Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
High Chin Bob
Cowboy Song

WAY high up in the Mokiones, among the mountain tops,
A lion cleaned a yearlin’s bones and licked his thankful chops,
When who upon the scene should ride a trippin’ down the slope,
But High Chin Bob of sinful pride and maverick-hungry rope.
  “Oh, glory be to me!” says he, “and fame’s unfadin’ flowers;        5
  I ride my good top hoss today and I’m top hand of Lazy-J,
  So, Kitty-cat, you’re ours!”
The lion licked his paws so brown and dreamed soft dreams of veal,
As High Chin’s loop come circlin’ down and roped him round his meal.
He yowled quick fury to the world and all the hills yelled back;        10
That top hoss give a snort and whirled, and Bob caught up the slack;
  “Oh, glory be to me,” says he, “we’ll hit the glory trail.
  No man has looped a lion’s head and lived to drag the bugger dead,
  Till I shall tell the tale.”
’Way high up in the Mokiones that top hoss done his best,        15
’Mid whippin’ brush and rattlin’ stones from cañon-floor to crest;
Up and down and round and cross, Bob pounded weak and wan,
But pride still glued him to his hoss and glory drove him on.
  “Oh, glory be to me,” says he, “this glory trail is rough!
  I’ll keep this dally round the horn until the toot of judgment morn,        20
  Before I’ll holler ’nough!”
Three suns had rode their circle home beyond the desert rim,
And turned their star-herds loose to roam the ranges high and dim;
And whenever Bob turned and hoped the limp remains to find,
A red-eyed lion, belly-roped, but healthy, loped behind!        25
  “Oh, glory be to me,” says Bob, “he kaint be drug to death!
  These heroes that I’ve read about were only fools that stuck it out,
  To the end of mortal breath.”
’Way high up in the Mokiones, if you ever come there at night,
You’ll hear a ruckus amongst the stones that will lift your hair with fright;        30
You’ll see a cow hoss thunder by and a lion trail along,
And the rider bold, with chin on high sings forth his glory song:
  “Oh, glory be to me,” says he, “and to my mighty noose;
  Oh, pardner, tell my friends below, I took a ragin’ dream in tow,
  And though I never laid him low—I never turned him loose!”        35

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