Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems/The Young Tramp


 * Hello, thar, stranger! Whar yer frum?
 * Come in and make yerself ter hum!
 * We're common folks—ain't much on style;
 * Come in and stop a little while;
 * 'Twon't do no harm ter rest yer some.


 * Youngster, yer pale, and don't look well!
 * What, way frum Bosting? Naow, dew tell!
 * Why, that's a hundred mile or so;
 * What started yer, I'd like ter know,
 * On sich a tramp; got goods ter sell?


 * No home—no friends? Naow that's too bad!
 * Wall, cheer up, boy, and don't be sad—
 * Wife, see what yer can find ter eat,
 * And put the coffee on ter heat—
 * We'll fix yer up all right, my lad.


 * Willing ter work, can't git a job,
 * And not a penny in yer fob?
 * Wall, naow, that's rough, I dew declare!
 * What, tears? Come, youngster, I can't bear
 * Ter see yer take on so, and sob.


 * How came yer so bad off, my son?
 * Father was killed? 'Sho'; whar? Bull Run?
 * Why, I was in that scrimmage, lad,
 * And got used up, too, pretty bad;
 * I sha'n't forgit old 'sixty one!




 * So yer were left in Bosting, hey?
 * A baby when he went away—
 * Those Bosting boys were plucky, wife,
 * Yer know one of 'em saved my life,
 * Else I would not be here to day.


 * 'Twas when the "Black Horse Cavalcade"
 * Swept down upon our small brigade
 * I got the shot that made me lame,
 * When down on me a trooper came,
 * And this 'ere chap struck up his blade.


 * Poor feller! He was stricken dead;
 * The trooper's sabre cleaved his head.
 * Joe Billings was my comrade's name;
 * He was a Bosting boy, and game!
 * I almost wished I'd died instead.


 * Why, lad! what makes yer tremble so?
 * Your father! what, my comrade Joe?
 * And you his son? Come ter my heart!
 * My home is yours; I'll try, in part,
 * Ter pay his boy the debt I owe.