O Fame, why sleeps thy favored son In wilds, in woods, in weeds? And shall he ever thus sleep on-- Interred his valiant deeds? 'Tis strange New York should thus forget Its "bravest of the brave," And in the wilds of Oregon Unmarked, leave Dempsey's grave. _MacMahon._ THE CATTLE ROUND-UP ONCE more are we met for a season of pleasure, That shall smooth from our brows every furrow of care, For the sake of old times shall we each tread a measure And drink to the lees in the eyes of the fair. Once more let the hand-clasp of years past be given; Let us once more be boys and forget we are men; Let friendships the chances of fortune have riven Be renewed and the smiling past come back again. The past, when the prairie was big and the cattle Were as "scary" as ever the antelope grew-- When to carry a gun, to make our spurs rattle, And to ride a blue streak was the most that we knew; The past when we headed each year for Dodge City And punched up the drags on the old Chisholm Trail; When the world was all bright and the girls were all pretty, And a feller could "mav'rick" and stay out of jail. Then here's to the eyes that like diamonds are gleaming, And make the lamps blush that their duties are o'er; And here's to the lips where young love lies a-dreaming; And here's to the feet light as air on the floor; And here's to the memories--fun's sweetest sequel; And here's to the night we shall ever recall; And here's to the time--time shall know not its equal When we danced the day in at the Cattlemen's Ball. _H. D. C. McLaclachlan._ PART II THE COWBOY OFF GUARD _I am the plain, barren since time began. Yet do I dream of motherhood, when man One day at last shall look upon my charms And give me towns, like children, for my arms._ A COWBOY'S WORRYING LOVE I UST to read in the novel books 'bout fellers that got the prod From an arrer shot from his hidin' place by the hand o' the Cupid god, An' I'd laugh at the cussed chumps they was a-wastin' their breath in sighs An' goin' around with a locoed look a-campin' inside their eyes. I've read o' the gals that broke 'em up a-sailin' in airy flight On angel pinions above their beds as they dreampt o' the same at night, An' a sort o' disgusted frown'd bunch the wrinkles acrost my brow, An' I'd call 'em a lot o' sissy boys--but I'm seein' it different now.