A-atana she was here.
A-atana I was dear.
She will never come again.
Chill my heart, O wind and rain.
A-atana she was here.
Hark, the wind asks "Hi-you?"
And I answer "A-coo,
Ustey with your bitter cold;
U-ga-sha, my love of old."
Still the wind asks "Hi-you?"
"Hi-you?" I know not where.
A-oo, I hardly care.
Take it to the land of snow;
Take it where the stars all go.
"Hi-you?" I do not care.
It-sau-i did it all--
It-sau-i, proud and tall.
Tell her I have gone to fight.
Ask her if her heart is light.
It-sau-i did it all.
[Footnote 1: _A-atana_, yesterday. _Hi-you_, where. _A-coo_, here.
_U's-tey_, come, or bring. _U'-ga-sha_, go, or take. _A-oo_, yes. I have
no authority for the spelling of these words. I rendered them
phonetically from the pronunciation of a young Apache whom I hired to
teach me the language. Many Apache words have no perceptible accent. A,
here, has the sound of a in father.]
The Old-fashioned Girl.
There's an old-fashioned girl in an old fashioned street,
Dressed in old-fashioned clothes from her head to her feet;
And she spends all her time in the old-fashioned way
Of caring for poor people's children all day.
She never has been to cotillon or ball,
And she knows not the styles of the Spring or the Fall;
Two hundred a year will suffice for her needs,
And an old-fashioned Bible is all that she reads.
And she has an old-fashioned heart that is true
To a fellow who died in an old coat of blue,
With its buttons all brass,--who is waiting above
For the woman who loved him with old-fashioned love.
A Retrospect.
I was poor as a beggar,--she knew it,--
But proud as a king through it all;
Though it cost me two dollars to do it,
I took little Meg to the ball.
Mere calico served her for satin;
My broadcloth was made of blue jeans.
Without crest or a motto in Latin,
Meg's style was as grand as a queen's.
And we were in dreamland all through it,
And I do not regret it at all;
Though it cost me two dollars to do it,
I took little Meg to the ball.
Hard Hit.
I guess that I'm done for, old chappie!
Done, whether she loves me or not,--
But don't look so deuced unhappy,--
Y'know it was I fired the shot.
Thanks, awfully. Give me the whiskey,--
There's a horrible pain in my head;
It's queer that my nerves should be frisky
When my heart is as heavy as lead.
I'm worthless; I own it! She told me,
That night at the Country Club ball,--
Don't try, dear old fellow, to hold me,--
Ah, Nellie!--it's over!--don't call!
She told me my life had been wasted,
That my money had ruined my mind,
That I'd not left a pleasure untasted,--
Had been a disgrace to mankind!
And now she's to marry another,--
A poor man, but honest and strong,
Who had never a passion to smother,
And never a chance to do wrong.
He loves her. They'll all think it funny
I don't curse him and kill him, old fel;
But she loves him. I've left him my money,--
For I love her--God bless her! Farewell!
Rejected.
Aw, yes, bah Jove. I thought you'd answer "No."
But still a fellah 's got to awsk, you see.
And then there was the chance you might outgrow
That way you had of making fun of me.
Three years in Europe sometimes make a change
In girls like you, who've always been adored;
And when you laughed, I thought it rawther strange.
Aw, I beg pawdon; p'haps you feel, aw--bored.
You don't? You think it fun--a fellah's pains
At words like yours? You don't know how they smart.
I know you think I haven't any brains;
But still, Miss Nellie, I've a--I've a heart.