Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ Mrs. M.B. Wight, of Ft. Thomas, Arizona; Dr. L.W. Payne, Jr., and Dr. Morgan Callaway, Jr., of the University of Texas; and my brother, R.C. Lomax, Austin;—have rendered me especially helpful service in furnishing material, for which I also render grateful thanks.

      Among the negroes, rivermen, miners, soldiers, seamen, lumbermen, railroad men, and ranchmen of the United States and Canada there are many indigenous folk-songs not included in this volume. Of some of them I have traces, and I shall surely run them down. I beg the co-operation of all who are interested in this vital, however humble, expression of American literature.

      J.A.L.

       Deming, New Mexico,

       August 8, 1910.

COWBOY SONGS AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS

       Table of Contents

      THE DYING COWBOY[1]

      "O bury me not on the lone prairie,"

       These words came low and mournfully

       From the pallid lips of a youth who lay

       On his dying bed at the close of day.

      He had wailed in pain till o'er his brow

       Death's shadows fast were gathering now;

       He thought of his home and his loved ones nigh

       As the cowboys gathered to see him die.

      "O bury me not on the lone prairie

       Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,

       In a narrow grave just six by three,

       O bury me not on the lone prairie.

      "In fancy I listen to the well known words

       Of the free, wild winds and the song of the birds;

       I think of home and the cottage in the bower

       And the scenes I loved in my childhood's hour.

      "It matters not, I've oft been told,

       Where the body lies when the heart grows cold;

       Yet grant, Oh grant this wish to me,

       O bury me not on the lone prairie.

      "O then bury me not on the lone prairie,

       In a narrow grave six foot by three,

       Where the buffalo paws o'er a prairie sea,

       O bury me not on the lone prairie.

      "I've always wished to be laid when I died

       In the little churchyard on the green hillside;

       By my father's grave, there let mine be,

       And bury me not on the lone prairie.

      "Let my death slumber be where my mother's prayer

       And a sister's tear will mingle there,

       Where my friends can come and weep o'er me;

       O bury me not on the lone prairie.

      "O bury me not on the lone prairie

       In a narrow grave just six by three,

       Where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free;

       Then bury me not on the lone prairie.

      "There is another whose tears may be shed

       For one who lies on a prairie bed;

       It pained me then and it pains me now;—

       She has curled these locks, she has kissed this brow.

      "These locks she has curled, shall the rattlesnake kiss?

       This brow she has kissed, shall the cold grave press?

       For the sake of the loved ones that will weep for me

       O bury me not on the lone prairie.

      "O bury me not on the lone prairie

       Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,

       Where the buzzard beats and the wind goes free,

       O bury me not on the lone prairie.

      "O bury me not," and his voice failed there,

       But we took no heed of his dying prayer;

       In a narrow grave just six by three

       We buried him there on the lone prairie.

      Where the dew-drops glow and the butterflies rest,

       And the flowers bloom o'er the prairie's crest;

       Where the wild cayote and winds sport free

       On a wet saddle blanket lay a cowboy-ee.

      "O bury me not on the lone prairie

       Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,

       Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free

       O bury me not on the lone prairie."

      O we buried him there on the lone prairie

       Where the wild rose blooms and the wind blows free,

       O his pale young face nevermore to see—

       For we buried him there on the lone prairie.

      Yes, we buried him there on the lone prairie

       Where the owl all night hoots mournfully,

       And the blizzard beats and the winds blow free

       O'er his lowly grave on the lone prairie.

      And the cowboys now as they roam the plain—

       For they marked the spot where his bones were lain—

       Fling a handful of roses o'er his grave,

       With a prayer to Him who his soul will save.

      "O bury me not on the lone prairie

       Where the wolves can howl and growl o'er me;

       Fling a handful of roses o'er my grave

       With a prayer to Him who my soul will save."

      The Dying Cowboy

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