Western field . s,Wending hither from hedge, lane and byway,Thence zigzagging each to his parts. Mine host, hes a jolly good fellow. Keeping ever a wide open door;His broad, beaming face, fringed with yellow, Welcomes all in to sample his store. His cellar a vale of Valence is. His bar is a breath from Bordeaux; He the best of good tippling dispenses,As all who take pot-luck there know. Here the merry young blades hold high revel,And carousal keeps up its loud hum; Here to doze in a drunken dishevel,The drowsy old topers all come. I oft have strayed down from my castle,Allured by the sounds of
Western field . s,Wending hither from hedge, lane and byway,Thence zigzagging each to his parts. Mine host, hes a jolly good fellow. Keeping ever a wide open door;His broad, beaming face, fringed with yellow, Welcomes all in to sample his store. His cellar a vale of Valence is. His bar is a breath from Bordeaux; He the best of good tippling dispenses,As all who take pot-luck there know. Here the merry young blades hold high revel,And carousal keeps up its loud hum; Here to doze in a drunken dishevel,The drowsy old topers all come. I oft have strayed down from my castle,Allured by the sounds of good cheer. And viewed the gay crowd at their wassailWith envy, till twilight drew near. For mine host, though he free with his grogis. And fully in touch with their fun,Puts an end to their afternoon orgies With the going down of the sun. Dont tell if you catch me a-stumbling:Id not have the folks know Ive been Where the Bees sit a boozing and bumbling,At the sign of the Sunflower Inn. —Charles Elmer THE PACIFIC COAST MAGAZINE 203 ;2^^(^ (sf T^@a), GIVE me the forest fragrance, andThe whisper of the mountain breeze;Give me the friends who understand,And sing the pleasures such as these—The feathered songsters in the trees,Who lyric all of golden days, In budded dells, on grassy leas;Give me, I cry, the wooded ways. Give me, per choice, the forest land. With all its sleepy harmonies;The droning cadence of the band Of honey-hunting bumble bees; At dusk of night the vesper gleesOf frogs afar, and gibing jays In quaint attempted symphonies;Give me, I cry, the wooded ways.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectsports, bookyear1902
