A HILL VAGABOND
Snakin' wood down the mount'ins,
Fishin' the little streams;
Smokin' my pipe in the twilight,
An' dreamin' over old dreams;
Breathin' the breath o' the cool snows,
Sniffin' the scent o' the pine;
Watchin' the hurryin' river,
An' hearin' the coyotes whine.
This is life in the mount'ins,
Summer an' winter an' fall,
Up to the rainy springtime,
When the birds begin to call.
Then I fix my rod and tackle,
I read, I smoke an' I sing.
Glad like the birds to be livin'—
Livin' the life of a king!
Fishin' the little streams;
Smokin' my pipe in the twilight,
An' dreamin' over old dreams;
Breathin' the breath o' the cool snows,
Sniffin' the scent o' the pine;
Watchin' the hurryin' river,
An' hearin' the coyotes whine.
This is life in the mount'ins,
Summer an' winter an' fall,
Up to the rainy springtime,
When the birds begin to call.
Then I fix my rod and tackle,
I read, I smoke an' I sing.
Glad like the birds to be livin'—
Livin' the life of a king!
—Louise Paley in The Saturday Evening Post.
Copyright, 1910,
By O. P. Barnes
By O. P. Barnes
TO JOHN GILL
IN WHOSE COMPANIONSHIP I HAVE PASSED MANY DELIGHTFUL
DAYS ALONG THE STREAMS AND IN THE WOODS; QUIET
ENJOYABLE EVENINGS WATCHING THE ALPENGLOW
ILLUMINATE THE SNOW-CAPPED MOUNTAINS;
AND STORMY NIGHTS BESIDE THE SEA
IN WHOSE COMPANIONSHIP I HAVE PASSED MANY DELIGHTFUL
DAYS ALONG THE STREAMS AND IN THE WOODS; QUIET
ENJOYABLE EVENINGS WATCHING THE ALPENGLOW
ILLUMINATE THE SNOW-CAPPED MOUNTAINS;
AND STORMY NIGHTS BESIDE THE SEA