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A SONG OF THE RANGE |
141 |
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His eyes are bright and his heart is light as the
smoke of his cigarette, There's never a care for his soul to bear, no
troubles to make him fret; For a kingly crown in the noisy town his saddle he
would not change — No life so free as the life we see 'way out on the
cattle range.
' . Hi-lo! Hi-lay!
To the range away, On the deck of a bronc of steel,
With a careless flirt
Of a rawhide quirt And a dig of the roweled heel.
The winds may howl,
And the thunder growl, Or the breeze may softly moan;
The rider's life
Is the fife for me, The saddle a kingly throne.
At the long day's close he his bronco throws with
the bunch in the hoss corral, And a light he spies in the bright blue- eyes of his
welcoming rancher gal; 1T is a light that tells of the love that dwells in the
soul of his little dear, And a kiss he slips to her waiting lips when no one
is watching near. His glad thoughts stray to the coming day when
away to the town they'll ride, And the nuptial brand by the parson's hand will be
placed on his bonnie bride, |
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