Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 3. FRANCIS BRET HARTE, by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER



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HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 3. FRANCIS BRET HARTE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Brown o' san juan
Last Line: The griddle-cake's thar, anyway.
Subject(s): Harte, Bret (1836-1902); Payne, John Howard (1791-1852)


(As Mr. Francis Bret Harte might have woven it into a touching tale of a
western gentleman in a red shirt.)

Brown o' San Juan,
Stranger, I'm Brown.
Come up this mornin' from 'Frisco --
Be'n a-saltin' my specie-stacks down.

Be'n a-knockin' around,
Fer a man from San Juan,
Putty consid'able frequent --
Jes' catch onter that streak o' the dawn!

Right thar lies my home --
Right thar in the red --
I could slop over, stranger, in po'try --
Would spread out old Shakspoke cold dead.

Stranger, you freeze to this: there ain't no kinder gin-palace,
Nor no variety-show lays over a man's own rancho.
Maybe it hain't no style, but the Queen in the Tower o' London,
Ain't got naathin' I'd swop for that house over thar on the hill-side.

Thar is my ole gal, 'n' the kids, 'n' the rest o' my live-stock;
Thar my Remington hangs, and thar there's a griddle-cake br'ilin' --
For the two of us, pard -- and thar, I allow, the heavens
Smile more friendly-like than on any other locality.

Stranger, nowhere else I don't take no satisfaction.
Gimme my ranch, 'n' them friendly old Shanghai chickens --
I brung the original pair f'm the States in eighteen-'n'-fifty --
Gimme me them and the feelin' of solid domestic comfort.

Yer parding, young man --
But this landscape a kind
Er flickers -- I 'low 'twuz the po'try --
I thought that my eyes hed gone blind.

Take that pop from my belt!
Hi, thar! -- gimme yer han' --
Or I'll kill myself -- Lizzie -- she's left me --
Gone off with a purtier man!

Thar, I'll quit -- the ole gal
An' the kids -- run away!
I be derned! Howsomever, come in, pard --
The griddle-cake's thar, anyway.





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