So they thought to silence me,-- As if love could silenced be! Fool were I, and fools were they! Scornfully I went my way, And upon the mountain-side "Telka!" evermore I cried. "Telka!" evermore I cry; Answer me the woods and sky: So the lonely years go by. She is lost, and that is all; Sometime she shall hear my call, Hear my pleading call, and then Find her way to me again. PLAINT OF THE MISSOURI 'COON IN THE BERLIN ZOÖLOGICAL GARDENS. FRIEND, by the way you hump yourself you're from the States, I know, And born in old Mizzoorah, where the 'coons in plenty grow. I, too, am native of that clime; but harsh, relentless fate Has doomed me to an exile far from that noble State; And I, who used to climb around, and swing from tree to tree, Now lead a life of ignominious ease, as you can see. Have pity, O compatriot mine! and bide a season near, While I unfurl a dismal tale to catch your friendly ear. My pedigree is noble: they used my grandsire's skin To piece a coat for Patterson to warm himself within,-- Tom Patterson, of Denver; no ermine can compare With the grizzled robe that Democratic statesman loves to wear. Of such a grandsire I am come; and in the County Cole All up an ancient cottonwood our family had its hole. We envied not the liveried pomp nor proud estate of kings, As we hustled round from day to day in search of bugs and things. And when the darkness fell around, a mocking-bird was nigh, Inviting pleasant, soothing dreams with his sweet lullaby; And sometimes came the yellow dog to brag around all night That nary 'coon could wallop him in a stand-up barrel fight. We simply smiled and let him howl, for all Mizzoorians know That ary 'coon can best a dog, if the coon gets half a show; But we'd nestle close and shiver when the mellow moon had ris'n, And the hungry nigger sought our lair in hopes to make us his'n. Raised as I was, it's hardly strange I pine for those old days; I cannot get acclimated, or used to German ways. The victuals that they give me here may all be very fine For vulgar, common palates, but they will not do for mine. The 'coon that's been accustomed to stanch democratic cheer Will not put up with onion tarts and sausage steeped in beer! No; let the rest, for meat and drink, accede to slavish terms, But send _me_ back from whence I came, and let me grub for worms!