The World’s Wit and Humor: An Encyclopedia in 15 Volumes. 1906.
Joaquin (Cincinnatus Hiner) Miller (1837–1913)William Brown of Oregon
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But she, her name was Mary Jane,
The squire’s daughter; and to reign
The belle from Ber-she-be to Dan
Her little game. How lovers rash
Got mittens at the spelling-school!
How many a mute, inglorious fool
Wrote rhymes, and sighed, and dyed—mustache!
Had loved her best and first and last;
Her very garments, as she passed,
For him had symphony and song.
So when, one day, with flirt and frown
She called him “Bill,” he raised his heart;
He caught her eye, and faltering said,
“I love you; and my name is Brown.”
You would have thought the house on fire.
She told her sire, the portly squire,
Then smelt her smelling-salts and slept.
Poor William did what could be done:
He swung a pistol on each hip,
He gathered up a great ox-whip,
And drove right for the setting sun.
He saw the snowy mountains rolled
Like nasty billows; saw the gold
Of great big sunsets; felt the birth
Of sudden dawn upon the plain;
And every night did William Brown
Eat pork and beans, and then lie down
And dream sweet dreams of Mary Jane.
The sought-for bigger game; somehow
They seemed to see about her brow
The forky sign of turkey-tracks.
The teeter-board of life goes up,
The teeter-board of life goes down;
The sweetest face must learn to frown;
The biggest dog has been a pup.
The sweetest flowers I have found
Grow rather close unto the ground,
And highest places are most bare.
Why, you had better win the grace
Of one poor cussed Af-ri-can,
Than win the eyes of every man
In love alone with his own face.
She sighed, she wept for William Brown.
She watched the splendid sun go down
Like some great sailing ship on fire,
Then rose and checked her trunks right on;
And in the cars she lunched and lunched,
And had her ticket punched and punched,
Until she came to Oregon.
She wore blue specs upon her nose,
Wore rather short and manly clothes,
And so set out to reach the mines.
Her right hand held a Testament,
Her pocket held a parasol,
And, thus equipped, right on she went,
Went waterproof and waterfall.
Slow stirring something with a spoon;
“Oh, tell me true, and tell me soon,
What has become of William Brown?”
He looked askance beneath her specs,
Then stirred his cocktail round and round,
Then raised his head and sighed profound,
And said, “He’s handed in his checks.”
And she grew faint, did Mary Jane,
And smelled her smelling-salts in vain,
Yet wandered on, wayworn and weak.
At last, upon a hill alone
She came, and there she sat her down;
For on that hill there stood a stone,
And, lo! that stone read, “William Brown.”
And here you rest at last,” she said,
“With this lone stone above your head,
And forty miles from any town!
I will plant cypress-trees, I will,
And I will build a fence around,
And I will fertilize the ground
With tears enough to turn a mill.”
She brought him forty miles from town,
And in the tall grass squatted down
And bade him build as she should plan.
But cruel cowboys with their bands
They saw, and hurriedly they ran
And told a bearded cattleman
Somebody builded on his lands.
He girt himself in battle pelt,
He stuck two pistols in his belt,
And mounting on his horse’s back,
He plunged ahead. But when they showed
A woman fair, about his eyes
He pulled his hat, and he likewise
Pulled at his beard, and chewed and chewed.
“Oh lady, dear, what do you here?”
“I build a tomb unto my dear;
I plant sweet flowers for his sake.”
The bearded man threw his two hands
Above his head, then brought them down,
And cried, “Oh, I am William Brown,
And this the corner-stone of my lands!”
He galloped forty miles or more;
He swore he never had before
Seen bride or bridegroom half so fair.
And all the Injins they came down
And feasted as the night advanced,
And all the cowboys drank and danced,
And cried: “Big Injin’ William Brown!”