On the Farm at Brady's Gap by C.J. Dennis

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There's hills to the north, an' south, an' aste,
   An' a dusty plain on the west;
A small lean-to, wid a shed or two,
   'Tis a lonesome place at best;
But all the houses in this broad town,
   To me, aint worth a rap
Beside the dear ould tumble-down
   On the farm at Brady's Gap.

In a smart suburban villa,
   In a trim suburban street,
Before the fire sat Dad Maguire,
   With neatly slippered feet;
Dressed in a suit of broadcloth,
   And a fancy velvet cap,
He told the tale, in a plaintive wail,
   Of the farm on Brady's Gap. 

'Tis not f'r me to grumble
   At the life I lade down here,
Wid niver a care f'r crops to bear,
   An' niver a drought to fear,
I've all that man cud want for,
   Wid me house, an' horse an' trap --
'Twas a knock-knee'd grey, and an ould spring-dray,
   On the farm at Brady's Gap.

'Tis twinty years last August
   Since first we tuk the land --
A barren, thirsty counthry --
   But Lord, we thought it grand;
For we was young and hopeful,
   Me an' the missus thin;
An' our only son (God rest his soul)
   Was a child of nine or tin.

'Twas a peaceful lonesome life we led;
   Our luck now in now out,
A daily fight for mate an' bread,
   Wid frost, an' wind, an' drought.
An' bit by bit our bye grew up,
   A lively smart young chap,
Wid whips of go -- an' life was slow
   For him at Brady's Gap.

An' after much persuadin'
   An' pleadin' wid the wife,
I gave the lad me promise
   To let him start in life.
I'd save a bit o' money
   Whin things was at their best;
An' most of that I gave to Pat,
   An' shipped him to the West.

'Twas there the made the money
   That keeps us livin' here,
Contint an' indipindent;
   But the price we paid was dear.
Fur Paddy tuk the typhoid
   An' died of it over there,
Leavin' us rich an' wealthy.
   But a childless lonely air.

There' a hilly waste north, south, an' aste,
   An' a dusty plain out West;
An' ould lean-to wid a tree or two,
   'Tis a dreary place at best.
But often now when I'm sittin' here
   Fur me after-dinner nap;
A tear starts out, when I drame about
   The farm at Brady's Gap.

First published in The Evening Journal, 18 November 1899

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on November 18, 2013 7:13 AM.

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