Page:Pieces People Ask For.djvu/98

88 He sings him the chune of "The Old Phwiskey Jug,"
 * An' juggles him up on his knee

As light as the mist from ould Erin's green turf
 * That floats from the bog to the sea.

Then the gossoon lies back like a king on his couch,
 * An' the shadows across his eyes creep;

I'll lay you a bet, it's a beautiful sight,
 * When McGue puts the baby to sleep.

Then the ould man says "Phwist!" as the first darling snore
 * He hears from the swate, sleeping child;

An' he steps to the cradle, as aisy as mud,
 * An' the drop of a pin makes him wild.

"The Virgin take care of that baby!" his prayer
 * Comes out of the heart low and deep;

It would kill the ould man if the kid should refuse
 * John McGue for to put him to sleep.

o'er the snow-capped peaks of blue the stars are out to-night, And the silver crescent moon hangs low. I watched it on my right, Moving above the pine-tops tall, a bright and gentle shape, While I listened to the tales you told of peril and escape.

Then, mingled with your voices low, I heard the rumbling sound Of wheels adown the farther slope, that sought the level ground; And suddenly, from memories that never can grow dim, Flashed out once more the day when last I rode with English Jem.

'Twas here, in wild Montana, I took my hero's gauge. From Butte to Deer Lodge, four-in-hand, he drove the mountain stage; And many a time, in sun or storm, safe mounted at his side, I whiled away with pleasant talk the long day's weary ride.