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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OUT WEST, by                    
First Line: I hear thee speak of a western land
Last Line: "saying -- ""t is there, my child."
Subject(s): West (u.s.); Southwest;pacific States


I HEAR thee speak of a Western land,
Thou callest its children a wide-awake band --
Father, oh, where is that favored spot?
Shall we not seek it and build us a cot?
Is it where the hills of Berkshire stand,
Whence the honey comes already canned?
Not there, not there, my child!

Is it far away in the Empire State,
Where Horace Greeley feels first-rate,
Where the people are ruled by Tammany ring,
And Mr. Fisk is a railway king,
With two thousand men at his command,
Besides a boat with a big brass band?
Not there, not there, my child!

Is it where the little pigs grow great
In the fertile vales of the Buckeye State,
And get so fat on acorns and meal
That they sell every bit of them, all but the squeal,
Where the butchers have such a plenty of hogs
That they don't make sausages out of dogs?
Not there, not there, my child!

Or is it where they fortunes make,
Where they've got a tunnel under the lake,
Where the stores are full of wheat and corn,
And divorces are plenty, as sure as you're born,
Where Long John Wentworth is right on hand, --
Is it there, dear father, that Western land?
Not there, not there, my child!

Is it in the dominions of Brigham Young,
The most married man that is left unhung,
Where every man that likes can go,
And get forty wives or more, you know,
Where "saints" are plenty with "cheeks" sublime, --
Can that be the gay and festive clime?
Not there, not there, my child!

Is it where Nevada's mountains rise
From the alkali plains which we all despise,
Where a man may beg, or borrow, or steal,
Yet he often will fail to get a square meal,
Where the rocks are full of silver ore, --
Is it there we'll find that Western shore?
Not there, not there, my child!

Eye hath not seen it, my verdant youth,
Tongue cannot name it and speak the truth;
For though you go to the farthest State,
And stand on the rocks by the Golden Gate,
They'll point you across the western sea,
To the land whence cometh the "heathen Chinee,"
Saying -- "'T is there, my child."





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