From an old newspaper:
While dealing in gems of poetry, we have all at once bethought ourselves of a piece of it, which has been for several weeks on our table, patiently biding its time; and we hasten to send it out, with a wager that the luxuriant imagination of a new people never brought our a production so poetically put together as is this inventory of the vegetable and humanly resources of the lone start State! Now, if we thought the author would thereby be induced to make a business of writing poetry, we might not deal lenienly with him. We really have no such fears, however; and we kindly give him over to fame, without one single compunction of conscience. The poem came to us from
Away Here in Texas.
Away here in Texas, the bright, Sunny South
The cold storms of Winter defies,
The dark, lurid clouds that envelop the North
Seldom darken our beautiful skies.
Away here in Texas, the sun shines bright,
The stars in calm beauty appear,
The full moon in splendor illumines the night,
The seasons roll round with the year!
Away here in Texas, we have beautiful flowers,
Peculiarly brilliant and gay;
The birds with their music beguile the dark hours,
And enchantingly sing all the day.
Away here in Texas, the white cotton-fields
Are like plains that are covered with snow;
Acorns in abundance the teeming earth yields,
And oats most luxuriantly grow!
Away here in Texas, potatoes do well!
Turnips and cabbage likewise!
Peas, beans and melons all nature excel,
And pumpkins obtain a fair size!
Away here in Texas, we've grass very fine--
Water-melons and hickory-nuts, too;
We've "haws" and we've also the sweet muscadine,
And berries, the "black" and the "dew."
Away here in Texas, we've all sorts of game,
That's found in the temperate clime;
We've wood on the hills and grass on the plains,
To shelter and fatten the kine.
Away here in Texas, we've all kinds of people,
From the gent' and the belle to the slave--
From the grand highfalutin’ as tall as a steeple,
To the veriest droll and the knave.
Away here in Texas, the Doctors are poor,
They must either work hard, beg or steal;
The climate's so healthy and charmingly pure,
Afflictions we scarce ever feel.
Away here in Texas, the Methodists thrive,
Presbyterians, the Old and the New,
And Baptists--all souls are engaged in the drive--
The disciples of Campbell are few.
Away here in Texas, a stranger I roam,
Unknown to all but a few,
I still live in hopes of a far better home,
When I take my last, parting adieu.
Away here in Texas, my journey shall end,
My body must rest in the ground,
But I hope to arise and heaven-ward ascend,
When the last, pealing trumpet shall sound!
Yorkville Enquirer. (Yorkville, S.C.) April 17, 1856, Image 2