THE IRRIGATED TRAMP. 



The sun was wheeling on its course, 

 Swift down the heavenly way ; 



It lacked but little of vesper bells, 



A mournful chime that sadly tells 



The death of one more toilsome day. 



The prairie broad a winding trail, 



Near which the summer blossoms grew ; 

 A man a relic of his race, 

 With whiskers hanging from his face, 



Through which the winds of evening blew. 



vSore and weary, struggling onward, 

 Night o'ertook him on his way, 



So with little thought of morrow, 



Gone all care and bitter sorrow, 



See, he sleeps midst fragrant hay. 



Again the day ; the tramp awakes, 



And notes the ditch stream's rapid flow ; 



With clothes hung high on "hickory limb " 



He plunges in to take a swim, 



Which he hadn't had since years ago. 



Forth from his bath he gaily steps, 



From head to foot now irrigated ; 

 The hot sun sheds its genial rays, 

 The sprouts shoot forth in many ways ; 

 To wear strange garments he is fated. 



Alfalfa blossoms spring to life, 



Sunflowers mark his dripping locks, 

 And reaching from his very feet 

 To where his neck and whiskers meet 

 Are waving blooms of holly-hocks. 



Such is irrigation's power, 



Believe it reader, 'tis a fact ; 

 Now our tramp has quit his roaming, 

 You can see him in the gloaming, 



Posing in the foliage act. 



Irrigation I : .ra. 







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