Casey Jones was a brave engineer;
Casey looked at the fireman, and the fireman said,
" What do you care?
If I keep your boilers red and hot,
We'll make it to Canton by four o'clock. "
Casey Jones was a brave engineer,
He died with the throttle in his right hand.

All the way by the last board he passed,
Thirty-five minutes late with the [U.] S. mail.
Casey Jones said to his fireman,
" We'll make it to Canton, or leave the rail:
We are thirty-five minutes late with the [U.] S. mail. "

Just as he got in a mile of the place,

Carry me back to old Virginny,
There's where the cotton and the corn and taters grow;
There's where the birds warble sweet in the springtime,
There's where this old darky's heart am long'd to go,
There's where I labored all day in the cotton,
There's where I worked in the fields of yellow corn,
No place on earth do I love more sincerely,
Than old Virginny, the state where I was born.

Carry me back to old Virginny,
There let me live till I wither and decay;
Long by the old Dismal Swamp have I wandered,

Your lips were like a red and ruby chalice,
Warmer than the summer night.
The clouds were like an alabaster palace
Rising to a snowy height.
Each star its own aurora borealis,
Suddenly you held me tight.
I could see the midnight sun.
I can't explain the silver rain that found me,
Or was that a moonlight veil?
The music of the universe around me,
Or was that a nightingale?
And then your arms miraculously found me,
Suddenly the sky turned pale.
I could see the midnight sun.
Was there such a night?

A carrion crow sat on an oak,
Watching a tailor shape his cloak.
Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do.

The carrion crow began to rave,
And called the tailor a crooked knave.
Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do.

Wife, bring me my old bent bow,
That I may shoot yon carrion crow.
Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do.

The tailor he shot and missed his mark,
And shot his own sow through the heart.

A carpenter, he worked with wood—
—The fragrant wood and pale:
He planed the broad and feathery coils
—And drove the drastic nail.

And from the cedar and the oak—
—The texture of the tree—
He built the House of Time before
—That of Eternity.

How strange to choose a carpenter
—And bind him and impale
Upon the wood he used to work—
—With the beloved nail!

A carpenter, he worked with wood—
The fragrant wood and pale:
He planed the broad and feathery coils
And drove the drastic nail.

Carolina mourns to-day. For he, the gifted
Son of her adoption, is no more. The voice
That stirred the bosoms of her sons, and
Made her ramparts ring from mount to
Sea-board, is hushed in death. His
Noble form, and nobler mien that
Never faltered 'mid the cannon's
Roar, lies motionless.

So Carolina weeps. 'Tis meet she should —
Her chieftain lieth low. In this
Grand, old City by the Sea, this Venice
Of the Southland. The home he loved
So well. When the grey morn breaks,
And when the twilight lingers, they

(This quatrain is imagined as the caption under a picture of a rugged-looking cowboy seated upon a bale of hay.)
Carnation Milk is the best in the land;
Here I sit with a can in my hand--
No tits to pull, no hay to pitch,
You just punch a hole in the son of a bitch.

Careless I lived, accepting day by day
The lavish benison of sun and rain,
Watching the changing seasons pass away
And come again.

Now the great harvester has stilled my breath;
In this cold house I neither hear nor see.
Though in my life I never thought of death,
Death thought of me.

The careful angler chose his nook
At morning by the lilied brook,
And all the noon his rod he plied
By that romantic riverside.
Soon as the evening hours decline
Tranquilly he'll return to dine,
And, breathing forth a pious wish,
Will cram his belly full of fish.

The captain is drinking rum.
Drinking and singing something.
His song, hoarse, is as sad as the block slowly turning with the halyard;
a seagull, wingbeat hushed, went through the half light astern, whispering.
Soon the moon must rise at the estuary.

The captain's chest too is at full tide with red rum.
At the bottom of its flow
tonight too the tattooed anchor wavers blue.