Ho! For California

From the London “Chat.”

Ho! For California!

Ho! for the land
Where each atom of sand
Is into a dollar reducible;
And as onward you travel,
The “coarse kind of gravel,”
All turns to doubloons in your crucible.

With picks, shovels, baskets,
And hogsheads for caskets.
You open the vaulise creation;
Of the banks (of the rivers)
Become the receivers,
And place them in prompt liquidation.

If you die — pretty quick
The next man grabs your pick,
And ne’er thinks of asking, “whose was it?”
Then sacking your gold
Digs a pit in the mould
And soon makes your final deposit.

Ah! the gold as it shines
In the streams, in the mines,
Would make your eyes snap in their sockets,
And (if you don’t die,)
You’ll come by and by
With plenty of rocks in your pockets.

The chances, ’tis said,
Are that cold steel or lead
Your affairs may wind up or unsettle;
But if one of those twain
You should find “in a vein,”
You’ll not want the yellower metal.

Wisconsin Argus (Madison, Wisconsin) Mar 27, 1849

Tags: 1849, California Gold Rush, Poetry