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 shop
But you must rar?
It wouldnt take
D    d much to break
You and your bar.

Dead!
Poor little Jim!
Why, thar was me,
Jones, and Bob Lee,
Harry and Ben,
No-account men:
Then to take Him!

Well, thar    Good-by
No more, sir I
Eh?
Whats that you say?
Why, dern it! sho!
No? Yes! By Joe!
Sold!

Sold! Why, you limb,
You ornery,
Derned old
Long-legged Jim.

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

On the Landing

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Our Privilege

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The Miracle of Padre Junipero

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

In the Mission Garden

Bret Harte, Simple Poetry

English

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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

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

Jim

He was jes a plain ever'-day, all-round kind of a jour.,
Consumpted-Iookin' - but la!
The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tellin', song-singin', laughin'est, jolliest
Feller you ever saw!
Worked at jes coarse work, but you kin bet he was fine enough in his talk,
And his feelin's too!
Lordy! Ef he was on'y back on his bench ag'in to-day, a- carryin' on
Like he ust to do!

Any shopmate'll tell you there never was, on top o' dirt,
A better feller'n Jim!
You want a favor, and couldn't git it anywheres else -
You could git it o' him!
Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I guess!
Give up ever' nickel he's worth -
And ef you'd a-wanted it, and named it to him, and it was his,
He'd a-give you the earth!

Allus a reachin' out, Jim was, and a-he'ppin' som...

James Whitcomb Riley

Tambaroora Jim

He never drew a sword to fight a dozen foes alone,
Nor gave a life to save a life no better than his own.
He lived because he had been born, the hero of my song,
And fought the battle with his fist wheneer he fought a wrong.
Yet there are many men who would do anything for him,
A simple chap as went by name of Tambaroora Jim.

He used to keep a shanty in the Come-and-find-it Scrub,
And there were few but knew the name of Tambarooras pub.
He wasnt great in lambing down, as many landlords are,
And never was a man less fit to stand behind a bar,
Off-hand, as most bush natives are, and freckled, tall, and slim,
A careless native of the land was Tambaroora Jim.

When people said that loafers took the profit from his pub,
Hed ask them how they thought a chap co...

Henry Lawson

My Mate

I've been sittin' starin', starin' at 'is muddy pair of boots,
And tryin' to convince meself it's 'im.
(Look out there, lad! That sniper - 'e's a dysey when 'e shoots;
'E'll be layin' of you out the same as Jim.)
Jim as lies there in the dug-out wiv 'is blanket round 'is 'ead,
To keep 'is brains from mixin' wiv the mud;
And 'is face as white as putty, and 'is overcoat all red,
Like 'e's spilt a bloomin' paint-pot - but it's blood.

And I'm tryin' to remember of a time we wasn't pals.
'Ow often we've played 'ookey, 'im and me;
And sometimes it was music-'alls, and sometimes it was gals,
And even there we 'ad no disagree.
For when 'e copped Mariar Jones, the one I liked the best,
I shook 'is 'and and loaned 'im 'arf a quid;
I saw 'im through the parson's job, I 'elpe...

Robert William Service

Luke

Wots that youre readin? a novel? A novel! well, darn my skin!
You a man grown and bearded and histin such stuff ez that in
Stuff about gals and their sweethearts! No wonder youre thin ez a knife.
Look at me clar two hundred and never read one in my life!

Thats my opinion o novels. And ez to their lyin round here,
They belong to the Jedges daughter the Jedge who came up last year
On account of his lungs and the mountains and the balsam o pine and fir;
And his daughter well, she read novels, and thats whats the matter with her.

Yet she was sweet on the Jedge, and stuck by him day and night,
Alone in the cabin up yer till she grew like a ghost, all white.
She wus only a slip of a thing, ez light and ez up and away
Ez rifle smoke blown through the woods, but she w...

Bret Harte