He came from old Montana and he rode a broncho mare, He had a rather howd'y'do and rough-and-tumble air; His trousers were of buckskin and his coat of furry stuff-- His hat was drab of color and its brim was wide enough; Upon each leg a stalwart boot reached just above the knee, And in the belt about his waist his weepons carried he; A rather strapping lover for our little Susie--still, _She_ was _his_ choice and _he_ was _hers_, was Penn-Yan Bill. IV. We wonder that the ivy seeks out the oaken tree, And twines her tendrils round him, though scarred and gnarled he be; We wonder that a gentle girl, unused to worldly cares, Should choose a man whose life has been a constant scrap with bears; Ah, 'tis the nature of the vine, and of the maiden, too-- So when the bold Montana boy came from his lair to woo, The fair Kentucky blossom felt all her heartstrings thrill Responsive to the purring of Penn-Yan Bill. V. He told her of his cabin in the mountains far away, Of the catamount that howls by night, the wolf that yawps by day; He told her of the grizzly with the automatic jaw, He told her of the Injun who devours his victims raw; Of the jayhawk with his tawdry crest and whiskers in his throat, Of the great gosh-awful sarpent and the Rocky mountain goat. A book as big as Shakespeare's or as Webster's you could fill With the yarns that emanated from Penn-Yan Bill! VI. Lo, as these mighty prodigies the westerner relates, Her pretty mouth falls wide agape--her eyes get big as plates; And when he speaks of varmints that in the Rockies grow She shudders and she clings to him and timidly cries "Oh!" And then says he: "Dear Susie, I'll tell you what to do-- You be my wife, and none of these 'ere things dare pester you!" And she? She answers, clinging close and trembling yet: "I will." And then he gives her one big kiss, does Penn-Yan Bill. VII. Avaunt, ye poet lovers, with your wishywashy lays! Avaunt, ye solemn pedants, with your musty, bookish ways! Avaunt, ye smurking dandies who air your etiquette Upon the gold your fathers worked so long and hard to get! How empty is your nothingness beside the sturdy tales Which mountaineers delight to tell of border hills and vales-- Of snaix that crawl, of beasts that yowl, of birds that flap and trill In the wild egregious altitude of Penn-Yan Bill. VIII. Why, over all these mountain peaks his honest feet have trod-- So high above the rest of us he seemed to walk with God; He's breathed the breath of heaven, as it floated, pure and free, From the everlasting snow-caps to the mighty western sea; And he's heard that awful silence which thunders in the ear: "There is a great Jehovah, and His biding place is here!" These--these solemn voices and these the sights that thrill In the far-away Montana of Penn-Yan Bill. IX.