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THE END OF THE TRAIL
'Tween the old time and the new, I have sung heart-songs of you— You, lean stranger to all fear, Careless border cavalier.
Now, old pard, that you are gone, And the gray and cheerless dawn Of a day called Progress comes, A nd the throaty engine hums Down the trail where you and I Made our camps and watched the sky Drop its crimson sunset bars To a bunch of mav'rick stars— Then, oh, then, I cry aloud Curses on the white-faced crowd, On the heights of stone and wood, Standing where our line camps stood; On the jangle of the street, And each pale worn face I meet.
On the coyote ways of men— Sharp of fang beyond our ken— Snapping o'er a brother's bones For a pile of yellow stones. Did we seek for gold or fame? No, we played a careless game;