through you each one of us may share The joyful message which you bear To brothers on these western trails Far, far from Wales. no WELSH SERVICE T LIKE the old Welsh service, * The Congregation's song That fills the sacred Temple With music, clear and strong. The Master's loving message Conveyed in tuneful art, Relieves the heavy burden That presses on the heart. 111 THE WORKMAN'S VISION T HEARD the shout of Labor * Exulting in the fray, The gleam of its bright saber Flash in the light of day; The flag it proudly followed To Victory's sweet goal Is now enshrined and hallowed In ev'ry workman's soul. No blood was shed in fighting, No hate or rage was felt, But by a firm uniting The fatal blow was dealt; And stript of all its power The Tyranny of Man Bewails the joyful hour The people's reign began. I saw the great procession March with a purpose grand, And sweep away Oppression That long had cursed the land; The tyranny of ages No longer showed its head, And on the world's new pages A law for man was spread. 112 THE WORKMAN'S VISION I heard the voices singing A new and glorious song, That ever kept on ringing In vibrance clear and strong; It proudly told the story Of struggles in the past And how the day of glory Had dawned on them at last. I saw the humble cottage Partake of Comfort's share The toiler's mess of pottage Grow into better fare; And he no longer fawning At Mammon's ready nod, Stood under heaven's awning And only bowed to God. The day had come when Reason Sat on the throne of Might, And banished far the Treason That had opposed the Right; The voice becoming stronger Proclaimed its righteous cause, And Tyranny no longer Could stand behind the laws. 113 THE WORKMAN'S VISION Oh! hasten Time, and banish The evils men endure; Make every hardship vanish Make happiness secure; Give hope and strength to Labor, Uphold it in the fray, Till all who wield its saber Shall see the better day. 114 "GOODBYE, BILL" M. C. Barrow "Bill Barlow," Editor of "Sagebrush Philosophy," a magazine of sunshine, died October 9, 1910. These lines were published in the memorial edition of said magazine. TDILL is resting in the valley, -"-^ And the constant river flows Through its rugged rock-bound alley, Which it widens as it goes Broadening as onward sweeping O'er the pebbles white and still Till it nears where he is sleeping; Then it murmurs: "Goodbye, Bill. 1 Goodbye, Bill; goodbye forever. Rest in freedom from all pain, Death, which intervenes to sever, Will unite us all again; Hope, the star that beams with glory, Sheds its rays around us still, Maybe, when we end life's story, We can whisper: "Howdy, Bill." 115 PROGRESS TltyTHEN smiling Progress comes along Bestowing everywhere a favor; She moves the patient, waiting throng To emulate her gay behavior. Wherever Idleness has bound The arm inured to rugged labor, The galling thong is quick unwound Or cut in two by her sharp saber. Old Poverty with abject mien, Repulsive to the eye of gladness, Cannot endure her cheerful scene Which will not brook the shade of sadness, For plenty follows in her train, And both are linked unto each other; Whatever tends to part these twain Hurts labor, their dependent brother. 116 WHEN I WAS A LAD TX7HEN I was a little lad * ^ Working in the mine with dad, He gave me an easy job Throwing rubbish in the gob; Or I helped him tamp the hole When he had to blast the coal, When the smoke had passed away This is what he used to say: Come, my lad, help me to load For the driver's on the road; If we would full wages earn We must keep up with the turn. He grew old as I grew strong, Then I helped him more along; I gave him the easy job Throwing rubbish in the gob; But the time soon came when he Could not work at all with me, And when on his dying bed This is what the old man said: Come, my lad, help me to load For the driver's on the road; If we would full wages earn We must keep up with the turn. 117 WHEN I WAS A LAD I am now a man full grown Having children of my own, One of them a sturdy boy Works and fills my heart with joy; I give him the easy job Throwing rubbish in the gob, And somehow throughout the day This is what I often say: Come, my lad, help me to load For the driver's on the road; If we would full wages earn We must keep up with the turn. 118 SWEETHEART, I LOVE YOU SO tears