Original Poetry.

Western Star, Issue 1387, 7 September 1889, Page 3

Original Poetry.

THE AWAKENING OP THE WEST. A Song or the Boos Fiexu. [jDedlaated to Tliv'Viciuresrjm Atlas of A cstra la si a Com pa »»/.] The American swept down like tho wolf on the folk, ■ Ami his fingers were itching to collar our gold, And his voice was as music that sonndeth afar, . Or as honey that drop; otli from out of a jar. Like the leaves of the meadow when summer is nigh, ' 1 1 So his victims wore green with a beautiful dvc. Like the wail of the forest when autumn winds prowl, So bis victims soon ivept with a pitiful howl. For the Yankee he spreadeth his wings to the blast, ’ ' ‘ ; And smileth a stnolo in his sleeve as!he passed; And the hearts of .bis victims grow, deadly •\ V hhd, chill ’•> 1 \ ; \ \ ’As each tastetb the taste of his horrible pill. There lay the farmer with pocket all wide, But from it there rolled no 'opulent tide, ’Twas empty ! while the foam- of his speech Flew fast as the surf on tho Riverton’beach. There lay the merchant distorted'and pate, With the dew on his brow and the salt oh his tail. His grief was all speechless, his agony dumb, Unblown was bis trumpet, his song was un- •'' snug. ' And thobankers and dorks were loud in their wail, j Their idol was broken, but not yet in jail. j So the curse of tho Yankee waxed loudly and j long; j While the smell of. his Atlas rose proudly , 1 and strong, 1 j , . Simple Simox. I Sept. 6th. |