don once knew as 'THE DASHING BEAU-DUNNE!'"

The lady was weeping in 'kerchief of lace
And she saw not the smile on the rough miner's face,--
Who said: "Ma'am, y' won't find y'r angel up here,--
Them pertickler brands--with 'wings'--disappear!
But here's 'Windy' comin'--he knows, th' ol' tramp,
Every Jack on th' trail, every Jill in th' camp!"

"Bing-bang!" The door opens and "Windy" appears,
A be-whiskered, a pimple-pocked tough to his ears:
His jeans all in tatters, his muck-a-lucks worn;
His parka was dirty, and mud-splashed and torn.
His greeting: "WOW! HAND OUT A HOOTCH! DURN MY GIZZARD
IF I WARN'T COTCHED IN A HUNKER CRICK BLIZZARD!"

The lady turns pale. Then the bar-keep behind
Hollers: "Windy, ol' cock! can YOU call t' y'r mind
A chump 'round this camp----Ma'am, wot was th' same
Double-decker y' called b' th' telescope name?"----
But the lady, eyes staring, was shrieking, "MY SON!"
Lo! "Windy" be-whiskered was "DASHING BEAU-DUNNE!"

MY SONG

I could not sing unless my song
Had in its symphony one broken string;
I could not say the thoughts that in me rise
Unless my heart had been a broken thing.
Why is it that the voice of Song so yields
Mute music till the heart hath bled?
Why should we find most fair and far-off fields
By thorny by-paths led?

But if this little weakling song of mine
Might carry cheer to one, lone, grieving soul,
Most gladly would I offer Hope's bright wine
And, smiling, drink the lees left in the bowl:
For I have in the darkness found some light,--
Some sunshine seen in shadowed evening hours,
And I have found throughout the lonely night
Some perfumed breathings from wild garden bowers.

And I were ingrate not to send it on,
Such echo of what music in me lies,
For it may bring to some o'er darkened dawn
The brightening glow that comes with morning skies.
So, go you, little broken Song,
And carry to some heart in bitter pain
Only my lute's light laughter. Make thou strong
The weak of heart and bid them smile again.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DERBY DAY IN THE YUKON***

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