In the Tunnel

Didnt know Flynn,
Flynn of Virginia,
Long as hes been yar?
Look ee here, stranger,
Whar hev you been?

Here in this tunnel
He was my pardner,
That same Tom Flynn,
Working together,
In wind and weather,
Day out and in.

Didnt know Flynn!
Well, that is queer;
Why, its a sin
To think of Tom Flynn,
Tom with his cheer,
Tom without fear,
Stranger, look yar!

Thar in the drift,
Back to the wall,
He held the timbers
Ready to fall;
Then in the darkness
I heard him call:
Run for your life, Jake!
Run for your wifes sake!
Dont wait for me.
And that was all
Heard in the din,
Heard of Tom Flynn,
Flynn of Virginia.

Thats all about
Flynn of Virginia.
That lets me out.
Here in the damp,
Out of the sun,
That ar derned lamp
Makes my eyes run.
Well, there, Im done!

But, sir, when youll
Hear the next fool
Asking of Flynn,
Flynn of Virginia,
Just you chip in,
Say you knew Flynn;
Say that youve been yar.

Bret Harte

Bret Harte was an American author and poet, renowned for his works about pioneering life in California. Born on August 25, 1836, he gained national fame with his short stories and poetry depicting life in the early mining camps. His most famous works include 'The Luck of Roaring Camp' and 'The Outcasts of Poker Flat.' Harte's writings played a crucial role in shaping the Western genre in American literature. He passed away on May 5, 1902.

Bret Harte

Thompson of Angels

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

Grandmother Tenterden

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

Before the Curtain

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

Chiquita

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

English

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Seventy-Nine

Know me next time when you see me, wont you, old smarty?
Oh, I mean you, old figger-head, just the same party!
Take out your pensivil, d n you; sharpen it, do!
Any complaints to make? Lots of em one of ems you.

You! who are you, anyhow, goin round in that sneakin way?
Never in jail before, was you, old blatherskite, say?
Look at it; dont it look pooty? Oh, grin, and be d d to you, do!
But if I had you this side o that gratin, Id just make it lively for you.

How did I get in here? Well what ud you give to know?
Twasnt by sneakin round where I hadnt no call to go;
Twasnt by hangin round a-spyin unfortnet men.
Grin! but Ill stop your jaw if ever you do that agen.

Why dont you say suthin, blast you? Speak your mind if you dare.
Aint I a ba...

Bret Harte

Her Letter

Im sitting alone by the fire,
Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even you would admire,
It cost a cool thousand in France;
Im be-diamonded out of all reason,
My hair is done up in a cue:
In short, sir, the belle of the season
Is wasting an hour upon you.

A dozen engagements Ive broken;
I left in the midst of a set;
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,
That waits on the stairs for me yet.
They say hell be rich, when he grows up,
And then he adores me indeed;
And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off as you read.

And how do I like my position?
And what do I think of New York?
And now, in my higher ambition,
With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?
And isnt it nice to have riches,
A...

Bret Harte

Her Last Letter

June 4th! Do you know what that date means?
June 4th! By this air and these pines!
Well, only you know how I hate scenes,
These might be my very last lines!
For perhaps, sir, youll kindly remember
If some other things youve forgot
That you last wrote the 4th of december,
Just six months ago! from this spot;

From this spot, that you said was the fairest
For once being held in my thought.
Now, really I call that the barest
Of well, I wont say what I ought!
For here I am back from my riches,
My triumphs, my tours, and all that;
And youre not to be found in the ditches
Or temples of Poverty Flat!

From Paris we went for the season
To London, when Pa wired, Stop.
Mama says his health was the reason.
(Ive heard that some th...

Bret Harte

Jim

Say there! Praps
Some on you chaps
Might know Jim Wild?
Well, no offense:
Thar aint no sense
In gittin riled!

Jim was my chum
Up on the Bar:
Thats why I come
Down from up yar,
Lookin for Jim.
Thank ye, sir! You
Aint of that crew,
Blest if you are!

Money? Not much:
That aint my kind;
I aint no such.
Rum? I dont mind,
Seein its you.

Well, this yer Jim,
Did you know him?
Jes bout your size;
Same kind of eyes;
Well, that is strange:
Why, its two year
Since he came here,
Sick, for a change.

Well, heres to us:
Eh?
The h    you say!
Dead?
That little cuss?

What makes you star,
You over thar?
Cant a man drop
s glass in yer sho...

Bret Harte

Dows Flat

Dows flat. Thats its name;
And I reckon that you
Are a stranger? The same?
Well, I thought it was true,
For thar isnt a man on the river as cant spot the place at first view.

It was called after Dow,
Which the same was an ass,
And as to the how
Thet the thing kem to pass,
Jest tie up your hoss to that buckeye, and sit ye down here in the grass.

You see this yer Dow
Hed the worst kind of luck;
He slipped up somehow
On each thing thet he struck.
Why, ef hed a straddled thet fence-rail, the derned thingd get up and buck.

He mined on the bar
Till he couldnt pay rates;
He was smashed by a car
When he tunneled with Bates;
And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and five kids from the States.

It was rough, ...

Bret Harte

The Ghost that Jim Saw

Why, as to that, said the engineer,
Ghosts aint things we are apt to fear;
Spirits dont fool with levers much,
And throttle-valves dont take to such;
And as for Jim,
What happened to him
Was one half fact, and tother half whim!

Running one night on the line, he saw
A house as plain as the moral law
Just by the moonlit bank, and thence
Came a drunken man with no more sense
Than to drop on the rail
Flat as a flail,
As Jim drove by with the midnight mail.

Down went the patents steam reversed.
Too late! for there came a thud. Jim cursed
As the fireman, there in the cab with him,
Kinder stared in the face of Jim,
And says, What now?
Says Jim, What now!
Ive just run over a man, thats how!

The fireman stared at J...

Bret Harte