Cowboy Songs | Page 6

AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS

THE DYING COWBOY[1]
"O bury me not on the lone prairie," These words came low and
mournfully From the pallid lips of a youth who lay On his dying bed at
the close of day.
He had wailed in pain till o'er his brow Death's shadows fast were
gathering now; He thought of his home and his loved ones nigh As the
cowboys gathered to see him die.
"O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wild cayotes will howl
o'er me, In a narrow grave just six by three, O bury me not on the lone
prairie.
"In fancy I listen to the well known words Of the free, wild winds and
the song of the birds; I think of home and the cottage in the bower And
the scenes I loved in my childhood's hour.
"It matters not, I've oft been told, Where the body lies when the heart
grows cold; Yet grant, Oh grant this wish to me, O bury me not on the
lone prairie.
"O then bury me not on the lone prairie, In a narrow grave six foot by

three, Where the buffalo paws o'er a prairie sea, O bury me not on the
lone prairie.
"I've always wished to be laid when I died In the little churchyard on
the green hillside; By my father's grave, there let mine be, And bury me
not on the lone prairie.
"Let my death slumber be where my mother's prayer And a sister's tear
will mingle there, Where my friends can come and weep o'er me; O
bury me not on the lone prairie.
"O bury me not on the lone prairie In a narrow grave just six by three,
Where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free; Then bury me not on
the lone prairie.
"There is another whose tears may be shed For one who lies on a
prairie bed; It pained me then and it pains me now;-- She has curled
these locks, she has kissed this brow.
"These locks she has curled, shall the rattlesnake kiss? This brow she
has kissed, shall the cold grave press? For the sake of the loved ones
that will weep for me O bury me not on the lone prairie.
"O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wild cayotes will howl
o'er me, Where the buzzard beats and the wind goes free, O bury me
not on the lone prairie.
"O bury me not," and his voice failed there, But we took no heed of his
dying prayer; In a narrow grave just six by three We buried him there
on the lone prairie.
Where the dew-drops glow and the butterflies rest, And the flowers
bloom o'er the prairie's crest; Where the wild cayote and winds sport
free On a wet saddle blanket lay a cowboy-ee.
"O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wild cayotes will howl
o'er me, Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free O bury me
not on the lone prairie."

O we buried him there on the lone prairie Where the wild rose blooms
and the wind blows free, O his pale young face nevermore to see,-- For
we buried him there on the lone prairie.
Yes, we buried him there on the lone prairie Where the owl all night
hoots mournfully, And the blizzard beats and the winds blow free O'er
his lowly grave on the lone prairie.
And the cowboys now as they roam the plain,-- For they marked the
spot where his bones were lain,-- Fling a handful of roses o'er his grave,
With a prayer to Him who his soul will save.
"O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wolves can howl and
growl o'er me; Fling a handful of roses o'er my grave With a prayer to
Him who my soul will save."
[Footnote 1: In this song, as in several others, the chorus should come
in after each stanza. The arrangement followed has been adopted to
illustrate versions current in different sections.]

The Dying Cowboy (Mus. Not.)
"O bu-ry me not on the lone prai-rie," These words came low ... and
mourn-ful-ly ... From the pal-lid lips of a youth who lay On his dy-ing
bed at the close of day.

THE DAYS OF FORTY-NINE
We are gazing now on old Tom Moore, A relic of bygone days; 'Tis a
bummer, too, they call me now, But what cares I for praise? It's oft,
says I, for the days gone by, It's oft do I repine For the days of old
when we dug out the gold In those days of Forty-Nine.
My comrades they all loved me well, The jolly, saucy crew; A few hard
cases,