"We"ll strike it, yes, we"ll strike it just the same, Although it"s gone into some other"s claim.
My dear old boy don"t mind it, we won"t starve if we don"t find it, And we"ll drill and shoot and find it just the same.
"For forty years I"ve hammered steel and tried to make a strike, I"ve burned twice the powder Custer ever saw.
I"ve made just coin enough to keep poorer than a snake.
My jack"s ate all my books on mining law.
I"ve worn gunny-sacks for overalls, and "California socks,"
I"ve burned candles that would reach from here to Maine, I"ve lived on powder, smoke, and bacon, that"s no lie, boy, I"m not fakin", But I still believe we"ll strike it just the same.
"Last night as I lay sleeping in the midst of all my dream My a.s.say ran six ounces clear in gold, And the silver it ran clean sixteen ounces to the seam, And the poor old miner"s joy could scarce be told.
I lay there, boy, I could not sleep, I had a feverish brow, Got up, went back, and put in six holes more.
And then, boy, I was chokin" just to see the ground I"d broken; But alas! alas! the miner"s dream was o"er.
"We"ll strike it, yes, we"ll strike it just the same, Although it"s gone into some other"s claim.
My dear old boy, don"t mind it, we won"t starve if we don"t find it, And I still believe I"ll strike it just the same."
[Footnote 4: Printed as a fugitive ballad in _Grandon of Sierra_, by Charles E. Winter.]
JESSE JAMES
Jesse James was a lad that killed a-many a man; He robbed the Danville train.
But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
Poor Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life, Three children, they were brave.
But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward, I wonder how he does feel, For he ate of Jesse"s bread and he slept in Jesse"s bed, Then laid poor Jesse in his grave.
Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor, He never would see a man suffer pain; And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank, And stopped the Glendale train.
It was his brother Frank that robbed the Gallatin bank, And carried the money from the town; It was in this very place that they had a little race, For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground.
They went to the crossing not very far from there, And there they did the same; With the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys To the outlaws, Frank and Jesse James.
It was on Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright, They robbed the Glendale train; The people they did say, for many miles away, It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.
It was on Sat.u.r.day night, Jesse was at home Talking with his family brave, Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night And laid poor Jesse in his grave.
The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse"s death, And wondered how he ever came to die.
It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford, He shot poor Jesse on the sly.
Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast; The devil will be upon his knee.
He was born one day in the county of Clay And came from a solitary race.
This song was made by Billy Gashade, As soon as the news did arrive; He said there was no man with the law in his hand Who could take Jesse James when alive.
Jesse James (Mus. Not.)
Jes-se James was a lad that killed a-ma-ny a man; He robbed the Dan-ville train; But that dirt-y lit-tle cow-ard that shot Mis-ter How-ard Has laid poor Jes-se in the grave.
REFRAIN.
Poor Jes-se had a wife to mourn for his life.
Three chil-dren, they were brave; But that dir-ty lit-tle cow-ard That shot Mis-ter How-ard Has laid poor Jes-se in the grave.
POOR LONESOME COWBOY
I ain"t got no father, I ain"t got no father, I ain"t got no father, To buy the clothes I wear.
I"m a poor, lonesome cowboy, I"m a poor, lonesome cowboy, I"m a poor, lonesome cowboy And a long ways from home.
I ain"t got no mother, I ain"t got no mother, I ain"t got no mother To mend the clothes I wear.
I ain"t got no sister, I ain"t got no sister, I ain"t got no sister To go and play with me.
I ain"t got no brother, I ain"t got no brother, I ain"t got no brother To drive the steers with me.
I ain"t got no sweetheart, I ain"t got no sweetheart, I ain"t got no sweetheart To sit and talk with me.
I"m a poor, lonesome cowboy, I"m a poor, lonesome cowboy, I"m a poor, lonesome cowboy And a long ways from home.
BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD
On Buena Vista battlefield A dying soldier lay, His thoughts were on his mountain home Some thousand miles away.
He called his comrade to his side, For much he had to say, In briefest words to those who were Some thousand miles away.
"My father, comrade, you will tell About this b.l.o.o.d.y fray; My country"s flag, you"ll say to him, Was safe with me to-day.
I make a pillow of it now On which to lay my head, A winding sheet you"ll make of it When I am with the dead.
"I know "twill grieve his inmost soul To think I never more Will sit with him beneath the oak That shades the cottage door; But tell that time-worn patriot, That, mindful of his fame, Upon this b.l.o.o.d.y battlefield I sullied not his name.
"My mother"s form is with me now, Her will is in my ear, And drop by drop as flows my blood So flows from her the tear.
And oh, when you shall tell to her The tidings of this day, Speak softly, comrade, softly speak What you may have to say.
"Speak not to her in blighting words The blighting news you bear, The cords of life might snap too soon, So, comrade, have a care.