you shed at parting, Are like the magic stone, Attracting from a distance My heart unto your own; I yet can see them glisten, Though I am far away, And when I stoop to listen I think I hear you say: Goodbye my love, it grieves me To part with you today; It seems my own heart leaves me And goes with you away; Love me and I will trust you, No matter where you go, I love you, darling, just you, Sweetheart, I love you so. The night breeze soft and tender Blows gently from the sea, Wafting upon its bosom An image dear to me; I see it in the moon-beam That dances on the spray And bending down to listen I still can hear you say: 119 SWEETHEART, I LOVE YOU SO They tell me time is fleeting, So quickly does it fly; To me the hours pass slowly And will not hurry by; When loneliness oppresses Your image comes this way, And bending down to listen I yet can hear you say: 120 PRETTY ANNIE JONES '"pHERE'S a pretty little maiden ** Living in a shady lane, Whose cheeks are fairer than the rose After a summer rain; Her eyes are full of merriment And shine like stars above, While in her gentle bosom beats A heart full of true love. Pretty little Annie, light-hearted, sweet and gay, Singing like a merry lark on a summer's day; Goodness and rare beauty is all the wealth she owns, But she's the richest girl in town is pretty Annie Jones. 121 PRETTY ANNIE JONES I labor in the old coal mine From early morn to night, And though the world below is dark My heart is ever bright, For in the little shadows that My lamp makes in that place I see before my happy eyes Sweet Annie's charming face. The earth is full of happiness, For me it has no pain, There's only one girl in the world And she lives in the lane; The birds cannot outsing her Nor rival her sweet tones, The roses cannot be more fair Than pretty Annie Jones. 122 THE MINER'S LULLABY 'T S HE miner's wife at close of day, -** Sings softly to her fretful child, Who weary with long hours of play, Is at her loving breast beguiled. The sun falls down in golden light Into the distant, western sea; And Mamma holding baby tight Sings low to him a melody. Hush-a-by, hush-a-by, I hear the water flowing, It beats itself into a soft, white foam; Tootty-to, Tootty-to, I hear the whistle blowing, It's quitting time and Papa'll soon be home. The day has been a busy one For Mamma and the baby, too, While she the heavy work has done He played about as children do; At last worn out, he takes her hand, And leads her to the well-known chair, And she obeying his command Sings as she holds and rocks him there. 123 THE MINER'S LULLABY Hush-a-by, hush-a-by, I hear the water flowing, It beats itself into a soft, white foam; Tootty-to, tootty-to, I hear the whistle blowing, It's quitting time and Papa'll soon be home. When Papa comes with blackened face, He sees his darling fast asleep, Held close in Mamma's fond embrace, While o'er them evening shadows creep; And bending o'er the sleeping form, He kisses him with grateful joy, While Mamma, lest the touch alarm, Sings lowly to her dreaming boy. Hush-a-by, hush-a-by, I hear the water flowing, It beats itself into a soft, white foam; Tootty-to, tootty-to, I hear the whistle blowing, It's quitting time and Papa'll soon be home. 124 DON'T BLOCK THE WHEELS OF JOY OOME fellows always wear a frown ^ And worry day and night; They think the world is upside down And never will get right; No matter what they say or do They cannot well destroy The cup of woe, which must o'erflow And block their wheels of joy. Don't block the wheels of joy, Whatever you do, old boy; Conceal all dread and look ahead See gladness in the sky instead; The world is full of joy So, get your share, old boy; Just frown at strife and laugh with life Don't block the wheels of joy. 125 DON'T BLOCK THE WHEELS OF JOY Your working place perhaps does not Meet with your full regard; The daily grind be of a kind To make things doubly hard; Still grumbling will not ease your lot Nor will real friendship toy With men who nurse misfortune's curse And block the wheels of joy. Don't let your mind get soaked with gloom, Don't cultivate despair; A constant frown will keep you down Upon the floor of care; Be cheerful and you'll find that friends Your precept will employ; Look up and smile and all the while You'll oil the wheels of joy. 126 07