The shades of night ban falling fast, Ven tru Dakota willage passed Young faller who skol carry flag And yell, so loud sum he can brag, "Excelsior!" Ay ant know yust vat he skol mean, But yust lak dis har talk machine He keep on saying, night and day (Ay s'pose to passing time avay), "Excelsior!" Swen Swenson tal me dis har guy Ban crazy; den he tal me why. He say dis faller once ban gay And happy; den he never say "Excelsior!" But after while, say Sven, he meet A chorus girl who look quite sveet, And marry her, and den find out Vat making her so plump and stout-- "Excelsior!" So now poor faller have to go, Lak lunatic, tru ice and snow. He tenk about his old girl May, And dis ban all vich he can say-- "Excelsior!" MORTALITY Vat for should dis spirit of mortal ban proud? Man valk round a minute, and talk purty loud; Den doctor ban coming, and say, "Ay can't save." And man have to tak running yump into grave. To-day dis har faller ban svelling around, His head ban so light dat his feet ant touch ground. To-morrow he light vith his face in the sand, And hustle lak hal to get gude helping hand. Ay see lots of fallers who tenk dey ban vise, Yu see dem yureself ef yu open yure eyes; Dey tal 'bout the gold dey skol making some day, And yump ven the vash-voman com for her pay. Ay tal yu, dear frend, purty sune we ban dead, So ay tenk we ban suckers to getting svelled head. It ant wery far from Prince Albert to shroud; Vat for should dis spirit of mortal ban proud? THE DAY IS DONE The day ban done, and darkness Falling from vengs of night, Lak fedder flying from ruster, Ven he ban having fight. Ay see the lights of willage Shining tru rain and mist, And ay skol feel dam sleepy, Lak fallers playing whist. Come, read tu me some werses, Ay ant care vat yu read, Yust so it ant 'bout trouble Or hearts vich ache and bleed. Ay lak dese har nice yingles 'Bout sun and trees and grass; But, ven it com to heartache, Yerusalem! ay skol pass! Read from some humble geezer, Whose songs ban sveet to hear-- Who making, from his poetry, 'Bout saxteen cents a year. Ay lak to hear his yingles, Ay tell yu, dey ban fine; Dis har ban vy ay lak dem-- Dey ban so much lak mine. Such songs have gude, nice sound-- Dey making sorrow fly; Dey coming lak glass of seltzer Vich follows drenk of rye. And night skol be full of music, And tengs we lak to forget Skol fold op tents lak yipsies, And sneaking avay, yu bet! End of Project Gutenberg's The Norsk Nightingale, by William F. Kirk