But Fisherman Jim lived on and on, Castin' his nets an' sailin' the sea; As a man will live when his heart is gone, Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly, Till once in those years they come an' said: "Old Fisherman Jim is powerful sick-- Go to him, quick!" Then Fisherman Jim says he to me: "It's a long, long cruise-you understand-- But over beyont the ragin' sea I kin see my boys on the shinin' sand Waitin' to help this ol' hulk ashore, Just as they used to--ah, mate, you know!-- In the long ago." No, sir! he wuzn't afeard to die; For all night long he seemed to see His little boys of the days gone by, An' to hear sweet voices forgot by me! An' just as the mornin' sun come up-- "They're holdin' me by the hands!" he cried, An' so he died. "FIDDLE-DEE-DEE" There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee"-- A very provoking, unmusical song For one to be whistling the summer day long! Yet always contented and busy was he With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee." Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, That weird iteration repented him sore; "I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun, For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done That shall presently rid all creation and me Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son His awfully truculent little red gun; The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in-- The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"! The brave little soldier quoth never a word, But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, The gun it went off with a terrible bang! Then loud laughed the youth--"By my Bottle," cried he, "I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son, Right well have you wrought with your little red gun! Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!" She kissed the dear boy. (The bird in the tree Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee") OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY Over the hills and far away, A little boy steals from his morning play And under the blossoming apple-tree He lies and he dreams of the things to be: Of battles fought and of victories won, Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds done-- Of the valor that he shall prove some day, Over the hills and far away-- Over the hills, and far away!