Eugene Field - Hoosier Lyrics

Her heart was full of goodness
And her face was fair to see
And her life was full of beauty —
How we miss our Minnie Lee!

But her work on earth is over
And her spirit now is free
She has gone to live in heaven —
Shall we weep for Minnie Lee?

Would we call our angel darling
Back again across the sea?
No! but sometime up in heaven
We will meet loved Minnie Lee.

Sweet poetess, your poetry
Is bad as bad can be,
And yet we heartily deplore
The death of Minnie Lee.

It would have pleased us better
If, in His wisdom, He
Had taken you, sweet poetess,
Instead of Minnie Lee.

Your turn will come, however,
And swift and sure 'twill be
If you continue sending
Your rhymes on Minnie Lee.

From this we hope you will gather
A dim surmise that we
Don't take much stock in poems
Concerning Minnie Lee.

I wonder ef all wimmin air
Like Lizzie is when we go out
To theaters an' concerts where
Is things the papers talk about.
Do other wimmin fret and stew
Like they wuz bein' crucified —
Frettin' a show or a concert through,
With wonderin' ef the baby cried?

Now Lizzie knows that gran'ma's there
To see that everything is right,
Yet Lizzie thinks that gran'ma's care
Ain't good enuf f'r baby, quite;
Yet what am I to answer when
She kind uv fidgets at my side,
An' every now and then;
"I wonder ef the baby cried?"

Seems like she seen two little eyes
A-pinin' f'r their mother's smile —
Seems like she heern the pleadin' cries
Uv one she thinks uv all the while;
An' she's sorry that she come,
'An' though she allus tries to hide
The truth, she'd ruther stay to hum
Than wonder ef the baby cried.

Yes, wimmin folks is all alike —
By Lizzie you kin jedge the rest.
There never was a little tyke,
But that his mother loved him best,
And nex' to bein' what I be —
The husband of my gentle bride —
I'd wisht I wuz that croodlin' wee,
With Lizzie wonderin' ef I cried.

The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv,
And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv;
'Twuz in the year of sixty-nine – somewhere along in summer —
There hove in sight one afternoon a new and curious comer;
His name wuz Silas Pettibone – an artist by perfession,
With a kit of tools and a big mustache and a pipe in his possession;
He told us, by our leave, he'd kind uv like to make some sketches
Uv the snowy peaks, 'nd the foamin' crick, 'nd the distant mountain stretches;
"You're welkim, sir," sez we, although this scenery dodge seemed to us
A waste uv time where scenery wuz already sooper- floo -us.

All through the summer Pettibone kep' busy at his sketchin' —
At daybreak, off for Eagle Pass, and home at nightfall, fetchin'
That everlastin' book uv his with spider lines all through it —
Three-Fingered Hoover used to say there warn't no meanin' to it —
"God durn a man," sez he to him, "whose shif'less hand is sot at
A-drawin' hills that's full of quartz that's pinin' to be got at!"
"Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin' gratifies ye,
But one uv these fine times, I'll show ye sumthin' will surprise ye!"
The which remark led us to think – although he didn't say it —
That Pettibone wuz owin' us a gredge 'nd meant to pay it.

One evenin' as we sat around the restauraw de Casey,
A-singin' songs 'nd tellin' yarns the which wuz sumwhat racy,
In come that feller Pettibone 'nd sez: "With your permission
I'd like to put a picture I have made on exhibition."
He sot the picture on the bar 'nd drew aside its curtain,
Sayin': "I recken you'll allow as how that's art, f'r certain!"
And then we looked, with jaws agape, but nary word wuz spoken,
And f'r a likely spell the charm uv silence wuz unbroken —
Till presently, as in a dream, remarked Three-Fingered Hoover:
"Onless I am mistaken, this is Pettibone's shef doover!"
It wuz a face, a human face – a woman's, fair 'nd tender,
Sot gracefully upon a neck white as a swan's, and slender;
The hair wuz kind of sunny, 'nd the eyes wuz sort uv dreamy,
The mouth wuz half a-smilin', 'nd the cheeks wuz soft 'nd creamy;
It seemed like she wuz lookin' off into the west out yonder,
And seemed like, while she looked, we saw her eyes grow softer, fonder —
Like, lookin' off into the west where mountain mists wuz fallin',
She saw the face she longed to see and heerd his voice a-callin';
"Hooray!" we cried; "a woman in the camp uv Blue Horizon —
Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, 'nd nominate your pizen!"

A curious situation – one deservin' uv your pity —
No human, livin' female thing this side of Denver City!
But jest a lot uv husky men that lived on sand 'nd bitters —
Do you wonder that that woman's face consoled the lonesome critters?
And not a one but what it served in some way to remind him
Of a mother or a sister or a sweetheart left behind him —
And some looked back on happier days and saw the old-time faces
And heerd the dear familiar sounds in old familiar places —
A gracious touch of home – "Look here," sez Hoover, "ever'body
Quit thinkin' 'nd perceed at oncet to name his favorite toddy!"

It wuzn't long afore the news had spread the country over,
And miners come a-flockin' in like honey bees to clover;
It kind uv did 'em good they said, to feast their hungry eyes on
That picture uv Our Lady in the camp uv Blue Horizon.
But one mean cuss from Nigger Crick passed criticisms on 'er —
Leastwise we overheerd him call her Pettibone's madonner,
The which we did not take to be respectful to a lady —
So we hung him in a quiet spot that wuz cool 'nd dry 'nd shady;
Which same might not have been good law, but it wuz the right maneuver
To give the critics due respect for Pettibone's shef doover.

Gone is the camp – yes, years ago, the Blue Horizon busted,
And every mother's son uv us got up one day 'nd dusted,
While Pettibone perceeded east with wealth in his possession
And went to Yurrup, as I heerd, to study his perfession;
So, like as not, you'll find him now a-paintin' heads 'nd faces
At Venus, Billy Florence and the like I-talyun places —
But no such face he'll paint again as at old Blue Horizon,
For I'll allow no sweeter face no human soul sot eyes on;
And when the critics talk so grand uv Paris 'nd the loover,
I say: "Oh, but you orter seen the Pettibone shef doover!"

In gallus old Kentucky, where the grass is very blue,
Where the liquor is the smoothest and the girls are fair and true,
Where the crop of he-gawd gentlemen is full of heart and sand,
And the stock of four-time winners is the finest in the land;
Where the democratic party in bourbon hardihood
For more than half a century unterrified has stood,
Where nod the black-eyed Susans to the prattle of the rill —
There – there befell the wooing of Penn-Yan Bill.

Down yonder in the cottage that is nestling in the shade
Of the walnut trees that seem to love that quiet little glade
Abides a pretty maiden of the bonny name of Sue —
As pretty as the black-eyed flow'rs and quite as modest, too;
And lovers came there by the score, of every age and kind,
But not a one (the story goes) was quite to Susie's mind.
Their sighs, their protestations, and their pleadings made her ill —
Till at once upon the scene hove Penn-Yan Bill.